bright morning mother and I, with my boy, seated ourselves in the
carriage as if for our usual drive. There was no leave-taking, no
appearance of anything unusual. Once on the road, we were rapidly
driven to a railroad depot in a distant town; there I took the train,
while my poor mother returned homeward alone.


Arrived in Baltimore, we found ourselves among those whose hearts were
filled with ardent love of "the Cause," and bitter hatred for the
soldiers who had, in spite of their heroic resistance, so lately
passed through the streets of the city on their way to subjugate the
South. "The rebel" was enthusiastically received. All were ready to
assist her, but at this juncture it seemed impossible to pass the
Federal lines.

The great battle of Manassas had been decided. The wildest excitement
prevailed. Flying soldiers were everywhere. Almost every hour the
sound of fife and drum was heard, as shattered regiments and decimated
battalions marched through the streets. Although all expression of
feeling, among the citizens, was sternly repressed, the mask of sullen
indifference was known to be _but_ a mask. Hearts beneath were
bounding with pride and joy and hope. Almost without exception, houses
were closed and devoid of all appearance of life. Yet behind those
closely-shut blinds women embraced each other with tempestuous joy, or
paced the floor in uncontrollable agitation, or knelt in earnest
prayer, mingling thanksgivings with agonized petitions for those whose
fate was yet unknown. Mothers, sisters, wives, strove, with trembling
lips, to comfort each other, bidding the voice of patriotism be heard
above the "tempest of the heart." In the midst of all this excitement
my interests were never lost sight of. Secret meetings were held, and