Belle Boyd, In Camp and Prison, Vol. I - Chapters I-IV



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CHAPTER I.
Home - Glimpse at Washington City.

   MY English readers, who love their own hearths and homes so dearly, 
will pardon an exile if she commences the narrative of her adventures with 
a brief reminiscence of her far-distant birthplace - 

"Loved to the last, whatever intervenes 
 Between us and our childhood's sympathy, 
 Which still reverts to what first caught the eye." 

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   There is, perhaps, no tract of country in the world more lovely than 
the Valley of the Shenandoah. There is, or rather I should say, there was, 
no prettier or more peaceful little village than Martinsburg, where I was 
born, in 1844.

   All those charms with which the fancy of Goldsmith invested the Irish 
hamlet in the days of its prosperity were realized in my native village. 
Alas! Martinsburg has met a more cruel fate than that of "sweet Auburn." 
The one, at least, still lives in song, and will continue to be a 
household word as long as the English language shall be spoken: the other 
was destined to be the first and fairest offering upon the altar of 
Confederate freedom; but no poet has arisen from her ruins to perpetuate 
her name. 

   While America was yet at peace within itself, while the States were yet 
united, 

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many very beautiful residences were erected in the vicinity of 
Martinsburg, which may be said to have attained some degree of importance 
as a town when the large machinery buildings were raised, at a vast 
outlay, by the Baltimore and Ohio Railway Company. They were not destined 
to repay those who designed them.

   While they were yet in course of construction their doom was silently, 
but rapidly approaching. They were destroyed, as the only means of 
averting their capture by the advancing Yankees, by that undaunted hero, 
that true apostle of Freedom, "Stonewall" Jackson.

   Reader, I must once again revert to my home, which was so soon to be 
the prey of the spoiler.

   Imagine a bright warm sun shining upon a pretty two-storied house, the 
walls of which are completely hidden by roses 

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and honeysuckle in most luxuriant bloom. At a short distance in front of 
it flows a broad, clear, rapid stream: around it the silver maples wave 
their graceful branches in the perfume-laden air of the South.

   Even at this distance of time and space, as I write in my dull London 
lodging, I can hardly restrain my tears when I recall the sweet scene of 
my early days, such as it was before the unsparing hand of a ruthless 
enemy had defaced its loveliness. I frequently indulge in a fond 
soliloquy, and say, or rather think, "Do my English readers ever bestow a 
thought upon that cruel fate which has overtaken so many of their lineal 
descendants, whose only crime has been that love of freedom which the 
Pilgrim Fathers could not leave behind them when they left their island 
home? Do they bestow any pity, any sympathy, upon us homeless, ruined, 
exiled 

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Confederates? Do they ever pause to reflect what would be their own 
feelings if, far and wide throughout their country, the ancestral hall, 
the farmer's homestead, and the labourer's cot were giving shelter to the 
licentious soldiers of an invader or crackling in incendiary flames? With 
what emotions would the citizens of London watch the camp-fires of a 
besieging army?

"'Say with what eye along the distant down 
  Would flying burghers mark the blazing town - 
  How view the column of ascending flames 
  Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames.'" 

   Much has lately been written of the comfort of our Southern homesteads; 
and now, though so many of them are things of the past, while those that 
remain are no longer what they were, I may safely say that not even 
English homes were more comfortable, in the true sense of the word, 

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than ours; while, for hospitality, we have never been surpassed.

   I passed my childhood as all happy children usually do, petted and 
caressed by a father and mother, loving and beloved by my brothers and 
sisters. The peculiarly sad circumstances that attended my father's death 
will be found recorded at a future page. Where my mother is hiding her 
head I know not: doubtless she is equally ignorant of my fate. My brothers 
and sisters are dispersed God knows where.

   But to return to my narrative. I believe I shall not be contradicted in 
affirming, that nowhere could be found more pleasant society than that of 
Virginia. In this respect the neighbourhood of Martinsburg; was remarkably 
fortunate, populated as it was by some of the best and most respectable 
families of "the Old Dominion" - 

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respectable, I mean, both in reputation and in point of antiquity - 
descendants of such ancestors as the Fairfaxes and Warringtons, upon whom 
Mr. Thackeray has lately conferred immortality.

   According to the custom of my country, I was sent at twelve years of 
age to Mount Washington College, of which Mr. Staley, of whom I cherish a 
most grateful recollection, was then principal. At sixteen my education 
was supposed to be completed, and I made my entrée into the world in 
Washington City with all the high hopes and thoughtless joy natural to my 
time of life. I did not then dream how soon my youth was to be "blasted 
with a curse" - the worst that can befall man or woman - the curse of 
civil war.

   Washington is so well known to English people that I need not pause to 
describe the city, its gaities and pleasures. In the 

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winter of 1860-1, when I made my first acquaintance with it, the season 
was pre-eminently brilliant. The Senate and Congress halls were nightly 
dignified by the presence of our ablest orators and statesmen; the salons 
of the wealthy and the talented were filled to overflowing; the theatres 
were crowded to excess, and for the last time for many years to come the 
daughters of the North and the South commingled in sisterly love and 
friendship.

