confined there for no crime, but at once procured a pass from a Senator to visit the jail, and was admitted through the iron gateway of one of the vilest prisons in the world. The air was stifled, fetid and malarious.

Ascending the stone stairway to the third story of the building, entering a dark corridor and passing along a few steps, I came to a room twelve or fifteen feet square, occupied by about twenty coloured men. They were at their dinner of boiled beef and corn- cake. There was one old man silent and sorrowful. He had committed no crime. There were others, of all shades of colour, from jet-black to the Caucasian hue, the Anglo-Saxon hair and contour of features. They were from ten to fifty years of age; some were dressed decently, and others were in rags. One bright fellow of twenty had on a pair of trousers only, and tried to keep himself warm by drawing around him a tattered blanket. A little fellow ten years old was all in rags. There was no chair or bed in the room. lie upon the brick and granite floor. bedding; each had his little bundle of rags, and that was all. They looked up inquiringly as I entered, as if to make out the object of my visit.

They must stand, or sit, or There was no mattress or

One bright, intelligent boy belonged to Captain Dunnington, captain of the Capitol police during Buchanan's administration, and then commanding a Confederate battery. When Dunnington went from Washington to join the Secessionists he left the boy behind, and the police had arrested him under an old Maryland law, because he had no master, and kept him in jail five months.

When the army

There was an old man from Fairfax Court-house. advanced to Falls Church, his master sold his wife and child, for fear they might escape. "You see, sir, that broke me all up. Oh, sir, it was hard to part with them, to see 'em chained up and taken off away down South to Carolina! My mind is almost gone. I don't want to die here; I sha' n't live long. When your army fell back to Washington after the battle of Bull Run, I came to Washington, and the police took me up because I was a runaway."

There was another, a free negro, imprisoned on the supposition that he was a fugitive, and kept because there was no one to pay his jail fees. Another had been a hand on a Massachusetts schooner plying on the Potomac, and had been arrested in the streets on the suspicion that he was a slave.

Another had been employed on the fortifications, and Government

was his debtor. There was a little boy, ten years old, clothed in rags, arrested as a runaway. Women were there, sent in by their owners for safe-keeping. There were about sixty chargeable with no crime whatever, incarcerated with felons without hope of deliverance. They were imprisoned because negroes about town, without a master, always had been dealt with in that manner. The police, when the slaves had been reclaimed, had been sure of their pay, or if they were sold, their pay came from the auctioneer. When they saw me making notes, they imagined that I was doing something for their liberation, and with eagerness they crowded round, saying, "Please put down my name, sir," "I do want to get out, sir," and similar expressions. They followed me into the passage, gazed through the grated door, and when I said " Goodby, boys," there came a chorus of "Good-bys" and "God bless yous.

Seeking Senator Wilson's room, I informed him of what I had witnessed, and read the memoranda taken in the jail. The eyes of that true-hearted man flashed with righteous indignation. "We will see about this," said he, springing to his feet. I accompanied him to the jail. He saw the loathsome spectacle, heard the stories of the poor creatures, and the next day introduced a resolution into the Senate, which upset forever this system of tyranny in the District of Columbia, which had been protected by the national authority.

October passed. In November the sun shone from a cloudless sky. The roads were in excellent condition; yet the army did not move. General McClellan was not ready. He had had many reviews. Every day beheld him, accompanied by a brilliant staff and body-guard of cavalry, riding to some one of the many encampments.

Port Royal had been captured by the navy, and Union troops were in Beaufort, the beautiful seaside resort of the inhabitants of Charleston. Hatteras inlet had also been opened, but the Army of the Potomac was impatiently waiting. December came, and the order was given to go into winter quarters.

Seeing no prospect of any movement in December, I transferred my field of observation to the departments of the West.

CHAPTER IV.

TH

AFFAIRS IN THE WEST.

HE church bells of Louisville were ringing the new year, 1862, in as with the early morning we entered that city. There was little activity in the streets. The breaking out of the war had stopped business. The city, with a better location than Cincinnati, had had a slow growth. Cassius M. Clay gave the reason years ago.

