Chapter XIX: Carl Lody and Spies of the World’s Greatest War 309 (6)

“Soldiers, this is the advance guard of the Irish-American army for the liberation of Ireland from the yoke of the oppressor. For the sake of your own country you enter that of the enemy. The eyes of your countrymen are upon you. Forward, march!”

Following this harangue they started off on their expedition with O’Neill at their head. Before leaving, O’Neill instructed Le Caron to bring to his support on their arrival a party of 400 men who were coming from St. Albans. The men marched with a certain amount of military precision for all of them had received some degree of military training. There is no doubt of the patriotic feelings that filled their hearts. In spite of the lack of uniformity, and possibly because of it, the scene was picturesque. Here and there a Fenian coat with its green and gray faced with gold sparkled in contrast with the civilian clothing and the more somber garb of the others.

Finally the volunteers reached a little wooden bridge and deployed as skirmishers in close order, advancing with fixed bayonets and cheering wildly. Not a soldier appeared to dispute their way, but the dark Canadian trees hid from their view the ambushed Canadian volunteers, who were only awaiting the signal to spring out upon the unsuspecting invaders.

All this time Le Caron, who had spent years of intimate association with many of the Irishmen and who was regarded as their friend and confidant, stood upon the hilltop to watch the inevitable slaughter. They advanced a few yards farther, and on their startled ears came the whistling sound of many bullets from the rifles of the ambushed Canadians as they poured a deadly volley straight into their ranks.

Little remains to be told. There was fierce fighting and terrible bloodshed, but the invaders were overcome by superior numbers and well disciplined troops. Finally they were forced to retreat up to the hill where Le Caron stood, still under the fire of their adversaries and leaving their dead to be subsequently buried by the Canadians.

Seeing that all was over, for the time at least, the spy had hurried off to the point where the St. Albans contingent had arrived and were forming. He actually took part in this ceremony, and while engaged in superintending it he was afforded, as he says, practical evidence of the termination of O’Neill’s part in the fight. While he was standing in the middle of the road where the men were forming into line, he was startled by the cry:

“Clear the road, clear the road!”

He was almost knocked down by a team of horses pulling a covered carriage, and as the conveyance flashed by him he caught through the carriage window a hurried glimpse of the dejected face of General O’Neill, who was seated between two men. He said in speaking of this that he might have given the command to shoot the horses as they turned an adjacent corner, but it was no part of his purpose to restore O’Neill to his command.

It became known later that O’Neill was in the custody of the United States Marshal, General Foster, who, acting under instructions from Washington, had arrived on the scene of the battle immediately after Le Caron left and arrested O’Neill on the charge of breaking the neutrality laws. O’Neill, who was in the company of his comrades, refused to surrender and threatened force, but when General Foster placed a revolver at his head he succumbed.

Late that afternoon when the news of O’Neill’s arrest became known, a council of war was held, presided over by John Boyle O’Reilly. On the following morning General Spear, the secretary of war of the Fenian Brotherhood, arrived at St. Albans and tried to do something practical in the way of continuing the invasion. He pleaded with Le Caron to supply him with 400 or 500 stands of arms and ammunition within the next twenty-four hours, but the spy felt that it would not do for him to allow further operations, and so he said that it would be impossible to grant the demands under the condition of affairs then prevailing. Thousands of Canadian troops had arrived on the border and were making the position of the Irish volunteers more precarious every moment.

Fortunately for Le Caron, the appearance of United States troops in the vicinity put any further attempt at war operations out of the question, for in order to avoid arrest for a breach of the neutrality laws the Fenians were compelled to disappear. The spy left with them and hurried to Malone and found a similar state of affairs prevailing there, although the arrest of O’Neill and the anticipated appearance of United States troops filled the invaders with dismay.

Le Caron was elated with his success and anxious to report himself at the Canadian headquarters without delay. He knew, however, that it would not be safe for him to go direct to Ottawa so he traveled in a roundabout way. One night he stopped with the Commissioner of the Quebec police, and the following morning took a train for Ottawa. Before this journey was concluded he found that he had been altogether too premature in his self congratulations, because that journey brought him closer to discovery than he had ever been before.

The incident which threatened to deprive him of his usefulness as a spy occurred at Cornwall where there was the usual half hour’s delay for dinner. He was in the midst of his meal, enjoying it with great zest in spite of the fact that his work as a spy had sent hundreds of men to their death, when two men stopped and gazed at him with unusual interest. One of them was tall and very military in his manner, and the other had on clerical attire. As Le Caron ceased eating he heard the clerical looking one say as he pointed his finger in his direction:

“That is the man!”

Advancing, the tall man, who subsequently turned out to be the Mayor of Cornwall, said with a Scotch accent:

“You are my prisoner!”