   I am inclined to think that at the time of which I speak the city of 
Washington must have very nearly resembled that of Paris during those few 
years which immediately preceded 1789, while the elements of a stupendous 
revolution were yet hidden beneath a tranquil and deceitful surface. Like 
the Parisians of that memorable epoch, we were wilfully or fatally 

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blind to the signs of the times; we ate and drank, we dined and danced, we 
went in and came out, we married and were given in marriage, without a 
thought of the volcano that was seething beneath our feet.

   Who can predict what will be the end and issue of our revolution, when 
we consider that the effects of that which burst forth seventy-five years 
ago, wrapped all Europe in flames, and hurled kings from their thrones, 
are even now but partially developed? How many thousands of our sons have 
fallen in battle, against oppressors who would not confess that our 
freedom was beyond their power! How many hapless women and children have 
perished miserably, or been driven forth to beg their bread in foreign 
countries, before enemies who with heavy hands have sought to rivet our 
chains - enemies who could not discern 

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the truth of the Irish orator's memorable axiom, and acknowledge that the 
genius of Liberty is universal and irresistible!



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CHAPTER II.
Political Contest - Commencement of the Great Struggle in America - 
Secession of the Southern States - We hear of the Fall of Fort Sumter - 
Call for Troops - The Stars and Bars - Volunteers - Enlistment of my 
Father - Patriotism of the Southern Women - Harper's Ferry - Visit to 
Camp - Picnics, Balls, &c., &c.

   THE gaities of Washington, to which I alluded in my first chapter, were 
soon eclipsed by the clouds that gathered in the political horizon.

   The contest for the presidentship was over and the men of the South 
could no longer hide it from themselves that 

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the issue of the struggle must determine their fate.

   The secession of the Southern States, individually or in the aggregate, 
was the certain consequence of Mr. Lincoln's election. His accession to a 
power supreme and almost unparalleled was an unequivocal declaration, by 
the merchants of New England, that they had resolved to exclude the landed 
proprietors of the South from all participation in the legislation of 
their common country.

   I will not attempt to defend the institution of slavery, the very name 
of which is abhorred in England; but it will be admitted that the 
emancipation of the negro was not the object of Northern ambition; that 
is, of the faction which grasps exclusive power in contempt of general 
rights. Slavery, like all other imperfect forms of society, will have its 

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day; but the time for its final extinction in the Confederate States of 
America has not yet arrived. Can it be urged that a race which prefers 
servitude to freedom has reached that adolescent period of existence which 
fits it for the latter condition? Meanwhile, which stands in the better 
position, the helot of the South, or the "free" negro of the North - the 
willing slave of a Confederate master, or the reluctant victim of Federal 
conscription?

   And here I must take leave to ask a question of two great authors, both 
formerly advocates of an instantaneous abolition of slavery. Is the ghost 
of Uncle Tom laid? Has the slave dreamed his last dream? Will Mrs. H. B. 
Stowe and Mr. Longfellow admit that in either instance the hero owes his 
reputation for martyrdom to a creative genius and to an exquisite fancy? 
or will they still contend 

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that the negro slave of the Confederate States is, physically and morally, 
a real object of commiseration?

   The first champion of freedom - I speak advisedly, and in defiance of a 
seeming paradox - was South Carolina. She was a slave-holding State, but 
she flung down the gauntlet in the name and for the cause of liberty. Her 
bold example was soon followed. State after State seceded, and the Union 
was dissolved. It was now that we heard of the fall of Fort Sumter and Mr. 
Lincoln's demand upon the State of Virginia. He called upon her to furnish 
her quota of 76,000 recruits, to engage in battle with her sister States. 
He sowed the dragon's teeth, and he soon reaped the only harvest that 
could spring from such seed.

   Virginia promptly answered to the call, and produced the required 
soldiers; but 

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they did not rally under the Stars and Stripes. It was to the Stars and 
Bars, the emblem of the South, that Mr. Lincoln's Virginian soldiers 
tendered the oath of military allegiance. The flag of the once loved, but 
now dishonoured Union was lowered, and the colours of the Confederacy were 
raised in its place.

   Since that memorable epoch those colours have been baptized with the 
blood of thousands, to whose death in a cause so righteous the honour and 
reverence that wait upon martyrdom have been justly awarded: -

"Oh, if there be in this earthly sphere 
 A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 
 It is the libation that Liberty draws 
 From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause." 

   The enthusiasm of the enlistment was adequate to the occasion. Old men 
with gray hairs and stooping forms, young boys 

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just able to shoulder a musket, strong and weak, rich and poor, rallied 
round our new standard, actuated by a stern sense of duty, and eager for 
death or victory. It was at this exciting crisis that I returned to 
Martinsburg; and, oh! what a striking contrast my native village presented 
to the scenes I had just left behind me at Washington! My winter had been 
cheered by every kind of amusement and every form of pleasure: my summer 
was about to be darkened by constant anxiety and heart-rending affliction.