"Why," he asked, "does Louisville write on an hundred of her stores To let,' while Cincinnati advertises Wanted'? There is but one answer, -slavery." Many of the houses were tenantless. The people lounged in the streets. Few had anything to do. Thousands of former residents were away, many with the Southern army, more with the Union. There was division of feeling. Lines were sharply drawn. A dozen loyal Kentuckians had been killed in a skirmish on Green River; among them Captain Bacon, a prominent citizen of Frankfort. His body was at the Galt House. Loyal Kentuckians were feeling these blows. Their temper was rising; they were being educated by such adversity to make a true estimate of Secession. Everything serves a purpose in this world. Our vision is too limited to understand much of the governmental providence of Him who notices the fall of a sparrow, and alike controls the destiny of nations; but I could see, in the emphatic utterances of men upon the street, that revenge might make men patriotic who otherwise might remain lukewarm in their loyalty.

A friend introduced a loyal Tennesseean, who was forced to flee from Nashville when the State seceded. The vigilance committee informed him that he must leave or take the consequences; which meant, a suspension by the neck from the nearest tree. He was offensive because of his outspoken loyalty. He was severe in his denunciations of the Government, on account of its slowness to put down the Rebellion. "Sir," said he, "this Government is not going to put down the Rebellion, because it is n't in earnest. You of the North are white-livered. Excuse me for saying it. No; I won't ask to be excused for speaking

the truth. You are afraid to touch the negro. You are afraid of Kentucky. The little province of the United States gets down on its knees to the nation of Kentucky. You are afraid that the State will go over to the rebels, if anything is done about the negro.

Now, sir, I know what slavery is; I have lived among it all my days. I know what Secession is, it means slavery. I know what Kentucky is, -a proud old State, which has a great deal that is good about her and a great deal of sham. Kentucky politicians are no better or wiser than

any other politicians. The State is living on the capital of Henry Clay. You think that the State is great because he was great. Oh, you Northern men are a brave set! (It was spoken with bitter sarcasm.) You handle this Rebellion as gingerly as if it were a glass doll. Go on, go on; you will get whipped. Buell will get whipped at Bowling Green, Butler will get whipped at New Orleans. You got whipped at Big Bethel, Ball's Bluff, and Manassas. Why? Because the rebels are in earnest and you are not. Everything is at stake with them. They employ niggers, you don't. They seize, rob, burn, destroy; they do everything to strengthen their cause and weaken you, while you pick your way as daintily as a dandy crossing a mud puddle, afraid of offending somebody. No, sir, you are not going to put down this Rebellion till you hit it in the tenderest spot, the negro. You must take away its main support before it will fall."

General Buell was in command of the department, with his headquarters at the Galt House. He had a large army at Mumfordville and other points. He issued his orders by telegraph, but he had no plan of operations. There were no indications of a movement. The Confederate sympathizers kept General Johnston, in command at Bowling Green, well informed as to Buell's inaction. There was daily communication between Louisville and the Confederate camp. There was constant

The policy of General McClellan was to sit still.

illicit trade in contraband goods. also the policy of General Buell, With a letter of introduction in my hand from the Secretary of War, Mr. Cameron, I called upon the Union commander. He received me courteously, read the letter of the Secretary, and informed me that he did not intend to have any correspondents in his army. He regarded gentlemen of my profession as very dangerous men, in that we gave information to the enemy through our correspondence.

"No, sir, I cannot grant you permission to accompany my army," he said, firmly. As there was no indication of his army making any movement, I did not much regret the rebuff.

There being more activity manifest in St. Louis, I proceeded to that city, where General Halleck was in command. I found him thick-set, dark-featured, black-haired, sluggish, opinionated, self-willed, arbitrary, and cautious, in all his actions. When the war began he was practising law in San Francisco. Like General Buell, he had a very unfavourable opinion of correspondents, but made no objections to their presence with the army.

Soon after his appointment to this department he issued, on the 20th of November, his Order No. 3, which roused the indignation of earnest loyal men throughout the country. Thus read the document:

"It has been represented that information respecting the numbers and condition of our forces is conveyed to the enemy by means of fugitive slaves who are admitted within our lines. In order to remedy this evil, it is directed that no such persons be hereafter permitted to enter the lines of any camp, or of any forces on the march, and that any within our lines be immediately excluded therefrom.”

General Schofield was in command of northern Missouri, under General Halleck. The guerillas had burned nearly all the railroad bridges, and it was necessary to bring them to justice. The negroes along the line gave him the desired intelligence, and six of the leaders were in this way caught, tried by court-martial, and summarily shot. Yet General Halleck adhered to his infamous order. Diligent inquiries were made of officers in regard to the loyalty of the negroes, and no instance was found of their having given information to the enemy. In all of the slave-holding States a negro's testimony was of no account against a white man under civil law; but General Schofield had, under military law, inaugurated a new order of things, — a drumhead court, a speedy sentence, a quick execution, on negro testimony.