These words were accompanied with a strong grasp of the hand on the shoulder of the suspected one. He imagined there was some mistake, and laughed as he turned around to resume his dinner, but the Scotchman gave an added squeeze to his arm as he solemnly repeated the words:

“You are my prisoner, and you must go with me at once.”

It turned out later that the ministerial looking person was a wandering preacher who happened to be in the vicinity of Malone when Le Caron was loading arms there and he had been pointed out to him as the leading Fenian agent. The preacher’s memory was a very good one, and he immediately recognized the spy when he met him again.

It was a serious condition of affairs for Le Caron, but still he could not entirely comprehend what it all meant, and he said:

“Will not you let me finish my dinner?”

“No,” was the sharp reply, “you have got to come at once.”

“For what reason am I arrested?” asked Le Caron.

“You are a Fenian,” was the indignant reply, and then for the first time the spy noticed that the crowd in the room was beginning to show signs of anger and indignation toward him.

He was hurried out by his captors and taken to a room adjoining the ticket office, where a demand was made on him for his luggage and keys with everything on his person. He had with him documents which would reveal everything if they were made public. His position was dangerous, as he puts it “distinctly dangerous.”

In this emergency he asked the Mayor for a few minutes’ private conversation, and it was accorded him. They went inside the ticket office and Le Caron told him the exact situation. It was true, he admitted, that he had been working with the Fenians, but he was also a Government agent. In fact he was a British spy who had been keeping the Canadian officials informed of the details of the proposed invasion. He said that he was then on his way to Ottawa to see Judge McMicken. He said that to delay or expose him would mean serious difficulty to the Government.

His manner must have impressed the Mayor, for he decided to send him on to Ottawa in charge of an escort with instructions to find out from Judge McMicken whether his story was to be believed. The details of Le Caron’s arrest as a Fenian quickly spread amongst his fellow passengers and the reception he received along the journey was not very agreeable, so for safety’s sake the lieutenant transferred him to the care of a sergeant and two other soldiers. The carriage in which they traveled was the sole point of attraction in the train, and the Canadians, crowding around this carriage, hissed and hooted him, while their cries of “Hang him! Lynch him!” gave him a very uncomfortable idea of what would happen if he were left alone amongst them.

On reaching Prescott junction Le Caron found the news of his capture had preceded him and created such a sensation that a special correspondent of the _Toronto Globe_ had traveled to meet him in order to find out who and what he was and everything about him. The spy of course refused to have anything to say. When the party arrived at Ottawa a representative of Judge McMicken was waiting for him at the station. He was conveyed to the police station without delay, and there the judge heard the details of his capture and received possession of his person and gave a formal receipt for his custody. After the guard left the judge listened to the recital of the spy and arranged that his identity should not become public. He also supplied him with needful funds to leave Canada. This came in the form of a check and it was necessary to have some one cash it. This was done at one of the clubs in Ottawa and the amount of the check—$350.00—caused the club porter to speak of it to some of his friends. This porter knew that Le Caron was the Fenian prisoner and he let out the secret a little later. It became public property and the Canadian press published the fact that an important Fenian had been in Ottawa immediately after the raid and received a large sum of money from a Government official with whom he was in communication, adding that the Fenians must have been nicely duped all through.

Le Caron was very much disturbed by this publication. It was bringing danger very close to him, and yet strange as it may appear, suspicion did not rest upon him in connection with the newspaper story. He drove from Ottawa in the night and got safely home, not being troubled afterwards by any of the events of that fateful invasion into Canada.

Le Caron studied medicine after that and subsequently became connected with the Clan-na-Gael. He became one of the members of the military board of organization and in that capacity continued to send information to his friends at Scotland Yard. While he was in this organization he became acquainted with many of its leading members who believed that he was really a friend of Ireland and who never suspected that he was connected with the British Government and was regularly receiving compensation for the information which he sent from time to time to the home office in London.

Le Caron continued to serve as an English spy for nearly twenty years after the Fenian invasion of Canada. His part in that affair—or at least the part he played in keeping the Canadian and English governments informed of the movements of the Irish patriots—was never suspected by the men with whom he was associated and with whom he lived on such intimate terms. He was in constant communication with Mr. Anderson, the head of Scotland Yard, and his letters to that official, if gathered together, would make a volume in themselves. On one occasion when he was leaving America for a trip abroad he was entrusted with letters to Patrick Egan and other Irish leaders. He met Egan in Paris, and spent weeks with him in visiting places of interest in the French capital. They attended the theater together and dined at various restaurants in company, and Le Caron proudly boasts that he never had to spend a penny, because Egan insisted upon being the host at their various entertainments.

