Chapter 19:
- Suspicions in Washington. -- “Uncle Gallus.” -- property searched. -- a rebel family sent South. -- Webster starts for Richmond.
Aside from the operations of Timothy Webster and his assistants in Baltimore, there was work enough to do in Washington to keep myself and all the members of my large force constantly employed. Innumerable persons, suspected of treasonable designs, were closely shadowed; whole families became objects of distrust, and fell under the watchful eye of my department; while the ungracious task of searching the homes of people who stood upon the highest round of the social ladder became of frequent occurrence. Among the latter class were the wife and family of ex-Governor Morton, of Florida, who at this time were sojourning in Washington. Mrs. Morton was known to be in sympathy with the South, and the unceasing vigilance of my men soon developed the fact that she was in secret communication with certain officials of the rebel government, to whom she was giving information concerning affairs at the North. She was a lady of eminent respectability and [302] refinement, and much esteemed by all who knew her, but this did not render it less advisable, under the circumstances, to have all her movements watched, and her house constantly shadowed by detectives. Her pleasant residence at No. 288 “I” street, was therefore placed under strict surveillance, and its inmates followed whenever they went out for a walk or drive, while all visitors at the house were invariably shadowed when they went away. There was an old negro servant, known as Uncle Gallus, who went to and from the house oftener than any one else, on errands for the family. Finally one of my operatives drew the old fellow into conversation, and found him so cheerful and communicative, and so firm in his loyalty to the Northern cause, that when the fact was reported to me, I concluded to talk with Uncle Gallus myself. Accordingly, I gave orders to have him brought to my office, if it could be done without opposition on his part. The friendship I bore for the colored race, and my long experience as an underground railroad conductor, had given me such an insight into the character of the negro, that I believed I could gain his confidence and good — will if I should meet him. Uncle Gallus came to my office quite willingly. He was a powerfully-built darky, though evidently well advanced in years, as attested by the bleached appearance of his wool and eye-brows. His skin was as black and shone as bright as polished ebony, and [303] it took but little provocation to set him on a broad grin, which displayed two unbroken rows of glistening ivory. This interesting specimen appeared before me one afternoon, when Timothy Webster was with me in my office. We had just finished a discussion concerning some delicate point in Webster's Baltimore operations, and had lapsed into a desultory conversation. My sable visitor stood bowing and scraping, and turning his hat round and round in his hands, till I bid him be seated. “Your name is Gallus?” I said. “ Yes, sah,” he replied, his mouth stretched from ear to ear. “Folks done got so dey call me uncle Gallus nowadays.” “You have been a slave all your life, I understand?” “Yes, massa, eber sence I war knee-high to a hopper-grass. I'se done a mighty sight oa wu'k, too, 'kase I wus allus as big an stout as a sixty-dollah bull, an' I could stana moa hard-fisted labor dan any oa de udder niggahs on de plantation. But sence I been wid Massa Morton I ain't had nuffina to do skursely, an' it seems as ef I'se gwine to git pow'ful lazy fur de want oa wu'k. H'yah! H'yah!” “ What is your native State, Uncle Gallus?” “ Ole Virginny, sah.” He held his head a little higher, and sat a trifle more erect as he said this, showing that inordinate [304] pride in his State which I had so often noticed in other Virginia slaves, as well as in Virginia masters. I asked him if the Mortons had offered him his freedom since the breaking out of the war. He shook his head and gravely replied:
Dey hain't been nuffina said to dis pusson on dat 'ar subjick, but I knows dey'd gimme my freedom in less'n twenty-foa hours ef I done ax 'em fur it.“ Then you don't want to be free?” “Oh, yes, I does, massa; yes, I does, fur shoa. But Massa Linkum an' de Yankee boys am gwine ter fetch dat arouna all right by'm-bye. Bress your soul an' body, I can't b'ar fur to run away from missus an' ole massa, 'kase dey's been so good ana kyind to me; an' I'se done tuk an oath dat I won't leave 'em till dey gimme leaf. When missus goes back down Souf I'se gwine ter go wid her, ef she don't tole me to stay heah. It won't be long, nohow, 'kase de time am soon comin'when de darkies will all be free.” “Your mistress intends to return to the South, then?” “ Yes, sah ; we'll soon be off now, ef de good Lo'd will let us. Massa, he's in Richmond, ana he hab done sent fur de family.” “Is Mrs. Morton in communication with her husband?” “ Speca she is, sah. She writes letters, ana gits letters. She has ter be sorter keerful like, for dese [305] 'yah Yankees is got eyes like a cat, ana kin see fru a stun wall in de dark.” “ Do you know whether your mistress writes to any one besides her husband?” Uncle Gallus leaned back in his chair, and looked at me somewhat suspiciously, the whites of his eyes shining like polished china. “'Deed, sah, I doesn't know whedder she dusdo, or whedder she doant,” he said, hesitatingly. “Please, massa, doant ax dis chile any moa questions. My missus is de bes' woman in de wu'ld, and nebber didn't do nuffina wrong in all her bawn days. Ole Gallus wouldn't say nuffina to bring trubble on her for fifteen cents,” he added, earnestly. I quieted the fears of the faithful old man by assuring him that I meant no harm to his mistress, and that I had no doubt she was the good lady he represented her to be. Satisfied with the result of my investigations, I permitted Uncle Gallus to depart, first charging him, however, to say nothing to any one concerning my interview with him. He promised secrecy, and bowed himself out with all his teeth visible, saying, as he went:
