I have said I enjoyed
Governor Allen's confidence.
This is
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not a mere commonplace sentence.
In fact, before our departure,
Governor Allen imparted to me a scheme of his of a somewhat surprising nature, and which, at the time, might well have borne the stamp ‘Confidential.’
I shall disclose it further on, and it will serve to dispose of some other assertions of a speculative character which have appeared in the Washington Post.
Meanwhile, I go on with my narrative.
Having no memorandum notes at my disposal at the time I write, I cannot give precise dates, but I believe it was in March, 1865, that
Colonel E. Miltenberger,
Major Moncure, and myself left
Shreveport on what may have appeared a special mission of some kind.
Of us three,
Colonel E. Miltenberger alone was invested with an official character, confined, however, to the
State of Louisiana, not emanating from the
Confederacy as an aggregate of States.
Our path lay through the breadth of
Texas, and the news of my passage having preceded me, I was met at every stage of our journey by a deputation of citizens, who came to welcome me; nor was I allowed to settle any hotel bill, but everywhere was received and considered as the guest of the
State.
In recalling these incidents, I am only impelled by the desire of conveying to the
State of Texas my deep and lasting sense of gratitude for the well-remembered and highly-appreciated courtesy extended me on that occasion.
We travelled by stagecoach, and our progress was slow.
At length we reached
Matamoras, where we crossed the
Rio Grande into
Mexico territory.
Here we had to wait for steamer to take us to
Havana, and at the latter place another delay occurred, when finally we were able to embark on board a Spanish ship, one of a line of steamers plying between
Havana and
Cadiz, which port we reached after a stormy passage of at least fourteen days.
From
Cadiz we went on to
Madrid, partly by stagecoach.
From
Madrid, however, we could travel on by rail to
Bordeaux and
Paris.
On the last day of our journey, in looking over a newspaper, the first news that met my eye was that of the
Duke de Morny's death.
It seemed like the irony of fate that the fulcrum—so to speak—of my efforts should fail me just as I was reaching my
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destination.
From that moment I knew that whatever sympathy I might meet with it could lead to no practical results.
I did not even seek an audience from the
Emperor.
But it happened that among the former friends and acquaintances who, on the news of my return, hastened to meet me, there was an officer of the
French army,
Major De Vatry, half-brother to the then
Duke of
Elchingen, a descendant of the famos
Marshal Ney, at that time on the
Emperor's military staff.
He was very anxious to secure an interview for me, which he did without any difficulty, the
Emperor having, as he informed me, expressed at once his perfect willingness to receive me.