   My father was one of the first to volunteer. He was offered that grade 
in the army to which his social position entitled him; but, like many of 
our Virginian gentlemen, he preferred to enlist in the ranks, thereby 
leaving the pay and emoluments of an officer's commission to some other, 
whose means were not so ample, 

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and whose family might be straitened in his absence from home, an absence 
that must of course interfere with his avocation or profession.

   The 2nd Virginian was the regiment to which my father attached himself. 
It was armed and equipped by means of a subscription raised by myself and 
other ladies of the Valley. On the colours were inscribed these words, so 
full of pathos and inspiration: -

"Our God, our country, and our women." 

   The corps was commanded by Colonel Nadenbush, and belonged to that 
section of the Southern army afterwards known as "the Stonewall Brigade." 
"The Stonewall Brigade!" - the very name now bears with it traditions of 
surpassing glory; and I seize this opportunity of assuring English readers 
that it is with pride we Confederates 

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acknowledge that our heroes caught their inspiration from the example of 
their English ancestors. When our descendants shall read the story of 
General Jackson and his men, they will be insensibly attracted to those 
earlier pages of history which record the exploits of Wellington's Light 
Division.

   My father's regiment was hardly formed when it was ordered to Harper's 
Ferry; for the sacred soil of Virginia was threatened with invasion, and 
it was thought possible to make a stand at this lovely spot, to see which 
is "worth a voyage across the Atlantic." At the outbreak of the war 
Harper's Ferry could boast of one of the largest and best arsenals in 
America, and of a magnificent bridge, which latter, spanning the broad 
stream of the Potomac, connected Maryland with Virginia. Both arsenal and 
bridge were 

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blown up in July, 1861, by the Confederate forces, when the Federals, 
pressing upon them in overwhelming numbers, compelled a retreat.

   My home had now become desolate and lonely: the excitement caused by 
our exertions to equip our father for the field had ceased, and the 
reaction of feeling had set in. A general sadness and depression prevailed 
throughout our household. My mother's face began to wear an anxious, 
careworn expression. Our nights were not passed in sleep, but in thinking 
painfully of the loved one who was exposed to the dangers and privations 
of war.

   My mother, the daughter of an old officer, was left an orphan when very 
young; she had married my father just as she entered upon her sixteenth 
year; and now, almost for the first time, they were parted, under 

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circumstances which made the separation bitter indeed. For myself, I 
endeavoured to while away the long hours of those sunnier days by the aid 
of my books, and in making up different kinds of portable provisions for 
the use of my father, to whom I knew they would, in his novel position, be 
a luxury.

   But, notwithstanding all the restrictions I laid upon myself, and all 
the self-control I endeavoured to exert, I soon found these employments 
too tame and monotonous to satisfy my temperament, and I made up my mind 
to pay a visit to the camp, coûte qui coûte. I had no difficulty in 
prevailing upon some of my friends to accompany me in an expedition to 
head-quarters. Like myself, they had friends and relations to whom they 
felt their occasional presence would be a source of encouragement and 
solace; and we all knew that such a goodly 

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company as we formed could return safely to Martinsburg at almost any hour 
of the day or night.

   The camp at Harper's Ferry was at this time an animated scene. Officers 
and men were as gay and joyous as though no bloody strife awaited them The 
ladies, married and single, in the society of husbands, brothers, sons, 
and lovers, cast their cares to the winds, and seemed, one and all, 
resolved that, whatever calamity the future might have in store for them, 
it should not mar the transient pleasures of the hour. Since then I have 
had occasion to observe that such a state of feeling is not unnatural or 
unusual in the minds of men standing, as it were, on the brink of a 
precipice, or walking, as it were, over the surface of a mine. "Perils 
commonly ask to be paid in pleasures," and the payment is doubly 

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sweet when it is taken in anticipation of the debt.

   I fear that at this time many fond vows were exchanged and many true 
hearts pledged between the girls of the neighbourhood and the occupants of 
the camp; but it may be pardoned to beauty and innocence if they are not 
insensible to the virtues of courage and patriotism.

   A true woman always loves a real soldier. In the earliest ages poets 
and philosophers foretold that the Goddess of Love and Beauty would ever 
move in the same orbit and in close conjunction with the God of Battles, 
and the experience of ages has confirmed the judgment of antiquity. Alas! 
the loves of Harper's Ferry were in but too many instances buried in a 
bloody grave. The soldier who plighted his faith to his ladye-love was not 
tried in a long probation, but canonized by an 

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early death. War will exact its victims of both sexes, and claims the 
hearts of women no less than the bodies of men.

   To return from this digression. Our insouciance was not of long 
duration. The advance of a Federal army was reported; and General Jackson, 
with a force amounting to 5000 men, marched out to reconnoitre, and, if 
possible, to check their aggressive movement. Our people encamped at 
"Falling Waters," a romantic spot, eight miles from Martinsburg and four 
from Williamsport; for at this point of the river, it was rumoured, the 
Yankees had resolved to force a passage.

