Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2.
Frank Moore, Ed.

You hear the whistle of the train bound for Harper's Ferry. As it comes rounding the curve, the guard is drawn up on each side of the track. Soon as the train stops, a soldier steps on each platform of every car, and sees that no one gets off or on. The one whose business it is to “develop” any contraband articles or persons, enters the forward passenger car. He looks under the first seat, and finds nothing but a very suspicious female. Her hoops are very large, and she looks about the waist as though she indulged in a free use of cotton, or else is a walking train in the use of the rebels. The searcher looks, but doesn't know what to do. He cannot, of course, treat her as he would a man, for everybody would call him a brute, and besides, he has no taste for such things. At last lie timidly requests that she will rise, in the hope that some treasonable article may fall and discover her character.

Here is a man who either looks a little confused, or else puts on a stolid expression, as though he were utterly indifferent. After having carefully investigated this seat, the searcher politely asks the individual to empty his pockets. Mind you, this is really done politely, and while asking a thousand pardons for the demand. All letters directed to individuals south of the Potomac are confiscated. Oftentimes they are found to contain valuable information. If the man is very suspicious, the search is correspondingly rigid. The hands are passed over his coat and inside his vest, and woe be to him if any thing is discovered that stamps him as a spy. So the cars are [75] looked through, one by one. Some of the passengers laugh, some grow mad and swear, some see the reason of the thing and yield at once, others bluster and threaten, and have to be shut up by the fear of immediate arrest if they open their mouths again.

The searcher then says, “All who have baggage will please step into the forward car.” He then asks each man to open his trunk, and passes his hand as carefully as may be through the bundles of varieties with which human beings fill their apparatus. One's luggage does not undergo half the danger which it is subjected to in a Liverpool custom-house. I have seen both classes of operators, and I would much prefer to go by the Relay than land in Liverpool.

Suddenly the searcher comes across a common-looking, red, wooden trunk. It is marked Mary Birkitt, Wheeling, Virginia. There is nothing suspicious about it. It looks in keeping with some village aunt, who had forsworn the company of the coarser sex, and had just returned from a visit to some relations who had lately thrown themselves away by swearing, in the presence of a parson, to keep house, neatly and economically, for some one of those worthless creatures called men. The searcher calls out for Mary to come and display her dry goods, but no Mary is to be found. He calls again, and with the same result. The conductor is questioned, but he knows nothing about the matter. The thing looks all right, but it won't do to let even Mary Birkitt's trunk go out without knowing what is in it. So, after having sounded another call for the spinster to make her appearance, the searcher calls for a hammer and chisel, and opens the thing. Nothing alarming is presented. On the top is a very white, and nicely done — up pair of sleeves. Then comes a chemisette, and then a dress, and then-two million of percussion caps. Ah, Mary, that was a sorry dodge. No wonder you didn't answer when your name was called. Why, my dear Mary, you have here more caps than you could wear in a dozen lifetimes. The trunk is confiscated.

Col. Jones was once going through a train on the scent of suspicious articles. He saw between two seats a small basket. The top was partly raised and discovered some sandwiches, gingerbread, etc. It was of course nothing surprising to see a luncheon basket in the cars. The conductor came up and said, “Colonel, an old woman owns that basket; I believe she has stepped into the forward car.” Well, that was very reasonable. However, just as he was going to leave it, the Colonel put his little finger under the handle, to see how much a basket of luncheon weighs, you know. But the thing didn't come up. Somehow it stuck to the floor. He then applied his whole hand, and after removing the gingerbread, he discovered about half a peck of bright brass buttons, which were on their way to adorn the uniforms of Virginia rebels.