With a view to acquiring these treasures I essayed a tentative conversation upon the weather, the prospects of a late spring, and finally the scarcity of provisions and consequent suffering of the soldiers.
After a keen glance of scrutiny the market woman exclaimed, "Well, I am doing all I can for them! I know you won't speak of it! Look here!"
Lifting the edge of her hooped petticoat, she revealed a roll of army cloth, several pairs of cavalry boots, a roll of crimson flannel, packages of gilt braid and sewing silk, cans of preserved meats, a bag of coffee! She was on her way to our own camp, right under the General's nose! Of course I should not betray her—I promised. I did more. Before we parted she had drawn forth a little memorandum book and had taken a list of my own necessities. She did not "run the blockade" herself. She had an agent—"a dear, good Suffolk man"—who would fill my order on his next trip.
It isn't worth while to tell men everything. They are not supposed to be interested in the needle-and-thread ways of women!
About three weeks after my interview with the blockade-runner, I was driving again in the ambulance. Suddenly Captain Whitner, who had galloped to overtake me, wheeled in front of the horses and stopped them.
"Good morning, Captain! Any news at camp I am permitted to learn?"
I perceived the corners of his mouth twitching, but he said gravely:—
"I am commissioned to tell you that you must consider yourself under arrest. I am sent to discharge this painful duty and conduct you to camp."
"By whose order, pray?"
"Official orders from headquarters," and he presented a paper.