But it was when the famous suit of Parnell against the _London Times_ was tried that the spy was at last revealed in his true light. He says of that event:

“On Tuesday morning, the 5th of February, 1889, the curtain was rung up, and throwing aside the mask forever, I stepped into the witness box and came out in my true colors, as an Englishman, proud of his country, and in no sense ashamed of his record in her services.”

His one complaint was that he had been treated badly in the matter of his pay by the British Government. He said that “the miserable pittance doled out for the purpose of fighting the Clan-na-Gael becomes perfectly ludicrous” in the light of the service he was called on to perform.

It all depends upon the way in which the business is regarded, and there are still a great many persons that will resent the effort of Thomas Beach, or Major Henri Le Caron, to place a halo about his head.

XV

HOW EMMA EDMONDS PENETRATED THE CONFEDERATE LINES

This is a leaf from the life of an extraordinary woman who served as a nurse and a spy in the Union army during the Civil War in the United States, and who was a pronounced success in both capacities. Few women that have passed through such thrilling adventures are so little known to fame, yet if the patient seeker be willing to spare the time and the labor he may find in the files of the War Department at Washington reports in her handwriting which had a material influence upon more than one battle during the four years of the war.

Emma Edmonds was an adopted American. She was born and educated in the province of New Brunswick, but came to the United States at an early age. She was passing through New York on her way to her future home in New England when the newspapers appeared on the street with the announcement of the fall of Fort Sumter, and President Lincoln’s call for seventy-five thousand men. That happening changed the entire course of her life. Ten days later she had been enrolled as a field nurse in the Union army, and was in Washington waiting to be detailed for duty.

The first assignment came sooner than was expected. Almost before she knew it she was in the thick of the work that followed the battle of Manassas. She spent three hours with other nurses in caring for the needs of the men—even while the battle was in progress. Presently the enemy made a desperate charge on the Union troops, driving them back and taking possession of the spring from which they obtained their water. The chaplain’s horse was shot from under him and bled to death in a little while. Not long afterwards Colonel Cameron, brother of the Secretary of War, came dashing along the line shouting:

“Come on, boys, they’re in full retreat!”

The words had scarcely been uttered when he fell, pierced to the heart by a bullet. It was mortal and all that the nurse could do was to fold his arms, close his eyes and leave him in the cold embrace of death. And all the while the battle raged about them. This was but one of a score of incidents that prepared a frail woman for the breath-taking career which she was to follow during the four years of the Civil War—incidents which are more thrilling than those to be found in the pages of the most exciting fiction.

All of this was preliminary to Emma Edmonds’ work as a spy. One morning a detachment of the Thirty-seventh New York Regiment that had been sent out on scouting duty returned with several prisoners and the statement that one of the Federal spies had been captured and executed. There was regret, not alone over the death of the man, but also because a valuable soldier had been lost to the United States Secret Service. Incidentally it brought the opportunity for which the fearless woman had been waiting. She was told that she might have the opportunity of becoming a spy if she fully realized the danger and the responsibility that was attached to the post. She considered it carefully and said that if appointed she would accept and do the best she knew how for the Government.

Her name was sent to headquarters, and she was soon summoned to appear there herself. She was questioned and cross-questioned at some length; she was examined at length as to her knowledge of firearms, and finally the oath of allegiance was administered and she became a regular commissioned spy for the Federal army. It was at once decided that she should adopt a disguise and attempt to penetrate the Confederate lines.

In the first place she purchased a suit of contraband clothing, real plantation style such as the male negroes wore, and then went to a barber and had her hair sheared close to her head. After that, by the use of stains and dyes she colored her face, and then she was ready for business. It might be well to state, at this stage of the narrative, that Emma Edmonds while in the secret service penetrated the enemy’s lines, in various disguises, no less than eleven times; always with complete success and without detection.

She started on her first expedition toward the Confederate capitol with the greatest confidence imaginable. With a few hard crackers in her pocket and her revolver loaded and capped she began the journey on foot, and without a blanket or any other kind of baggage that might excite suspicion. At half-past nine o’clock at night she passed the outer picket line of the Union army and at twelve o’clock was within the Confederate lines without once being halted by a sentinel. Once she passed within ten rods of a Confederate picket without being detected.

As soon as she had gone a safe distance from the picket lines she lay down and rested until morning. The night was chilly and the ground damp and she passed the weary hours in fear and trembling. The first thing in the morning she met a party of negroes carrying hot coffee and provisions to the Confederate pickets. This was most fortunate for she made their acquaintance, and after securing a hot breakfast she marched into Yorktown with them without eliciting the slightest suspicion. The negroes went to work at once on fortifications that were being erected, and the spy was left by herself. But an officer seeing her a few minutes later turned to an overseer and said:

“Take that black rascal and set him to work, and if he don’t work well tie him up and give him twenty lashes.”

