In the category of Southern women who in one way or another made their way through the lines, might be included many who carried to the Confederacy supplies of quinine and other articles that could be easily concealed on the person. It is safe to say that hundreds passed backward and forward across the borders of Virginia and Maryland, and with but rare exception their native shrewdness enabled them to escape the vigilance of the pickets on guard.
The bravery of Northern spies in the South is a theme not to be forgotten in this connection. Before General Sherman in his "March to the Sea" reached the several cities through which he was to pass, one or more of his secret agents was sure to be found mingling sociably among the residents. In Savannah, a gentleman appeared as a purchaser of the old wines for which that city was once famous, and remained undiscovered until the end came. In Charleston, news was communicated to the Union officers through the medium of two or three whites and of negroes who made their way to the islands on the coast, and there met and delivered to waiting boats' crews the papers consigned to their care. In Columbia, S. C., an officer wearing the uniform of the Confederate navy visited the best families for more than a month; escorted young ladies to fairs held for the benefit of army hospitals and other entertainments, and made himself generally popular. One of these newly made acquaintances was the daughter of the mayor. After Sherman entered, and the conflagration that destroyed the city was in progress, he repaired to her house and tendered his services. Then for the first time she learned the truth of the saying that she had "entertained an angel unawares." He aided materially in saving the property of the family and affording desired protection.
The task of a spy in the army was not so easy. It was full of personal danger. Success meant the praise of his superiors and possible promotion. Failure might mean an ignominious death. After the battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing as it is sometimes known, one Coon Harris, a Tennesseean, went through the Confederate army without detection, but in a skirmish a few days afterward he was captured while acting as guide to a column moving to attack a weak point in the Confederate lines. Bragg was in command, and the poor fellow had but a short shrift. Tried by a drum-head court martial, he was sentenced to be shot at daylight.
In his calm demeanor he illustrated how a brave man animated by a high principle can die. There was no pageantry, no clergyman with his last rites, no nothing, save a handful of curious spectators following a rude army wagon wherein, on a rough box called by courtesy a coffin, sat unbound a middle-aged farmer in his butternut suit, riding to his death. Not the closest observer could have discovered any difference in coolness between him and a bystander. Arriving at the place of execution he jumped lightly from the wagon, lingered a moment to see his coffin removed, and then sauntered carelessly down the little valley to the tree beneath which he was to meet his fate.
The ceremony was brief. The officer in charge of the shooting squad asked him if he had any final message to leave. "Yes," was the reply; "tell my family that my last thoughts were of them, and that I died doing my duty to my State and country!" Then his arms were pinioned, the faded brown coat was buttoned across his breast, and he sat down upon his coffin. A handkerchief was tied over his eyes, and voluntarily he laid his head back against the tree. Even now, preserving his remarkable self-possession, he called for a piece of tobacco, and, chewing upon it vigorously, occupied several seconds in adjusting his head to the bark of the tree, as one would fit himself to a pillow before going to sleep. Then he quietly said, "Boys, ready!"
A file of eight men stepped forward until within ten paces of the doomed man; the order was given to "Fire!" and with a splash of brains, and a trickling rivulet of blood down his hairy breast, the soul of the brave man passed into the keeping of the Creator.
During the first march of the Confederate army into Maryland, a handsome young fellow, one Charles Mason, who gave his home as Perrysville, Penn., boldly intercepted a courier who was carrying an order. "What division do you belong to?" he inquired. "Longstreet's," was the reply; "what's yours?" asked the courier. "Jackson's." The presence of a gray uniform favored this statement, and the two rode together. The courier, however, observed a disposition on the part of his companion to drop behind, and suddenly was confronted by a pistol and a demand for the delivery of his despatches. Not being promptly forthcoming, the spy fired, secured the papers, and galloped away. The Confederate lived long enough to describe his assailant and make his identification certain.
A few hours afterward the man became a victim to his own daring. Riding up to the head of a column, he said to the general in command: "I am from General Jackson; he desires me to request you to halt and await further orders."—"I am not in the habit of receiving my orders from General Jackson," answered the officer; "what command do you belong to?" Hesitating an instant, the spy said: "To the Hampton Legion." "In whose brigade and division is that?" continued the general. The pretended courier confessed that he had forgotten. Taken into custody, a search revealed his true character. On his person were found shorthand and other notes, a pair of lieutenant's shoulder straps, and other evidences of his calling. A drum-head court martial was promptly convened, and he was sentenced to be hanged then and there. He met his fate stoically, and without other expressed regret save that, since his mission had been a failure, he could not die the death of a soldier.
"On June 9, 1863," wrote a correspondent of the Nashville Press, "two strangers rode into the Union camp, at Franklin, Tenn., and boldly presented themselves at Colonel Baird's headquarters. They wore Federal regulation trousers and caps, the latter covered with white flannel havelocks, and carried side arms. Both showed high intelligence. One claimed to be a colonel in the United States army, the other a major, and they represented that they were inspecting the outposts and defences. Official papers purporting to be signed by General Rosecrans, and also from the War Department at Washington, seemed to confirm this statement. So impressive was their manner, in fact, that Colonel Baird, at the request of the elder officer, loaned him fifty dollars, the plea being that they had been overhauled by the enemy and had lost their wardrobe and purses.