   It was early in the morning of the 3rd July that we "gude folks" of 
dear Martinsburg were startled by the roar of artillery and the rattle of 
musketry; and the intelligence was presently circulated that the 

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Yankees were advancing upon us in force, under the command of Generals 
Patterson and Cadwallader. It turned out, however, that, at the moment of 
which I speak, their advanced guard only was in motion; but the skirmish 
between our people and the enemy was sustained during nearly five hours. 
On both sides some fell, and, besides the casualties of the Federals in 
killed and wounded, we took about fifty of them prisoners.

   About ten o'clock General Jackson's army, in admirable array, marched 
through Martinsburg. They were in full retreat, their object being to 
effect a junction with the main body, under General J. E. Johnston, who 
had evacuated Harper's Ferry, and was falling back, by way of Charlestown, 
upon Winchester.

   Jackson's retreat was covered by a few horsemen under the gallant 
Colonel Ashby; 

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and scarcely were these latter disengaged from the streets of the town, 
when the shrill notes of the fife and the roll of the drum announced the 
approach of a Federal army, which proved to be 25,000 strong.

   It was to us a sad, but an imposing sight. On they came (their colours 
streaming to the breeze, their bayonets glittering in the sunlight) with 
all the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war." We could see from afar 
the dancing plumes of the cavalry -

"the glittering files, 
 O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles;" 

   we could before long hear the rumbling of the gun-carriages, and, worse 
than this, the hellish shouts with which the infuriated and undisciplined 
soldiers poured into the town.

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   At the time of their entry I was in the hospital, with my negro maid 
and some ladies of my acquaintance, in attendance upon two of our Southern 
soldiers, who had been stricken down with fever and were lying side by 
side. These were the sole tenants of the hospital: all the others had been 
borne off by the retreating army.

   I was standing close by the side of one of these poor men, who was just 
then ranting in a violent fit of delirium, when I was startled by the 
sound of heavy footsteps behind me; and, turning round, I confronted a 
captain of Federal infantry, accompanied by two private soldiers. He held 
in his hand a Federal flag, which he proceeded to wave over the bed of the 
sick men, at the same time calling them " - rebels."

   I immediately said, with all the scorn I 

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could convey into my looks, "Sir, these men are as helpless as babies, and 
have, as you may see, no power to reply to your insults."

   "And pray," said he, "who may you be, miss?"

   I did not deign to reply; but my negro maid answered him, "A rebel 
lady."

   Hereupon he turned upon his heel and retired, with the courteous remark 
that "I was a - independent one, at all events."

    I hope my readers will pardon my quoting his exact words: without such 
strict accuracy I should fail to do justice to his gallantry.

    Notwithstanding this interruption to our "woman's mission," the ladies 
to whom I have before alluded and myself were not discouraged; and before 
long we contrived 

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to get our patients moved to more comfortable quarters. They were taken 
away on litters; and, while they were in this defenseless condition, a 
condition which would have awakened the sympathy and secured the 
protection of a brave enemy, the Federal soldiers crowded round and 
threatened to bayonet them.

   Their gesticulations and language grew so violent, their countenances, 
inflamed by drink and hatred, were so frightful, that I nerved myself to 
seek out an officer and appeal to his sense of military honour, even if 
the voice of mercy were silent in his breast. Let me do him the justice to 
say, he restrained his turbulent men from further molestation, and I had 
the unspeakable satisfaction of conveying my sick men to a place of 
safety. The satisfaction was immeasurable; for I never for one moment 
forgot that insults such as I 

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had just seen offered to defenceless men might at any moment be heaped 
upon my own father.



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CHAPTER III.
Fourth of July - The Yankee Flag is hoisted in Martinsburg - Great 
Excitement - My first Adventure- An Article of War is read to me - Miss 
Sophia B.'s Walk.

   THE morning of the 4th of July dawned brightly.

   I need hardly say, for it is well known, that the Anniversary of the 
Declaration of Independence has, in each succeeding year from that of its 
birth, been hailed with triumphant acclamations by a nation still too 
young to moderate its transports and lend its ear to the voice of reason 
rather than to the impulse of passion.

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   The Yankees were in undisputed possession of Martinsburg; the village 
was at their mercy, and consequently entitled to their forbearance; and it 
would at least have been more dignified in them had they been content to 
enjoy their almost bloodless conquest with moderation; but, whatever might 
have been the intentions of the officers, they had not the inclination, or 
they lacked the authority, to control the turbulence of their men.

   The severance of the North from the South had now become in feeling so 
complete, that we Martinsburg girls saw the Union flag streaming from the 
windows of the houses with emotions akin to those with which the ladies of 
England would gaze upon the tricolour of France or the eagle of Russia 
floating above the keep of Windsor Castle. Those hateful strains of 
"Yankee Doodle" resounded in every 

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street, with an accompaniment of cheers, shouts, and imprecations.