So saying he rode away, and the disguised one was conducted to a breastwork which was in course of erection and where there were about a hundred negroes at work. She was soon furnished with a pick and shovel and a wheelbarrow and put to work. It was hard—hard enough for the strongest man, but with occasional assistance from some kind-hearted darky she managed to do her part. All day long she worked in this manner until her hands were blistered and her back nearly broken. When night came she was released from her toil and was free to go where she pleased. She made good use of her liberty. She wandered about the place and made out a brief report of the mounted guns she found in her ramble around the fort. There were fifteen three-inch rifle cannon, eighteen four and a half inch rifle cannon, twenty-nine thirty-two pounders, twenty-three eight-inch Columbiads, eleven nine-inch Dalgrens, thirteen ten-inch Columbiads, fourteen ten-inch mortars and seven eight-inch siege howitzers.

This capitulation must sound strange to those acquainted with present-day methods of warfare, but it was all very important to the spy, who made out her list with the greatest care. After that she made a rough sketch of the outer works, and placing the precious papers under the inner sole of her contraband shoe she returned to the negro quarters. She did not want to stay with them, but she did wish to find some one among them who would change places with her on the following day. She was fortunate in discovering a lad of about her own size who was engaged in carrying water to the troops. He said he would take her place next day and he thought he could find a friend to do the same thing the following day, for which evidence of brotherly kindness the female spy offered him $5.00 in greenbacks, which, he said, was more money than he had ever seen in all of his life before. By this arrangement Miss Edmonds escaped the scrutiny of the overseer, who might have detected her disguise.

The second day in the Confederate service was pleasanter than the first. She had only to supply one brigade with water, which did not require much energy, for the day was cool and the well not far distant. As a result of this she had an opportunity of lounging among the soldiers and of hearing important steps discussed. In this way she learned the number of reënforcements which had arrived from different places and also had the pleasure of seeing General Lee, who came there to consult with other Confederates. It was whispered among the men that he had been telegraphed to for the purpose of inspecting the fortifications, as he was the best engineer in the Confederacy and that he had pronounced it impossible to hold Yorktown after McClellan opened his siege guns upon it. General Johnson was hourly expected with a force at his command, and including all, the Confederates estimated their force in and around Yorktown at 150,000 men.

When General Johnson arrived a council of war was held. Soon after that the report began to circulate that the town was to be evacuated. It was at this stage of the game that Miss Edmonds saw a man who had been coming into the Federal camp as a peddler of newspapers and stationery, and now here he was giving the Confederates a full description of the Union camp and the Union forces. She watched him closely and discovered him displaying a map of the entire works of McClellan’s position.

Miss Edmonds decided that it was of the utmost importance for her to leave the camp of the enemy and carry the information she possessed to the Union headquarters. The important thing now was to leave without being detected. On the evening of the third day from the time she entered the camp of the enemy she was sent in company with colored men to carry supper to the outer picket posts. This was just what she hoped and wished for. During the day she had provided herself with a canteen of whisky. Some of the men on picket duty were colored and others were white, but calling them to her side she spread before them corn cake and added to that a moderate amount of whisky for dessert. While they were thus engaged minnie balls were whistling around their heads, for the picket lines of the two armies were not more than half a mile distant from each other.

Not long after nightfall an officer came riding along the lines, and seeing the spy there, wanted to know his business. One of the darkies replied that she had helped to carry out their supper and was waiting until the Yankees stopped firing before she started back. Turning to the disguised one, he said:

“You come along with me. I’ll see that you have something to occupy your mind.”

Miss Edmonds did as she was ordered and they went back the way he had come until they had gone about fifty rods, then halting in front of a petty officer he said:

“Put this fellow on the post where that man was shot—and see that he stays there until I return.”

So the spy was conducted a few rods farther and then a rifle put in her hands, which she was told to use freely in case she should see anybody or anything approaching from the enemy. The officer, of course, regarded her as an irresponsible negro, and after giving her the assignment took her by the coat collar and gave her a vigorous shake.

“Now, you black rascal,” he cried, “if I catch you sleeping at your post I’ll shoot you like a dog.”

It was a startling position for a stranger in a strange land, especially when that one happened to be a female spy in disguise. The night was very dark and it was beginning to rain. She was all alone now and she could not guess when she would be relieved or just what the next hour might bring forth. Her one thought was to escape. After ascertaining as well as possible the position of the picket on each side of her—each of whom was enjoying the shelter of the nearest tree—she deliberately and noiselessly stepped into the darkness and was soon gliding swiftly through the forest toward the Union lines. She had to make her approach very carefully for she was in as much danger of being shot by her friends as by the enemy, so she spent the remainder of the night within hailing distance of the Union lines, and with the first dawn of morning hoisted the well known signal and was heartily welcomed back to her own camp.

