Part 14

“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!”

Before breakfast that morning he had renewed his journey on foot, going through the lower counties of Maryland, toward Fort Tobacco. He traveled thirty-five miles that day and when night came he was so exhausted that he slept like a log. In the morning he gave a negro one of his precious twenty-dollar gold pieces to row him across the river and before noon that day he found himself well within the Confederate lines. The country was wooded and an unfrequented road, whose general direction was toward Richmond, suggested his line of advance into the old dominion. It was a hot day and he was forced to pause frequently to slake his thirst at brooks by the roadside. He had no settled plan of future movements, but trusted to circumstances to steer his course. He was about four miles from the banks of the Potomac when two Confederate soldiers made their appearance and demanded him to give an account of himself. He did so, but his story was evidently discounted, for the soldiers promptly placed him under arrest as a spy. They were friendly guards, however, and accepted an invitation from their prisoner to indulge in a glass of ale at a beer shop in one of the townships through which they passed. One glass, as frequently happens, led to another, until finally the two soldiers fell asleep on the step of the beer house and their prisoner went on his way unmolested.

He proceeded along the road toward Manassas Junction, congratulating himself on his easy escape when four cavalrymen suddenly came out of the brush and ordered him to halt. They drew their sabers and commanded him to surrender. He pretended surprise.

“I’m a law abiding citizen,” he exclaimed, “unarmed and on my way to Richmond, where I have business.”

One of the men dismounted and proceeded to search him and succeeded in finding a number of letters. It was just the thing that Baker wanted, for two of these missives were notes of introduction to prominent men in Richmond. In spite of this, the four soldiers directed Baker to proceed to Brentsville, about ten miles distant. They rode all the way and kept him on foot between them. Brentsville was reached about ten o’clock that night and the prisoner was immediately taken to the headquarters of General Bonham of South Carolina, who was in command at that vicinity. The General, who was in full dress uniform, took a seat opposite Baker and began to question him.

“Where do you come from and where are you going?” he asked.

“I come from Washington and I am on my way to Richmond.”

“What do you mean by coming inside of my lines!” he exclaimed.

Baker’s face in the language of the movies “registered” intense surprise.

“I’m a loyal and peaceful citizen of the United States, engaged in an honorable and legitimate pursuit. I have business in Richmond and desire to get there at the earliest possible moment.”

The Confederate General laughed mirthlessly.

“Well, I’ll see that you get there and in quick order. I believe you’re a Union spy and I’m going to send you to General Beauregard.”

General Bonham handed a sealed letter to a lieutenant who was standing near by and said:

“Put this man in irons and take him to General Beauregard’s headquarters.”

So at midnight, expostulating all the way, he was compelled to go on foot in the direction of Manassas Junction. When he protested against being compelled to walk such a distance he was told that he had chosen that mode of conveyance and ought not to find fault with it. The party arrived at Manassas Junction at daylight and went at once to General Beauregard’s headquarters, which were located at the Wiere House. The prisoner was completely exhausted from his walk and he lay down in front of the house and went to sleep. He awoke at nine o’clock and found himself in charge of a guard, who told him that General Beauregard had expressed a desire to see him.

General Beauregard sat in front of a desk, surrounded by members of his staff. An open letter lay before him. He pointed to it, frowningly, and said:

“I see that you have been taken inside of our lines. What explanation have you to make?”

Lafayette Baker had been cross-examined so often during his brief career as a military spy that he was becoming used to the ordeal. He had his story by heart and he proceeded to tell it glibly.

“I am from Washington and I am on my way to Richmond where I have private business requiring my attention. I have not intended to violate any law, regulation or military rule of the Confederate Army.”

The General turned to a member of his staff and began whispering. The prisoner watched him anxiously. The letters that had been taken from him named him as Samuel Munson and he realized that it would not do to forget the appellation. He had assumed that name because he had learned that several families by the name of Munson belonged in Knoxville, Tennessee, and he had known a son of Judge Munson during the time he lived in California. While this thought was running through his mind the General finished his conversation with his staff officer and once more turned to the spy.

“So you are going to Richmond, are you?”

The prisoner smiled.

“That was my intention,” he replied, “but of course you are to be the judge in that matter. If it is your desire, I am willing to return to Washington.”

General Beauregard shook his head.

“No,” he said, with a slight trace of sarcasm in his voice. “I prefer that you should go to Richmond. Where do you reside?”

“I have lived in California for the last ten years, but formerly lived in the South in Knoxville, Tennessee.”

“How long has it been since you were in Knoxville?”

