Men I saw, and men, and still men, everywhere and all about. There literally seemed to be no end of them, and the idea then formed itself in my mind that this great armed mass of humanity must and would conquer the South.
I prize my visit to the Army of the Potomac under General Grant as one of the greatest and most interesting experiences in my life. As to the army, I cannot well speak from the knowledge I then had, but I certainly got the impression when walking along the miles and miles of streets with canvas houses at the sides that there was no want, that everything needful was served to these men in the fullest extent and of the best. The cavalry, I remember lay off some little distance from the infantry, and such a mass of horse and mule flesh it has been the lot of but few to see. Some 12,000 horses, I think, were in the camp.
Not the least restraint was placed upon me, but I was free to go where and when I listed, while at almost every officer’s mess I was a welcome guest. Great good-nature was the order of the day, and it was indeed a gay scene, with the regimental bands and bright colors and the pomp and panoply of war.
As to visiting the Confederates, I was assured that a flag of truce would easily put me over, but I began to think I had seen as much of the military as my brain, uneducated in military matters, could take in, and consequently not wishing to stay my welcome out too far, and fearing a movement on the part of the army, I began the ride back to Washington.
When within a few miles of Long Bridge, and in plain sight of the Capitol and Washington itself, on looking back, a great cloud of dust seemed to be coming up, as if trying to overtake me, from the direction I had come. I was startled, of course, but I halted, and before half an hour had elapsed along came the most confused mass of humanity one could think of—men on foot, on cannons, on mules, on horses, some with guns, some without, but all bowling along for Washington in the fastest possible time.
I found they were going into Washington to defend it, having heard that General Jubal Early, of the Confederates, had crossed the Potomac at Williamsburg, above the city, and was about to make an effort to cut off communication with the north. It would perhaps be superfluous to add that after this information my horse sped as fast as any of them, and over Long Bridge the rescuers and I went pell mell into Washington. This was on the 6th of July, 1864. The city naturally was all excitement; men and cannon, horses and ambulances, seemed to be moving along all the streets. Washington at this turn of affairs had the appearance of a huge military camp.
On returning my horse to the livery stable my first thought was for food and a bath. Both of these I obtained at the hotel, the landlord of which informed me that I could not get out of the city by the trains, they being closely guarded. At four o’clock I came with my grip to the Baltimore Depot, and did indeed find it guarded by bluecoats. Stepping up to one of the men I asked for the captain of the guard. He came. When I asked him to let me get on the Baltimore train, he quietly shook his head and turned away. Then, and not till then, I called him back to look at my pass. A wonderful change instantly followed. His hand came to the salute, the necessary order was given the guard, their bayonets were raised to the salute, and I walked through a row of glittering steel to the railway platform.
This, as I have said, was at four in the afternoon. The next train left at six for Baltimore. General Franklin was on the latter train, when General Early’s scouts stopped it and took him off. On my train there was no trouble. I easily got to Baltimore, and for these thirty-two years I have been curious to know what the Confederates would have done with me had they caught me on the train with General Franklin. The conclusion I have arrived at is that they would have taken my money if they had had time (for the Union cavalry was after them hot), and then let me go.
To pursue this narrative a little further, I at length arrived at Elmira, N.Y., and saw the Confederate prisoners in a camp about a couple of miles south of the town. Their prison was only a field of some ten acres, surrounded by a tight board fence about ten feet high, on which guards were placed at intervals. Within were houses for the prisoners. Without any difficulty I was allowed to walk upon the platforms at the fence top and see the prisoners as long as I would. The same freedom was given me here as I had enjoyed in the White House, in the army, in the great hospitals, and in fact, everywhere—and this, too, during one of the most terrible wars the world has ever seen.
As to the prisoners, there were some two hundred of them standing about in groups, many of them smoking, listening to some talker in each group spinning yarns. To my astonishment, they did not all wear the Confederate grey, but many had butternut-colored jeans, and among the lot there was scarcely a well-dressed man. So far as I could judge, they were not feeling their imprisonment very badly, and I noticed that when the officer of the guard was absent they talked and joked quite freely with the guards upon the fence. Keen-eyed, sharp-looking fellows they were, and generally quite young men.