She made her way to the tent containing the hospital nurses and removed as much of the color from her face as was possible with the aid of soap and water. She then made out a report and carried it to the headquarters of General McClellan. He was intensely interested in the news that had been brought him and heartily congratulated the spy on her work. The rifle which she had carried from the Confederate lines was an object of much curiosity, and it is now said to be in one of the museums in the national capitol as a memento of the war.

It was several weeks before the female spy received her second assignment, and then when it came a new disguise was necessary. The African costume was abandoned and she decided to go into the Confederate lines this time in the capacity of an Irish apple woman, so she procured the dress and outfit that was necessary for this impersonation and also practiced the brogue that might be needed to carry her through the emergency. The bridges were not finished across the Chickahominy when she was ready to cross the river, so she packed up her new disguise in the cake and pie basket and swam across the river mounted on her horse, which was known as Frank. Reaching the other side she dismounted and led him to the edge of the water. Giving him a farewell pat she permitted him to swim back to the other side, where a soldier awaited his return.

It was night, and as she did not know the precise distance to the enemy’s picket lines she thought it best to avoid the road and consequently determined to spend the night in the swamp. It required some time to put on her new disguise and to feel at home in the clothes. She whimsically said at the time that she thought the best place for her début as an apple woman was the Chickahominy swamp. She did not propose this time to pass the enemy’s lines in the night, but to present herself at the picket line at a seasonable hour and to ask admission as one of the fugitives of that section who was flying at the approach of the Yankees.

In crossing the river she had her basket strapped on her back and did not know that its contents were completely drenched until she was required to use them. Later she discovered with much terror that she was suffering from fever and ague as a result of spending the night in the wet clothing in that malaria infested region. Her mind began to wander and she became delirious. There seemed to be the horrors of a thousand deaths centered around her. She was tortured by fiends of every shape and magnitude, but morning came at last and she was aroused from the nightmare which had paralyzed her senses by the roar of the cannon and the screaming of the shells.

The cannonading ceased in a few hours, but the chills and fever clung to the spy and were her constant companion for two days and two nights. At the end of that time she was certainly an object of pity; with no medicine or food and little strength, she was almost in a state of starvation. Her pies and cakes were spoiled and she had no means of procuring more. It was nine o’clock in the morning of the third day after crossing the river when she started to what she thought was the enemy’s lines. She traveled from that time until four o’clock in the afternoon and was then deeper in the swamp than when she started. As it was a dark day in every sense of the word, she had neither sun nor compass to guide her, but at five o’clock the booming of cannon came to her like music, because it was the signal that would guide her out of the wilderness. She turned her face in the direction of the scene of action and soon after emerging from the swamp she saw a small white house in the distance.

The house was deserted with the exception of a sick Confederate soldier who lay on a straw tick on the floor in a helpless condition. He had been ill with typhoid fever and was very weak.

He told her, however, that the family who had occupied the house had left some flour and corn meal but did not have time to cook anything for him. This was good news to the exhausted spy, and she soon kindled a fire and in less than fifteen minutes a large hoe cake was in the process of baking. She found some tea packed away in a small basket and the cake being cooked and the tea made she fed the poor famished man as tenderly as if he had been her brother, and after that she tended to the cravings of her own appetite. But it was quite evident that the man could not recover. He was dying. She did everything in her power to make him comfortable, but it was quite plain that he only had a few hours to live. While she stood by his side he said:

“I have a last request to make. If you ever pass through the Confederate camp between this and Richmond inquire for Major McKee of General Ewell’s staff and give him a gold watch which you will find in my pocket. He will know what to do with it, and tell him I died happy and peaceful.”

His name was Allen Hall. Taking a ring from his finger he tried to put it on hers, but his strength failed and after a pause he said:

“Keep that ring in memory of one whose sufferings you have alleviated and whose soul has been refreshed by your presence in the hour of dissolution.”

He folded his hands together as a little child would do at its mother’s knee. She gave him some water, raised the window and used her hat for a fan and then sat down, as she put it, “And watched the last glimmering spark of life go out from those beautiful windows of the soul.”

He died at twelve o’clock that night and after the involuntary nurse had wrapped the form of her late patient in his winding sheet she laid down in a corner of the room and slept soundly until six o’clock in the morning. It was a curious situation, but it did not seem to affect the nerve of this remarkable woman. She cut a lock of hair from the head of the dead man, took the watch and a small package of letters from his pocket and left the house.

On examining the basket in which she had found the tea she discovered a number of articles which assisted her in assuming a more perfect disguise. There was mustard, pepper, an old pair of green spectacles and a bottle of red ink. Of the mustard she made a strong plaster about the size of a silver dollar and tied it on one side of her face until it blistered thoroughly.

