From New York to Fortress Monroe.-Two Days in Baltimore.-A Bit of Ro- mance.-Captain "Puffer."-The Negro Settlement at Fortress Monroe......... A Day with General Butler.-The Civilization and Poetry of the "Sanitary Commission."-General Butler's Philosophy and "Little Stories.". On Parole in Fortress Monroe.-A Recollection of General Fitz Lee.-A Bitter Disappointment.-Letter from a Catholic Mother: In Memoriam........ 9APTER XIX. A Week in the Yankee Lines around Richmond.--The Pleasure Party on the "River Queen."--General Butler Aroused and Profane.-Yankee "War Cor- respondents" at Headquarters.-Material of the Yankee Army:, Negro Sol- diers.-Yankee Officers on "Subjugation."-General Butler's Tribute to Gen- eral Lee. How I Made a Narrow Escape to Richmond......................... CHAPTER I. RUNNING THE BLOCKADE.-The "Greyhound."-Passing the Blockade Lines. The Capture.Yankee Courtesy.-Off Fortress Monroe. Running the Blockade" to Europe is a pleasant thought to one in Richmond: the imagination of an adventure at the end of which are golden visions and that beatitude which may be summed up in "plenty to wear and to eat." The first stage of the adventure brings one to Wilmington; and here he already finds in the luxurious cabins of the blockade-runners the creature-comforts to which he has long been a stranger in the Confederate capital, and has a foretaste of some of the sweets of his adventure. Oranges, which, if they existed in Richmond, would be ticketed in some Jew's window at twenty dollars apiece; pineapples, with their forgotten fragrance; wines and liquors, of which we have only the poisoned imitations in Richmond; and an array of cut and stained glass-ware that would have put to blush the stock of all the hotels in the Confederacy (I had been eating and drinking out of tin at the Wilmington hotel,) were set out with a bewildering profusion in the cabin of the "Greyhound," when I called to make my respects to Captain "Henry" and conclude my arrangements for passage out to Bermuda. What a splendid fellow he was: a graceful dash of manner, which yet beamed with intelligence, an exuberant hospitality, a kindness that when it did a grateful thing so gracefully waived all expressions of obligation. He had been all over the world; was familiar with the great capitals of Europe; bore the marks of a wound obtained in the campaign of Stonewall Jackson; and as to his name and nationality-why, passengers on blockade-runners are not expected to be inquisitive of these circumstances, and must beware of impertinent curiosity. "Want to get out on the Greyhound? Why, certainly; shall be very glad to have you;" and the Captain blew his piratical silver whistle, and his clerk had soon noted my height, colour of my eyes, &c., for the Confederate officer, who was to come aboard next morning to muster crew and passengers, and see that no conscripts made an unticketed exit from Wilmington. The reader must understand that, on vessels running the blockade, there is no accommodation for passengers, unless in the contracted space of the captain's own cabin; hence, passengers are taken only by extraordinary favour. What a contrast was the ready consent of Captain "Henry," an entire stranger, to the negatives and quibbles of others. For there are in Wilmington specimens of the Southern Yankee; men, as we have seen them in Richmond, whose swollen wealth, and beefy vulgarity, and insatiable avarice, number them with that brood of moral bastardy. Two officers of the volunteer navy of the Confederacy, who desired passage to proceed to a most important rendezvous, in urgent interests of the public service, were ruthlessly disappointed, because they could not manage to pay, for a seventy hours' passage to Bermuda, four hundred dollars in gold-then eight thousand dollars in the currency of the Confederacy.* On the night of the 9th of May, 1864, the Greyhound was lying off Fort Fisher, the signal-men blinking at each other with their lights in sliding boxes. It was necessary to get a dispensation from the fort for the Greyhound to pass out to sea, as no less than three fugitive conscripts-"stowaways"-had. been found aboard of her. Two of them were discovered on searching the vessel at Wilmington. But lower down the stream the vessel is overhauled again, and goes through the process of the fumigation of her hold to discover improper passengers. In the case of the Greyhound, to the intense disgust of the captain, and execrations of the crew, the process brought to light an unhappy stowaway, who was recognized as a liquor-dealer of Wilmington, and made no secret of his design to flee the conscription. After the threat, and apparently serious preparations, to throw him overboard, the "stowaway" was, no doubt, relieved to find himself taken ashore to the comparative mercies of the enrolling officer. I had been very kindly offered by Governour Vance, of North Carolina, a passage on the line of steamers run by that State. There was no boat of that line then in port. I asked a Richmond man, largely interested in blockade-running, who is known to have accumulated vast wealth by the Davis patronage in Richmond, and to have fattened on the marrow-bones of the Commissary Department, the very small favour of allowing me a passage in one of his boats, in consideration that my pass on the North Carolina line might be transferred to any other passenger he might hereafter name on his own account-in fact, nothing more than a simple exchange of convenience. I got a flat and boorish refusal. Yet, a British vessel took me out; and her captain, discovering my disappointment, and understanding the object of my proposed visit to England, placed his cabin at my disposal, and refused to take anything in return for his kindness but my thanks. At last we are off. The moon is down; the steward has had orders to kill the geese and shut up the dog; the captain has put on a suit of dark clothes; every light is extinguished, every word spoken in a whisper, and the turn of the propeller of the Greyhound sounds like the beat of a human heart. There is an excitement in these circumstances. The low, white gray vessel glides furtively through the water, and you catch the whispered commands of the captain: "Stead-ey," and then the more intense and energetic whisper: "Black smoke, by G-; cut off your smoke." Every eye is strained into the shadows of the night. But how utterly useless did all this precaution and vigilance appear on the Greyhound; for after two hours of suspense we were out of the blockade lines, and had seen nothing but the caps of the waves. A blockade for blockheads, surely, I thought, as I composed myself to sleep, dismissing entirely from my mind all terrors of the Yankee. It was about two o'clock the next day, and the Greyhound was about one hundred and fifty miles out at sea, when the lookout reported a steamer astern of us. The day was hazy, and when the vessel was first descried, she could not have been more than five or six miles astern of us. For a few moments there was a sharp suspense; perhaps the steamer had not seen us; every one listened with breathless anxiety, as the tall fellow at the mast-head reported the discoveries he was making, through his glasses, of the suspicious vessel. "He is bearing towards a bark, sir;" and for a few moments hope mounted in our hearts that we might not have been observed, and might yet escape into the misty obscurity of the sea. In vain. “He is a side-wheel steamer, and is bearing directly for us, sir." "Give her her way," shouted the captain in response; and there was a tumultuous rush of the crew to the engine-room, and the black smoke curling above the smoke-stack and the white foam in our wake told plainly enough that the startled Greyhound was making desperate speed. But she was evidently no match for the Yankee. We were being rapidly overhauled, and in something more than an hour from the beginning of the chase a shell from the Yankee vessel, the "Connecticut," was whistling over our bows. The crew became unruly; but Captain "Henry," revolver in hand, ordered back the man to the wheel, declaring "he was master of the vessel yet." The mate reported that a very small crew appeared to be aboard the Yankee. "Then we will fight for it," said the spunky captain. But the madness of such a resolution became soon manifest: for as the Connecticut overhauled us more closely, her decks and wheel-houses were seen to be black with men, |