“Ten or twelve years.”

“What is your name?”

“Samuel Munson,” replied Baker with cheerful mendacity.

General Beauregard looked at the prisoner intently and then suddenly exclaimed:

“Yes, yes, I know that is the name on the letters that were found in your possession, but I’d like to know what your name was before you became a spy.”

If he expected to catch his man unaware, he was disappointed for Baker, looking at him with assumed dignity, said:

“I am no spy.”

The General arose from his chair and paced up and down the room several times. Presently he halted and pointing out of the window said:

“Do you see that tree?”

“I do.”

“Well, I half believe that you are a spy and if I was sure of it I would hang you on that tree as a warning to all other spies.”

Baker looked at him reproachfully and not without a secret feeling of fear. The General called to one of his attendants.

“Orderly,” he commanded, “take this man out and put him in the guard house.”

Five minutes later the adventurer found himself inside of a log house within a stockade. The discreet use of one of his gold pieces secured him a warm breakfast and later in the day he was permitted to go outside in the care of a guard. The two men were soon on good terms and the guard did not disdain the offer of a drink with his prisoner. Before they returned, Baker had the satisfaction of seeing all the troops in the vicinity of Manassas Junction—including the famous Black Horse Cavalry concerning which General Scott was anxious to obtain information.

The volunteer spy now had important information which would be of great value to General Scott, but he had no means of conveying it to the Union Commander. Indeed, he was kept under lock and key with no means to communicate with the outside world. Perhaps his guards repented having given him so much liberty. If so they did not propose to repeat the mistake. During the long watches of the night he had time to think over his position, and to consider his plans for the future. As a result of this he abandoned all thought of trying to escape—at least at that stage of the adventure. His one desire was to reach Richmond, and thus carry out his original design. But if he were kept confined there would not be much prospect of reaching the Confederate capital. Curiously enough, the thought of being shot as a spy did not enter his thoughts at that time. He was so much engrossed in his mission that he did not think of the risk he was running. All during that night his one thought was:

How shall I get to Richmond?

Just before daylight the answer came in the most abrupt and unexpected manner. One of his guards aroused him, shouting:

“Hey there, wake up and get ready for a journey! You’ve got to go to Richmond and give an account of yourself to Jeff Davis!”

Baker could have cried with joy. The one thing he most desired had come about without any effort on his part. He cheerfully arose and won the good will of the guard by his seeming docility. He was taken to the station and placed on a freight car, along with some others who were also going to Richmond. Evidently he was regarded as an important prisoner, for he was carefully guarded during every stage of the journey. That trip during the night, over a badly constructed road was a nightmare, long to live in the memory of Lafayette Baker. But the prospect of actually setting foot in the Confederate capital kept him in the best of spirits and enabled him to exchange jests with his captors.

On the arrival in Richmond he expected to be taken to Libby Prison, concerning the horrors of which he had heard a great deal from Union soldiers who had been captured in some of the early skirmishes of the war. But instead of that he was conveyed to a room on the third story of an engine house in the city. His apartment was large and airy, and was all that could be desired. He was treated with great consideration, but was guarded with scrupulous care. Evidently the officers felt that they had no ordinary prisoner in their charge. The cause of this extreme courtesy became evident on the morning of the second day after Baker’s arrival in Richmond when he was informed that President Davis desired to interview him. The head of the Confederacy had his headquarters in the Spottswood House whence the Northern spy was escorted. Baker expected to find much formality there, but to his surprise found Mr. Davis in his shirt sleeves and without collar and tie. He was evidently very busy because his desk was filled with papers and there were a number of persons waiting to have a talk with him. He motioned Baker to a seat without looking at him, and continued with some writing with which he was engaged when the prisoner was brought into his room. Presently he turned to the suspect and said abruptly:

“They say your name is Samuel Munson?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the cheerful fabricator, “that is my name.”

“I understand,” said the civil chief of the seceding States, toying with his pen, “that you have been in Washington recently. What can you tell me about conditions there?”

“Not much,” was the answer, “except that there is a great deal of excitement and confusion there.”

“How many troops do you think there are in Washington and vicinity at the present time?”

“That is a pretty difficult question to answer, but there are probably from 75,000 to 100,000, with more arriving all the while.”

Mr. Davis seemed to ponder over this for some time, and then looking his caller in the eye, he said,

“I presume that you know you are suspected of being a spy?”

The look of injured innocence which appeared upon the face of Lafayette Baker would have done credit to a professional actor. Nevertheless he evaded a direct answer by saying:

“No man is safe from accusation in times like the present.”