She then removed the blister and put on a large patch of black court plaster. After giving her pale complexion a deep tinge with some ochre which she found in a closet, she put on her green glasses and Irish hat. She had previously made a tour of the house to find the fixings which an Irish woman would be supposed to carry with her in such an emergency, for she fully expected to be searched before she was admitted through the lines.

She followed the Richmond road about five miles before meeting any one. At length she saw a sentinel in the distance, but before he observed her she sat down to rest and prepare her mind for the coming interview. While thus waiting to have her courage reënforced, she took from her basket the black pepper and sprinkled a little of it on her pocket handkerchief, and then applied the moisture to her eyes. The effect of it was all that could be desired, for taking a view of her face in a small mirror which she always carried, she perceived that her eyes had a fine tender expression which added very much to their beauty. She now resumed her journey and displayed a flag of truce, a window curtain which she had brought from the house where she had stopped over night. As she came nearer, the sentinel signaled for her to advance, which she did as fast as she could under the circumstances. He cross questioned her at some length and then permitted her to pass along the road, saying that she might go wherever she pleased.

After thanking the man for his kindness, she went her way toward the Confederate camp. She had not gone far when he called her back and advised her not to stay in the camp over night, adding:

“One of our spies has just come in and reported that the Yankees have finished the bridges across the Chickahominy and intend to attack us either to-day or to-night, but Jackson and Lee are ready for them. We have masked batteries in all parts of the road. There is one over there that’ll give them fits, if they come this way.”

This was important information, and Miss Edmonds made up her mind at once that she must get all the news that was possible before night and then make her way back to the Union camp before the battle began. At five o’clock that afternoon she met Major McKee, and, carrying out the promise she made to the dying Confederate, she delivered to him the watch and package. She did not require any black pepper to assist the tears in performing their duty, for the sad mementoes which she had just delivered were a forcible reminder of the scenes of the past night, and she could not refrain from weeping. The major, grave and stem as he was, sat there with his face between his hands and sobbed like a child. Soon he rose to his feet, surveyed her from head to foot and said:

“You are a faithful woman and you shall be rewarded.”

At his request she consented to show a detachment of the guards the house where Allen’s body lay. They made their way there cautiously, lest they should be surprised by the Federals. Miss Edmonds rode at the head of the little band of Confederates as a guide, not knowing but that she was leading them into the jaws of death. They traveled thus for five miles, silently, thoughtfully and stealthily. The sun had gone down when they came in sight of the little white cottage in the forest where she had so recently spent such a strange night. As they drew near and saw no sign of approaching Federals, they regretted that they had not brought an ambulance, but Miss Edmonds did not regret it for the arrangement suited her admirably. They were soon at the gate of the house. The sergeant ordered the corporal to proceed inside with a squad of men and bring out the corpse while he stationed the remaining men to guard all the approaches to the house. He then asked Miss Edmonds to ride down the road a little way to watch out for the Yankees with instructions to ride back as fast as possible if she detected any of the hated tribe.

She assented joyfully. It was the very thing for which she had been watching and waiting. She turned and rode slowly down the road, but not seeing or hearing anything of the Yankees whimsically thought it best to keep on in that direction until she did. She says that she was like the Zouave after the battle of Bull Run who said he was ordered to retreat but not being ordered to halt in any particular place preferred to keep on until he reached New York. So Miss Edmonds preferred to keep on until she reached the Chickahominy where she reported all the information she had gathered to the Federal general who was in charge.

The news that she brought was of the highest importance and proved to be of great assistance to the officers in arranging their final plans for the forth-coming battle. This was the last feat undertaken by Miss Edmonds, and by a curious chain of circumstances it enabled her to take part in one of the most thrilling battles of the war.

The battle of Hanover Court House is counted among the heroic engagements of that year, and was a very important victory for the army of the Potomac.

Three days after this battle while the army was divided by the Chickahominy River, a portion of the troops having crossed over the day before, a most fearful storm swept over the peninsula accompanied by terrible exhibitions of lightning and explosions of thunder. The water came down in torrents and there were great floods, completely engulfing the valley through which the Chickahominy flows and turning the narrow stream into a broad river as well as converting the swamps into lakes.

On the 30th of May, the enemy, taking advantage of this terrible state of affairs, came rushing down upon the Union troops in immense force. A battle opened at about one o’clock in the afternoon and after three hours of desperate fighting General Casey’s division, occupying the first line, was compelled to fall back in considerable disorder upon the second line, causing temporary confusion; but the rapid advance of General Heinselman and General Kearney with their divisions soon checked the Confederates.