Foa de Lawd, gemmen, I'se hopin ana prayina de No'thun folks will be de top dog in dis wrastle, ana ef eber dis niggah hes a chance to gib yu'uns a helpina han ‘, yu’ kin bet a hoss agina a coon-skin he'll do it; but I hope ana trus' my missus not be boddered.[306] Nevertheless, I had learned enough to bring me to the decision, that Mrs. Morton's house must be searched, and under orders of the Secretary of War, I sent three of my men to No. 288 “I” street, to perform this unpleasant task. The operatives chosen to make the search were W. H. Scott, John Scully, and Pryce Lewis. Mrs, Morton received them very civilly, and told them they were at liberty to make a thorough search of the premises, which they immediately proceeded to do. They had instructions to read all letters that were found, but to keep only those that were of a treasonable nature, and in no case to destroy any property or leave anything in a disordered condition. These instructions were obeyed to the letter. Boxes that were packed ready for shipment were all carefully repacked and closed after they had been examined by my men, and when the operatives departed, they left no traces of their search behind them. Their polite and considerate conduct won for them the good will, not only of Mrs. Morton herself, but also of her daughter and two sons, who expressed themselves as being agreeably surprised, for they had been informed that the men from the Provost-Marshal's office were a set of ruffians, who did not scruple to break up boxes, and litter the house with their contents, and that their conduct towards ladies was insulting in the extreme. They even went so far as to assure the operatives, that if any of them should ever be taken prisoner and [307] brought to Richmond, they would do all in their power to secure kind treatment for them. Among the letters that were found, two of them were from ex-Governor Morton, to his son and daughter, requesting them to come to him at Richmond; but nothing of a criminating character was discovered, and the family were not subjected to further annoyance. Some two weeks afterwards, when John Scully boarded a train for Baltimore, whither I had sent him with a message to Webster, he chanced to meet Mrs. Morton and family in the car which he entered. They were departing from Washington, having been required to leave the North, by the authorities, who furnished them a safe passport to Richmond, and they were accompanied by the faithful Uncle Gallus. They recognized Scully, and greeted him with cordial courtesy, the eldest son rising in his seat to shake hands with him. They told him that on arriving at Baltimore, they were to take a flag-of-truce boat to Fortress Monroe, from which point they would continue their journey to Richmond. Scully as a matter of policy, gave them distinctly — to understand that he had quitted the government service and was returning to his home in the North. This little experience with the Morton family was trifling enough in itself, and was only one of many similar episodes with which I and my force were connected during those troublous times; but I have been [308] thus particular in detailing it because it has an important bearing upon other events which afterwards occurred. It was about a month after the incident above mentioned, that Timothy Webster completed his preparations for making his first trip into Virginia and through the rebel lines. A large number of Baltimoreans had intrusted him with letters to their friends and relatives in the South, and he had assured them that their messages would be delivered safely and answers brought back in due time. He left Baltimore on the 14th of October, and proceeded southward along the “Eastern shore” of Virginia, seeking a convenient place to cross over to the mainland or “Western shore.” He arrived at Eastville, the county seat of Northampton county, on Tuesday, October 22d, where he found that he could effect a crossing with the assistance of a man named Marshall, who made a business of smuggling passengers and mails through the lines. He was compelled, however, to remain at Eastville several days, waiting for Marshall and his boat to come over from the other side, his trips being delayed on account of the bright moonlight nights, as the boatman did not dare to run the gantlet of the Federal guns, unless covered by darkness. Some two or three months before, this man, Marshall, had owned a sloop, which he had used successfully in running the Federal blockade. One night he [309] was caught in a calm near the western shore, and was run-down by a gunboat. His sloop was captured, and he narrowly escaped capture by deserting his vessel and reaching the shore in a smaller boat. Since that time Marshall had been pursuing his vocation with a sort of canoe, or “dugout,” thirty-one feet in length and five feet in width, carrying three