“But what have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing except that I defy my accusers to prove their charges.”

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Davis, “that some one said you were a Southern man.”

“Yes, sir, I came originally from Knoxville. The members of my family lived there for years, but in recent times I have lived in California.”

“Have you any way of proving that?”

The alleged Mr. Munson shrugged his shoulders.

“I am afraid I cannot find any one here to identify me.”

The President of the Confederacy smiled a somewhat sarcastic smile.

“Perhaps we may be able to help you out in that respect. There is a Knoxville man in the city and as soon as I am able to locate him I will have you meet him.”

This was startling news indeed and it came near shaking the self-assurance of the volunteer spy. But before he had time to make any reply he found himself being escorted out of the room and taken to his place of confinement in the engine house. He was treated as kindly as before, but he realized that the watch upon him was closer than ever. He did some serious thinking that night. As he looked out of the barred windows and up into the unpitying stars he felt that he had reached a real crisis in his life.

One of two things would happen. Either he would escape from his place of confinement, and attempt to reach the North, or he would be shot as a spy. All of the chances seemed to point to his execution on the charge of spying.

But his naturally buoyant disposition came to his aid, and when morning arrived he was taking a more cheerful view of the future. That day he was taken before President Davis and submitted to a further cross-examination. The Chief of the Confederacy appeared to be more anxious to get reliable information concerning the Union forces than to prove that Baker was a spy.

“Who is in command of the Yankees at this time?” he asked.

“General Scott,” was the truthful reply.

“Where is he?”

“In Washington.”

“Ah, then he is not in charge of the troops?”

“No, sir, I believe that General McDowell is in active command of the forces in the field.”

This was correct, and Baker in making the statement felt that he was not giving away any of the secrets of the war. But the information interested the President and he turned aside and talked with several of his advisers who were in the room. In the meanwhile he made a gesture to indicate that he was through with Mr. Baker, alias Mr. Munson, and the spy was led from the room and once again taken to his prison in the engine house. In spite of his optimistic nature these repeated cross-examinations were beginning to unnerve him. He was afraid that he might be tripped up in some of his answers, and then he felt sure that he would be stood up against a wall and shot. He felt that such a procedure would make him a martyr, but he had a very natural desire to postpone his martyrdom as long as possible.

His real ordeal was to come on the following day. Shortly after breakfast he learned that Mr. Davis desired to see him again. And he learned something else that caused him much perturbation. It was that a Knoxville man had been located in Richmond and that he had been sent for to identify the supposed Mr. Munson. Baker tried hard to screw up his courage for the interview. He was at a loss as to how he should act and talk. It was certain that the man did not know him and in such an event he would be in the position of being condemned as an impostor and a spy. While he was preparing to go over to the Spottswood House he heard one of his captors speak of a Mr. Brock of Knoxville, who had also been summoned to meet the President. Baker grasped at this as a drowning man grabs at a straw. All the way to the hotel he racked his brain in the effort to work out a plan of action. But he could reach no definite conclusion. He would have to be guided entirely by circumstances. One thing he did do was to refresh his mind as to certain names and places in Knoxville. When he reached the headquarters of the Confederate Government he found Mr. Davis talking with a man in a frock coat and a slouch hat. At first he supposed that this must be Brock, but fortunately he learned that it was Robert Toombs, and was thereby saved from making a break that might have caused his undoing. In a moment the President turned to the spy.

“Hello, Munson,” he said, “I have sent for a man who has lived in Knoxville for many years, and he will be able to tell us if you are the person you claim to be. Take a seat. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Baker sat on a chair facing the door and anxiously waited for the man who was to give the verdict. The moments went by on leaden heels. He could feel the cold sweat coming out on his brow. But he had courage and he was resourceful. Once the door opened and a messenger came in. Baker half rose to his feet, but caught himself in time. He could not afford to make a mistake. The President and Toombs talked together as if oblivious to his presence. Presently Toombs threw himself on a couch in a corner of the room and Mr. Davis busied himself with some papers on his desk. The spy kept his eyes glued upon the door. Out of it would walk his doom or his deliverance—he could not tell which. Suddenly when the strain was beginning to seem too great for further endurance, the door was opened and a middle-aged man entered the room. He hesitated for a moment and looked about him inquiringly. Baker felt that he must be the man. He did not hesitate for the fraction of a moment, but jumping up and hurrying toward the newcomer he held out his hand and exclaimed in a tone of great cordiality:

“Why, hello, Brock, how are you, anyhow?”