The enemy, led by Hill and Longstreet, advanced in great columns with three full lines, and came boldly on like an overwhelming wave, as if determined to crush all opposition by the suddenness and fierceness of the attack. It looked as if the Union troops would be annihilated; indeed, it seemed as if the fragments of the army would be driven into the Chickahominy before it would be possible for reënforcements to arrive. It was at this most dramatic stage of the battle that Miss Edmonds became a voluntary orderly to one of the generals. She has told the story in her own words, which cannot be improved upon. It furnishes a fine climax to her sensational career in the army.

“At this time,” she says, “I was in military uniform mounted on my horse and acting as orderly for General Kearney. Several times orderlies had been sent with messages and dispatches but no reënforcements had yet arrived, and taking a Federal view of the picture it presented a gloomy appearance. The General reined in his horse abruptly and taking from his pocket an envelope he hastily wrote on the back of it with pencil, ‘In the name of God, bring your command to our relief if you have to swim in order to get here—or we are lost.’ Handing it to me he said:

“‘Go just as fast as that horse can carry you to General G, present this with my compliments and return and report to me.’

“I put poor little ‘Reb’ over the road at the very top of his speed until he was nearly white with foam, then plunged him into the Chickahominy and swam across the river. I met one general about one hundred rods from the river, making the best of his way towards the bridge. Engineers were at once set to work strengthening the crazy structure, which was swaying to and fro with the rush of the tide. The eager, excited troops dashed into the water waist deep, and getting upon the floating planks went pouring over in massive columns. I preferred to swim my horse back again rather than risk myself upon such a bridge, for I looked every moment to see it give way and engulf the whole division in the turbid waters of the swollen creek. However, all reached the other side in safety and started along the flooded road on the double quick. This was cheering news to carry back to the General, so I started again through the field in order to claim the reward of ‘Him who bringeth good tidings.’

“I found the General in the thickest of the fight, encouraging his men and shouting his orders distinctly above the roar and din of battle. Riding up to him and touching my hat I reported:

“‘Just returned, sir. General G with his command will be here immediately.’

“It was too good to keep to himself, so he turned to his men and shouted at the top of his voice:

“‘Reënforcements! Reënforcements!’

“Then, swinging his hat in the air, he perfectly electrified the whole line as far as his voice could reach and the glorious word ‘Reënforcements,’ was passed along until that almost exhausted line was re-animated and inspired with new hopes, which led it to ultimate victory.”

XVI

THE AMAZING ADVENTURE OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL LAFAYETTE C. BAKER

In the early part of April, 1861, a tall, well-built man, with the love of adventure in his heart, called upon the General commanding the Union forces and offered to penetrate the Confederate lines for the purpose of discovering the military secrets of the Southern army.

The volunteer was Lafayette C. Baker, who was to play a most conspicuous part in the Civil War, and the soldier to whom he made his proposal was General Winfield Scott, one of the most distinguished military men in the United States. The interview was epoch-making in its character, and out of it came one of the most amazing adventures in the history of the war.

Washington was filled with all sorts of men on all sorts of missions at that time, and Scott was not disposed to see the young man from the West. The General, with others in power, had his fill of theorists who offered endless suggestions for the conduct of the war, most of which, when tried, proved to be impracticable. But Baker was the sort of an enthusiast who was not to be daunted. He had journeyed to the National Capital for the purpose of seeing the General and he did not propose to quit until he had accomplished his object. It happened that he was acquainted with Congressman William D. Kelley, a notable member of the House from Philadelphia, and Mr. Kelley, in the kindness of his heart, managed to arrange an interview with General Scott.

The enthusiasm of the man who was willing to risk his life in the cause attracted the attention of the veteran of the Army. Scott had the enviable distinction of having participated in three wars. He rendered distinguished service in the war of 1812, and he was one of the heroes of the Mexican War. Now, as the ranking head of the Army, he was charged with the direction of the Federal forces in the Civil War, although age and increasing infirmities eventually caused him to be shelved in favor of younger men. But in the meantime he was deeply interested in knowing the plans of the Confederates, and he was impressed with the earnestness of Baker.

“You look as if you had the grit and the intelligence for the job,” he said, “and I’m going to give you a chance to see what you can do. If you succeed you will be recognized by the Government in a suitable manner.”

Baker drew himself up to his full height and there was a flash of fire in his gray eyes as he exclaimed:

“All I ask is this chance—I’ll guarantee to make good!”

The General smiled and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the volunteer.

“That’s the sort of spirit that wins. Good-by and good luck to you!”

But before Baker left, Scott had pressed ten twenty-dollar gold pieces into his hands.