   Whisky now began to flow freely; for, amid the motley crowd of 
Americans, Dutchmen, and other nations, the Irish element predominated. 
The sprigs of shillelahs were soon at work, and the "sons of Erin" proved 
that they could use their sticks with no less effect in an American town 
than at an Irish fair. They set at defiance the authority of those among 
their officers who vainly interposed to quell the tumult and restrain the 
lawless violence that was offered to defenceless citizens and women.

   The doors of our houses were dashed in; our rooms were forcibly entered 
by soldiers who might literally be termed "mad drunk," for I can think of 
no other expression so applicable to their condition. Glass and fragile 
property of all kinds was 

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wantonly destroyed. They found our homes scenes of comfort, in some cases 
even of luxury; they left them mere wrecks, utterly despoiled and 
mutilated. Shots were fired through the windows; chairs and tables were 
hurled into the street.

   In some instances a trembling lady would make a timid appeal to that 
honour which should be the attribute of every soldier, or, with streaming 
eyes and passionate accents, plead for some cherished object - the 
portrait, probably, of a dead father, or the miniature her lover placed in 
her hand when he left her to fight for his freedom and hers - upon which 
many a secret kiss had been pressed, many a silent tear had fallen, before 
which many an earnest prayer had been breathed.

   To such supplications the reply was invariably a volley of blasphemous 
curses 

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and horrid imprecations. Words from which the mind recoils with horror, 
which no man with one spark of feeling would utter in the presence even of 
the most abandoned woman, were shouted in the ears of innocent, shrinking 
girls; and the soldiers of the Union showed a malignant, a fiendish 
delight in destroying the effigies of enemies whom they had not yet dared 
to meet upon equal terms in an open field of battle.

   Surely it is not strange that cruelties such as I have attempted to 
describe have exasperated our women no less than our men, and inspired 
them with sterner feelings than those which inflame the bosoms of ladies 
who know nothing of invasion but its name, who have never at their own 
firesides shuddered at the oaths and threats of a robber disguised in the 
garb of a soldier.

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   Shall I be ashamed to confess that I recall without one shadow of 
remorse the act by which I saved my mother from insult, perhaps from 
death - that the blood I then shed has left no stain on my soul, imposed 
no burden upon my conscience?

   The encounter to which I refer was brought about as follows: - A party 
of soldiers, conspicuous, even on that day, for violence, broke into our 
house and commenced their depredations; this occupation, however, they 
presently discontinued, for the purpose of hunting for "rebel flags," with 
which they had been informed my room was decorated. Fortunately for us, 
although without my orders, my negro maid promptly rushed upstairs, tore 
down the obnoxious emblem, and, before our enemies could get possession of 
it, burned it.

   They had brought with them a large 

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Federal flag, which they were now preparing to hoist over our roof in 
token of our submission to their authority; but to this my mother would 
not consent. Stepping forward with a firm step, she said, very quietly, 
but resolutely, "Men, every member of my household will die before that 
flag shall be raised over us."

   Upon this, one of the soldiers, thrusting himself forward, addressed my 
mother and myself in language as offensive as it is possible to conceive. 
I could stand it no longer; my indignation was roused beyond control; my 
blood was literally boiling in my veins; I drew out my pistol(*) and shot 
him. He was carried away mortally wounded, and soon after expired.

   Our persecutors now left the house, and 

(* All our male relatives being with the army, we ladies were obliged to 
go armed in order to protect ourselves as best we might from insult and 
outrage.)

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we were in hopes we had got rid of them, when one of the servants, rushing 
in, cried out -

   "Oh, misses, missus, dere gwine to burn de house down; dere pilin' de 
stuff ag'in it! Oh, if massa were back!"

   The prospect of being burned alive naturally terrified us, and, as a 
last resource, I contrived to get a message conveyed to the Federal 
officer in command. He exerted himself with effect, and had the 
incendiaries arrested before they could execute their horrible purpose.

   In the meantime it had been reported at head-quarters that I had shot a 
Yankee soldier, and great was the indignation at first felt and expressed 
against me. Soon, however, the commanding officer, with several of his 
staff, called at our house to investigate the affair. He examined the 
witnesses, and inquired into all the 

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circumstances with strict impartiality, and finally said I had "done 
perfectly right." He immediately sent for a guard to head-quarters, where 
the élite of the army was stationed and a tolerable state of discipline 
preserved.

   Sentries were now placed around the house, and Federal officers called 
every day to inquire if we had any complaint to make of their behaviour. 
It was in this way that I became acquainted with so many of them; an 
acquaintance "the rebel spy" did not fail to turn to account on more than 
one occasion.

   When the news reached the Confederate camp at Darksville, seven miles 
from Martinsburg, on the Valley Road, that I had shot a Yankee soldier in 
self-defence, together with the false report that for so doing I had been 
thrown into the town gaol, the soldiers with one accord volunteered 

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to storm the prison and rescue me, or die to a man in the attempt. It is 
with pride and gratitude that I record this proof of their esteem and 
respect for what I had done. It is with no less pleasure I reflect that 
their devotion was not put to the test, and that no blood was shed on my 
account.