sails-main, fore and jib. His route was from Gloucester Point, York river, to Eastville, and his business was to transfer from one side of the bay to the other the Confederate mail and passengers, and sometimes a small cargo of merchandise. Marshall being an expert pilot and a thorough seaman, was frequently employed by the masters of sloops and schooners to pilot them past certain points, they giving him the privilege of putting his passengers and mail-bags aboard the vessel without charge. It was his invariable custom to place a stone or other heavy substance in his mail-bag before starting, for the purpose of sinking it in case of being pressed by the gunboats. It was on a dark evening that Webster left Cherrystone Lighthouse in Marshall's canoe, to make the voyage across the Chesapeake. There were thirteen passengers, all told. Eight of these were Marylanders, mostly from Baltimore, every one of whom announced his intention of enlisting in the Confederate army or navy upon his arrival at Richmond. On starting, Marshall rowed off a short distance from the light-house, and rested on his oars for some [310] time, taking observations to ascertain if the bay was clear of hostile craft. The night was scarcely dark enough for safety; the clouds were thin and scattered, and the stars were peeping through the dark, ragged curtain overhead. The wind was blowing strongly from the east, and the water was exceedingly rough. Resolving, however, to make the effort, Marshall hoisted his sails, and as they rapidly filled, the little vessel sprung forward like a thing of life. It fairly skimmed over the waves, its sharp prow cutting the water and dashing up clouds of spray that caused the men to turn up their coat-collars and pull their hats down closer upon their heads. All conversation was forbidden, lest their voices should betray them to the enemy. With sealed lips and motionless forms, they might have been so many dark phantoms speeding before the wind on some supernatural mission. Webster, by his own wish, had been put upon the look-out by the captain of the boat, and he keenly watched for signs of danger. When they had traveled nearly half the distance across the bay, he spied a point of light to leeward, and at once called Marshall's attention to it. “ It is a gunboat with a light on her bows,” said the latter. “Let her come. She can't catch us, for with oar present headway we are not to be overhauled by any boat on this water.” The canoe was headed due west for about fourteen miles, then south-west by west for ten or twelve [311] miles, then due west again to Gloucester Point. The entire run was made in three and a half hours, the sailing distance being about thirty miles. On nearing Gloucester Point, they were hailed by a sentinel, with the usual challenge:
Who comes there?The blockade-runner sent back the answer:
Marshall-mail boat!“Stand, Marshall, and give the countersign!” “No countersign,” was the reply. The sentinel then called out:
Sergeant of the Guard, Post No. I!And another voice, further away, cried:
Who's there?“ Marshall, with mail boat and passengers.” “ Sentinel, let them pass.” A few minutes later the passengers disembarked, and found themselves in a rebel camp. Webster, with others, went to Marshall's shantya rude, wooden structure, which that worthy had built on the Point for the accommodation of his passengers-and there the remainder of the night was spent in the refreshing companionship of Morpheus. On the following morning Webster was up and astir at an early hour. He ascertained that the encampment at Gloucester Point consisted of two regiments of infantry, two companies of cavalry, and one field battery of six guns, all under the command of Col. Charles H. Crump. The entrenchments comprised [312] an area of about fifteen acres, and the main breastwork on the beach consisted of a heavy earthbank, walled on the inside with split pine logs set up on end. About the center of this breastwork was a sixty-four-pound gun, mounted on a high carriage, which traversed in a circle commanding a sweep of the whole land side of the entrenchments, where there was a clean field of about seven hundred acres bounded by timber on the north and York river on the south. General Magruder had command of this division of the army, including the forces at Gloucester Point, Yorktown and all the peninsula bounded by the James and York rivers, extending down to Fortress Monroe. The division embraced thirty-three regiments of infantry and cavalry. Webster called at Colonel Crump's headquarters and obtained from that officer a pass to Richmond, not only for himself, but for several others who had crossed the bay with him. At about the hour of noon on Saturday, the 26th, the party were ferried across the river to Yorktown, in a small boat. The landing at Yorktown was in front of a hill which rose with a gentle slope some twenty-five feet above the beach, on the top of which, in front of the town, was an earth-work mounting six or eight guns. From this point the party proceeded in a southwesterly direction, across the peninsula, to Grove Wharf, on James river. The distance was about ten [313] miles, and was accomplished without difficulty or delay. On their arrival at Grove Wharf, however, they were disappointed to learn that no boat was to leave there for Richmond until the following Monday. There was no help for it, and with a rueful attempt at resignation, they took quarters at a neighboring farm-house, where they waited and rested.