“You may need it for expenses,” he said with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

Lafayette Baker now possessed the status of an “unofficial spy.” He was not commissioned and he was unarmed, but he was satisfied that if he were able to carry out his promise he would not fail to receive governmental recognition. His first move was to contrive some plan that would make his appearance in the camp seem reasonable. He discarded the notion of a disguise as unnecessary and dangerous. He finally hit upon the expedient of pretending to be an itinerant photographer. At that stage of the Civil War picture taking was all the rage and the officers delighted in having themselves photographed in front of their tents, surrounded by their aides.

Baker went to one of the second hand shops in Washington and succeeded in purchasing a camera and a tripod. The fact that the camera was worn out and unworkable did not disturb him in the least. The dealer chuckled at the thought of finding a customer who was willing to pay real money for such junk, little thinking that the paraphernalia was precisely suited to the needs of the purchaser.

All of his preparations were completed on the 11th of July, 1861, and on the morning of that day he began his journey, exclaiming as he did so,

“On to Richmond!”

Baker had been given detailed instructions by General Scott and was told to keep his eyes and ears open during the progress of his trip to the Confederate capital. He had been told to learn the locality, strength and character of the Southern troops and to let no opportunity pass for gaining information of the enemy’s fortifications. General Scott was especially anxious to get some definite news concerning the famous Black Horse Cavalry, which had become the bane of the Union Commanders.

Baker began his journey in high spirits. The nature of his services, of course, was not known to the Federal troops and as a consequence he was regarded by them with quite as much interest and curiosity as if he had been within the lines of the enemy.

The Federal Army lay before Washington, guarding the frontier, which stretched from a point three miles below Alexandria toward the Potomac. General Heintzelman was the Provost Marshal and was stationed at this point. Passes were not recognized either by the Union or Confederate armies, and Baker knew that he ran the risk of being arrested as a spy either by the Federal or the Confederate sentinels. However, he knew the attempt to get through both these lines was a part of his self-imposed task. When he was four miles out of the city he reached the headquarters of the Second Maine Regiment. His photographic outfit was slung across his back and the Colonel of the regiment invited him to take a view of the camp, including his own tent with the principal officers standing in the foreground. As Baker’s apparatus was next to worthless, he knew that it would be folly for him to pretend to take the picture, but he was equal to the occasion. After dining with the Colonel, he suggested that he would like to go to a neighboring hill and take views of the encampment and then return to photograph the headquarters. He was soon in the woods, and eluding the guards pushed forward through the tangled undergrowth in the direction of Richmond. After a while he felt that he had crossed the Federal lines, but at that critical moment he was startled by a loud command:

“Who goes there!”

Baker looked up and saw a sentinel standing with lifted gun upon a knoll just beyond the roadside. There was no opportunity for explanation. The guard marched the volunteer in the direction of the Colonel’s headquarters. That officer was sure he had caught a spy and escorted by ten men, Baker was sent back along the railroad, the very way he had started, to General Heintzelman’s headquarters. He was presented to the General in language that was more expressive than flattering:

“Here’s a dirty spy, General—we found him lurking about our camp and trying to get through the lines.”

“You contemptible villain!” exclaimed Heintzelman with an oath, “I’ve got a notion to stand you against the wall and shoot you through the heart.”

Baker, with all his courage, quailed before this fiery denunciation. He was in a predicament. His employment by General Scott was confidential and it might spoil his plan of campaign if he should disclose his identity, but while he was wondering what he should do under the circumstances, General Heintzelman burst forth with another tirade:

“I’ll fix you, you rascal!” he exclaimed. “I’ll send you to General Scott and I’ll wager that he’ll teach you a lesson that will last you for the balance of your life.”

The captive smiled at this announcement. It fitted in with his own desires so well that he could scarcely conceal his own satisfaction. A guard was placed around him and he was hurried to Washington and into the presence of General Scott. The veteran lifted his eyebrows with surprise and amusement and dismissed the escort.

“Leave this man with me,” he said, trying to conceal his smile; “I’ll know how to deal with him.”

When they were alone the General patted his messenger on the shoulder and said cheerfully:

“This is a complication that I had not anticipated. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to try again,” was the prompt reply of Baker, and ten minutes later he was started on his mission for the second time.

Soldiers were arriving in Washington at all hours of the day and night and in an almost unbroken line were marching over a long bridge into Virginia. That night Baker took his position at the end of the bridge and when a regiment came down in considerable disorder he quietly slipped into the ranks, hoping to be borne along with the troops. Unfortunately a lieutenant saw the movement and taking the interloper by the collar put him under guard and sent him back to the rear. He was released with a warning not to repeat the trick.

Another night was spent in Washington, but it was not wholly devoted to sleep. The active mind of the volunteer was busy with new plans and when daylight came he said to himself with the air of a child who is reciting a lesson:

“On to Richmond!”