   And now, for seven consecutive days, General Jo. Johnston sent in a 
flag of truce offering battle to General Patterson: this challenge 
Patterson persistently declined. I am not so ignorant of warfare as not to 
know that strategic reasons justify the most daring general in refusing 
battle whenever and wherever he pleases.

   "If thou art a great soldier, come and fight." "If thou art a great 
soldier, make me come and fight."

   But, though the Federal commander had a perfect right to choose his own 

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battle-field, he had, in my opinion, no right to couple his refusal of the 
challenge with a threat that, as soon as Johnston should think fit to make 
an aggressive movement, he would at once shell Martinsburg, which 
sheltered the non-combatants, the women and the children, the sick and the 
infirm.

   Meanwhile, my residence within the Federal lines, and my acquaintance 
with so many of the officers, the origin of which I have already 
mentioned, enabled me to gain much important information as to the 
position and designs of the enemy. Whatever I heard I regularly and 
carefully committed to paper, and whenever an opportunity offered I sent 
my secret despatch by a trusty messenger to General J. E. B. Stuart, or 
some brave officer in command of the Confederate troops. Through accident 
or by treachery one of 

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these missives fell into the Yankees' hands. It was not written in cipher, 
and, moreover, my handwriting was identified. I was immediately summoned 
to appear before some colonel, whose name I have forgotten; but I remember 
it was Captain Gwyne who escorted me to head-quarters. There I was 
alternately threatened and reprimanded, and finally the following "Article 
of War" was read to me in a most emphatic manner' and with the caution 
that it would be carried out in the spirit and the letter: -

"ARTICLE OF WAR.
   "Whoever shall give food, ammunition, information to, or aid(*) and 
abet the enemies of the United States Government

(* I had been confiscating and concealing their pistols and swords on 
every possible occasion, and many an officer, looking about everywhere for 
his missing weapons, little dreamed who it was that had taken them, or 
that they had been smuggled away to the Confederate camp, and were 
actually in the hands of their enemies, to be used against themselves.)

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   in any manner whatever, shall suffer death, or whatever penalty the 
honourable members of the Court-martial shall see fit to inflict."

   I was not frightened, for I felt within me the spirit of the Douglas, 
from whom I am descended. I listened quietly to the recital of the doom 
which was to be my reward for adhering to the traditions of my youth and 
the cause of my country, made a low bow, and, with a sarcastic "Thank you, 
gentlemen of the Jury," I departed; not in peace, however, for my little 
"rebel" heart was on fire, and I indulged in thoughts and plans of 
vengeance.

   From this hour I was a "suspect," and all the mischief done to the 
Federal cause was laid to my charge; and it is with unfeigned joy and true 
pride I confess that the 

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suspicions of the enemy were far from being unfounded.

   On one occasion a friend of mine, Miss Sophia B-, of Martinsburg, a 
lovely girl, slipped away with a lettre de cachet, walked seven miles to 
the camp of Stonewall Jackson, and handed him important information, which 
was productive of much good. She, like myself, had brothers enrolled in 
that band of heroes.



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CHAPTER IV.
Battle of Manassas - Establishment of a Hospital at Front Royal 
(Virginia) - A Runaway Excursion - Capture of Federal Officers.

   THROUGHOUT the North the utmost confidence was felt that the 
subjugation of the rebels would be rapid and complete. "Ninety days!" "On, 
on to Richmond!" was the cry; but the shout was changed to a wail, on 
Manassas plains, where the first great battle of the war was fought.

   The action was precipitated by Patterson's attempt to prevent Johnston 
from erecting a junction with Beauregard at 

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Manassas. In this he failed, and the result of the movements and 
countermovements was the battle of "Bull Run."(*) This great Confederate 
victory has become an historical fact; I shall therefore pass it by in 
silence, and proceed to the narrative of my own personal adventures.

   At the time in question I was at Front Royal (Virginia), on a visit to 
my uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. S-. I wish it were in my power to give my 
readers some faint idea of this picturesque village,

(* Here it was that the Stonewall Brigade acquired its name. The fire was 
very hot, and the -th South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, thrown into 
confusion, wavered, and was upon the point of breaking. 
"Steady, men, steady," shouted Colonel Bartow, in a loud voice. "Look at 
General Jackson's brigade: they stand firm and immovable as a stone wall." 
The -th, animated by the voice and gesture of their gallant commander, and 
by the example of Jackson's men, rallied; and Colonel Bartow, taking 
advantage of the enthusiasm he had kindled, led his regiment at once to 
the charge, when he fell covered with wounds and honour.)

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which nestles in the bosom of the surrounding mountains, and reminds one 
of a young bird in its nest. A rivulet, which sometimes steals round the 
obstacles to its course, sometimes bounds over them with headlong leap, at 
last finds its way to the valley beneath, and glides by the village in 
peace and beauty.

   The scene is far beyond my powers of description. It is worthy of the 
pencil of Salvator Rosa, or the pen of the author of "Gertrude of
Wyoning," and I only wish the great landscape-painter had been given to 
our age and had wandered to the hills and valleys of Virginia.

