could get away, I wrote to Martin Clogfast, telling him of my
intention, and begging him, if he had any idea of the armies, or the
Sawyer, or even Firm, or any thing whatever of interest, to write
(without losing a day) to me, directing his letter to a house in New
York whose address Major Hockin gave me.

So many things had to be done, and I listened so foolishly to the Major
(who did his very best to stop me), that it came to be May, 1862 (nearly
four years after my father's death), before I could settle all my plans
and start. For every body said that I was much too young to take such
a journey all by myself, and "what every body says must be right,"
whenever there is no exception to prove the rule. "Aunt Marys" are not
to be found every day, nor even Major Hockins; and this again helped
to throw me back in getting away from England. And but for his vast
engineering ideas, and another slight touch of rheumatic gout (brought
upon herself by Mrs. Hockin through setting seven hens in one evening),
the Major himself might have come with me, "to observe the new military
tactics," as well as to look for his cousin Sampson.

In recounting this I seem to be as long as the thing itself was in
accomplishing. But at last it was done, and most kindly was I offered
the very thing to suit me--permission to join the party of a well-known
British officer, Colonel Cheriton, of the Engineers. This gentleman,
being of the highest repute as a writer upon military subjects,
had leave from the Federal government to observe the course of this
tremendous war. And perhaps he will publish some day what seems as
yet to be wholly wanting--a calm and impartial narrative of that
unparalleled conflict. At any rate, he meant to spare no trouble in a
matter so instructive, and he took his wife and two daughters--very nice
girls, who did me a world of good--to establish them in Washington, or
wherever the case might require.

Lucky as this was for me, I could not leave my dear and faithful friends
without deep sorrow; but we all agreed that it should be only for a very
little time. We landed first at New York, and there I found two letters
from Martin of the Mill. In the first he grumbled much, and told me that
nothing was yet known about Uncle Sam; in the second he grumbled (if
possible) more, but gave me some important news. To wit, he had received
a few lines from the Sawyer, who had failed as yet to find his grandson,
and sadly lamented the mi