e was unarmed, as were those who rowed him
over. The letter was despatched to army head-quarters, whilst the
orderly and his boatmen were detained at the landing under guard of our
detail. They sat down and in an entirely easy and friendly way chatted
with our guard. One would not have believed that these men would shed
each other's blood instantly the little white flag was lowered. Yet such
was the fact. A half-hour brought a reply to the communication. We, of
course, saw neither their letter nor the reply, but my lady was
immediately brought over and escorted by a mounted guard to army
head-quarters, an ambulance being utilized for the purpose. She was
really a very pretty young woman, and evidently a thorough lady, though
a spirit of hauteur made it apparent she was a Southerner through and
through. She maintained a perfect composure during the formality of her
reception into our lines, for the officer from the rebel lines who
escorted her required a receipt from the officer who had been sent down
from head-quarters to receive her; and the appearance of a pretty woman
in our lines was so unusual an event that Uncle Sam's boys may have been
pardoned if they were all anxious to get a square view of the charming
vision. This receipt had to be made in duplicate, one for each army,
both officers, as well as the young woman, attesting it with their
signatures. General Sully more than half suspected she was a rebel spy.
If she was, they wisely chose a beauty for the work.

CHAPTER XIV

THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH--CONTINUED

During the remainder of the winter at Falmouth, I was on as
field-officer of the day about every fifth day, so that I was much of
the time at the Lacey House, and on the picket-line described in the
foregoing chapter. The scenes here enacted constituted my chief
experience at this time. The Lacey House was famous during the war as
being the head-quarters of either the picket lines between the two
armies or of commanding officers of portions of both so frequently that
it deserves more than a passing notice. It was a large old-time brick
mansion, beautifully situated on the bank of the Rappahannock, just
opposite Fredericksburg, and was, at the outbreak of the war, the
private residence of Colonel Lacey, who was at the time I write a
colonel in the rebel army. The house was very large; its rooms almost
palatial in size, had been finished in richly carved hardwood panels and
wainscoting, mostly polis