   To this romantic retreat my uncle and aunt had fled, as deer fly for 
safety to the hills. They had resided in Washington, but their Southern 
sympathies were too strong and too openly expressed to allow of their 
remaining unmolested in 

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the Northern capital. They left a magnificent house, replete with handsome 
furniture, a prey to the Yankees, who converted it into barracks.

   Orders now came from the battle-field of Bull Run to the effect that 
the General in command had fixed upon Front Royal for the site of an 
extensive hospital, for the wounded Confederate soldiers. Every one in the 
village and the neighbourhood showed the greatest alacrity - I should say, 
enthusiasm - in preparing, in the shortest possible time, all that our 
suffering heroes could require. I bore my part, and before long was duly 
installed one of the "matrons."

   My office was a very laborious one, and my duties were painful in the 
extreme; but then, as always, I allowed but one thought to keep possession 
of my mind - the thought that I was doing all a woman 

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could do in her country's cause. The motto of my father's regiment was 
engraven on my heart, and I trust that I have always shown by my actions 
that I understood its significance.

   After six or eight weeks spent in incessant nursing, I was forced to 
return to my home at Martinsburg, in order to recruit my health, which had 
suffered severely; and I leave my readers to imagine with what joy I heard 
my dear mother's praises of actions which she, in her fond affection, 
styled heroic.

   In October my mother and myself resolved upon a short visit to my 
father at Manassas. We stayed at a large house, situated in the very 
centre of the camp. This tenement was then the temporary abode of several 
other ladies, wives and daughters of officers.

   During this period I had frequently the 

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honour of acting the part of courier between General Beauregard, General 
Jackson, and their subordinates.

   This was a happy time, but it did not last long; and, after a few weeks 
spent as above described, my mother and I returned to Martinsburg. The 
winter passed very quietly, and brought me but a single adventure worth 
recording.

   I was riding out one evening with two young officers,(*) one a cousin 
and the other a friend, when my horse, a young and high-spirited creature, 
took fright, and ran away with me. Notwithstanding all my efforts, I 
failed to stop him until he had carried me within the Federal lines, a 
goal to which my companions could not venture to follow me.

(* My English readers may deem it strange that a young girl should ride 
alone with young gentlemen, but the practice is not in America considered 
a breach of decorum.)

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   I felt rather uncomfortable, not knowing exactly how to act; but I soon 
made up my mind that, for this once, at all events, valour would be the 
better part of discretion, if not prudence itself; so, riding straight up 
to the officer in command of the picket, I said - 

   "I beg your pardon - you must know that I have been taking a ride with 
some of my friends; my horse ran away with me, and has carried me within 
your lines. I am your captive, but I beg you will permit me to return."

   "We are exceedingly proud of our beautiful captive," replied one of the 
officers, with a bow, "but of course we cannot think of detaining you." 
Then, after a moment's pause, he added -

   "May we have the honour of escorting you beyond our lines and restoring 
you to the custody of your friends? I suppose 

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there is no fear of those cowardly rebels taking us prisoners?"

   "I had scarcely hoped," I replied, "for such an honour. I thought you 
would probably have given me a pass; but, since you are so kind as to 
offer your services in person, I cannot do otherwise than accept them. 
Have no fear, gentlemen, of the 'cowardly rebels.'"

   They little thought how those words, "cowardly rebels," rankled in my 
heart.

   Off we started; and imagine their blank looks when, soon after they had 
escorted me beyond their lines, my Confederate friends, who had been 
anxiously waiting for me, rode out from their ambush and joined the party. 
All four looked surprised and embarrassed. I broke the general silence, by 
saying, with a laugh, to the Confederates, "Here are two prisoners that I 
have brought you."

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   Then, turning to the Federal officers, I said -

   "Here are two of the 'cowardly rebels' whom you hoped there was no 
danger of meeting!"

   They looked doubtfully and inquiringly at me, and, after a short pause, 
exclaimed almost simultaneously -

   "And who, pray, is the lady?"

   "Belle Boyd, at your service," I replied.

   "Good God! the rebel spy!"

   "So be it, since your journals have honoured me with that title."

   After this short colloquy we escorted them, without any attempt at 
resistance on their part, to head-quarters, and related all the 
circumstances of the adventure to the officer in command, who ordered them 
to be detained.

   The Yankees reproached us bitterly with 

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our treachery; but when it is considered that their release followed their 
capture within an hour, that they had in the first instance stigmatized 
the rebels, when none were near, as cowards, that they had immediately 
afterwards yielded without a blow to an equal number of these self-same 
cowards, I think my readers will admit their spirit of bravado well 
merited a slight humiliation. Let us hope they have profited by the 
lesson. I consoled myself that "all was fair in love and war."

   Although Bull Run had been fought, and I had witnessed the outrages of 
July 4th at Martinsburg, we had hardly yet realized the horrors of war, 
or, to speak more correctly, we did not allow ourselves to believe in 
their continuance. We hoped that enough had been done to pave the way for 
reconciliation. Winter set in and 

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closed the campaign, and, with a cessation of active hostilities, our 
apprehensions for the future were forgotten in our enjoyment of the 
present.

   It was only when spring returned, and brought with it no sign of a dove 
from the ark, that we realized how far the waters of the deluge were from 
subsiding. Balls and sleighs, mirth and laughter, vanished with the last 
snows of winter; and it was with sad and sickening hearts we saw Colonel 
Ashby and his cavalry evacuate the town.

   But a very few years since, Henry, afterwards Colonel Ashby, was one of 
those young men whose characters have been so often imagined by writers of 
romance, but are so rarely met with in real life. He united in himself all 
those qualifications which justly recommend their possessor to the love of 
the one sex and to the esteem 

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of the other. At once tender and respectful, manly and accomplished, 
animated and handsome, he won without an effort the hearts of women. Brave 
and good-humoured, he combined simplicity with talents of the highest 
order. He entertained a strict sense of honour, and never forgot what was 
due to himself; and he was ever wont to forget an injury, and even to 
pardon an insult, upon the first overture of the offender.

   Endowed with such qualities, it is not surprising he was a universal 
favourite; and, indeed, it was commonly said the spirit of Admirable 
Crichton had revisited the world in the person of Henry Ashby.

   Such a man was sure to be among the first to draw his sword in the 
cause of independence.

   At an early period of the war he was appointed to the command of a 
regiment 

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of cavalry, in which capacity he displays an unusual degree of vigilance 
and alacrity in the arduous service of outpost duty.

   On one occasion his regiment was drawn up at some distance from a 
railroad which passed directly across his front. On the farther side was 
broken ground, well calculated to conceal a large body of men. Colonel 
Ashby, therefore, ordered out a small party to reconnoitre, putting them 
under command of his younger brother, between whom and himself there 
subsisted an affection warm, genuine, almost romantic.

   Unfortunately "Dick Ashby's" impetuosity overlaid his judgment, and, 
exceeding the instructions he had received from his brother, he passed 
some distance beyond the railway, and suddenly found himself in presence 
of a large body of the enemy.

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   He retreated in admirable order; but the Yankees pressed hard upon him, 
and he and his little band were overtaken upon the railroad.

   Here a fatal accident befell poor Dick Ashby. His horse stumbled and 
fell at one of the cuts.(*) In this defenseless condition he was set upon 
without mercy, without even quarter being offered, by five Yankees at once.

   In spite of these odds, and the disadvantage at which he was taken, he 
sold his life so dearly that his five assailants were all killed or 
wounded. By this time Colonel Ashby, leading on his regiment at a gallop, 
had reached the scene of action, 

(* These cuts are large drains, or rather tunnels, cut transversely 
through the lines of American railways, at short intervals. They serve to 
carry off such a rush of water as would otherwise inundate the line after 
a heavy fall of rain or the overflow of a river. They are of course 
covered, and the trains pass over them.)

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and, the contest being now pretty equal, the Federals soon fled, and were 
pursued as far as the nature of the ground would permit. The victors then 
returned to the railway, and hastily dug a shallow grave, into which all 
that remained of Dick Ashby was consigned.

   Colonel Ashby dismounted, and, kneeling by the mutilated body, gently 
disengaged the sword from his dead brother's hand; then, breaking it into 
pieces, he cast them into the grave, and on that solemn spot vowed to 
avenge his brother's murder and to consecrate the remainder of his life to 
the service of his country.

   This vow he faithfully kept. His character underwent a change as 
instantaneous and enduring as that of Colonel Gardiner. All his gaiety and 
high spirits forsook him. In society he was rarely heard to speak, never 
seen to smile, and, after a 

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brief, but glorious career, he fell in an unequal and desperate struggle, 
cheering on his men with his dying breath.

"The bravest are the tenderest: 
 The gentle are the daring." 

   I shall conclude this chapter with another short episode, which proves 
how suddenly national disorders discover the hidden force of individual 
character.

   Miss D., at the outbreak of the war, was a lovely, fragile-looking girl 
of nineteen, remarkable for the sweetness of her temper and the gentleness 
of her disposition.

   A few days before the battle of Bull Run a country market-cart stopped 
in the Confederate lines, at the door of General Bonham's tent. A peasant-
girl alighted from the cart and begged for an immediate interview with the 
General.

    It was granted.

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   "General Bonham, I believe?" said the young lady, in tones which 
betrayed her superiority to the disguise she had assumed. Then, tearing 
down her long, black hair, she took from its folds a note, small, damp, 
and crumpled; but it was by acting upon this informal despatch that 
General Beauregard won the victory of Bull Run.

   Miss D. had passed through the whole of the Federal army. I dare not 
now publish her name; but, if ever these pages meet her eye, she will not 
fail to recognize her own portrait, nor will she be displeased to find 
that her exiled countrywoman cherishes the remembrance of her intrepidity 
and devotion.