In the early part of April, 1861, a tall, well-built man, with the love of adventure in his heart, called upon the General commanding the Union forces and offered to penetrate the Confederate lines for the purpose of discovering the military secrets of the Southern army.

The volunteer was Lafayette C. Baker, who was to play a most conspicuous part in the Civil War, and the soldier to whom he made his proposal was General Winfield Scott, one of the most distinguished military men in the United States. The interview was epoch-making in its character, and out of it came one of the most amazing adventures in the history of the war.

Washington was filled with all sorts of men on all sorts of missions at that time, and Scott was not disposed to see the young man from the West. The General, with others in power, had his fill of theorists who offered endless suggestions for the conduct of the war, most of which, when tried, proved to be impracticable. But Baker was the sort of an enthusiast who was not to be daunted. He had journeyed to the National Capital for the purpose of seeing the General and he did not propose to quit until he had accomplished his object. It happened that he was acquainted with Congressman William D. Kelley, a notable member of the House from Philadelphia, and Mr. Kelley, in the kindness of his heart, managed to arrange an interview with General Scott.

The enthusiasm of the man who was willing to risk his life in the cause attracted the attention of the veteran of the Army. Scott had the enviable distinction of having participated in three wars. He rendered distinguished service in the war of 1812, and he was one of the heroes of the Mexican War. Now, as the ranking head of the Army, he was charged with the direction of the Federal forces in the Civil War, although age and increasing infirmities eventually caused him to be shelved in favor of younger men. But in the meantime he was deeply interested in knowing the plans of the Confederates, and he was impressed with the earnestness of Baker.

“You look as if you had the grit and the intelligence for the job,” he said, “and I’m going to give you a chance to see what you can do. If you succeed you will be recognized by the Government in a suitable manner.”

Baker drew himself up to his full height and there was a flash of fire in his gray eyes as he exclaimed:

“All I ask is this chance—I’ll guarantee to make good!”

The General smiled and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the volunteer.

“That’s the sort of spirit that wins. Good-by and good luck to you!”

But before Baker left, Scott had pressed ten twenty-dollar gold pieces into his hands.

“You may need it for expenses,” he said with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

Lafayette Baker now possessed the status of an “unofficial spy.” He was not commissioned and he was unarmed, but he was satisfied that if he were able to carry out his promise he would not fail to receive governmental recognition. His first move was to contrive some plan that would make his appearance in the camp seem reasonable. He discarded the notion of a disguise as unnecessary and dangerous. He finally hit upon the expedient of pretending to be an itinerant photographer. At that stage of the Civil War picture taking was all the rage and the officers delighted in having themselves photographed in front of their tents, surrounded by their aides.

Baker went to one of the second hand shops in Washington and succeeded in purchasing a camera and a tripod. The fact that the camera was worn out and unworkable did not disturb him in the least. The dealer chuckled at the thought of finding a customer who was willing to pay real money for such junk, little thinking that the paraphernalia was precisely suited to the needs of the purchaser.

All of his preparations were completed on the 11th of July, 1861, and on the morning of that day he began his journey, exclaiming as he did so,

“On to Richmond!”

Baker had been given detailed instructions by General Scott and was told to keep his eyes and ears open during the progress of his trip to the Confederate capital. He had been told to learn the locality, strength and character of the Southern troops and to let no opportunity pass for gaining information of the enemy’s fortifications. General Scott was especially anxious to get some definite news concerning the famous Black Horse Cavalry, which had become the bane of the Union Commanders.

Baker began his journey in high spirits. The nature of his services, of course, was not known to the Federal troops and as a consequence he was regarded by them with quite as much interest and curiosity as if he had been within the lines of the enemy.

The Federal Army lay before Washington, guarding the frontier, which stretched from a point three miles below Alexandria toward the Potomac. General Heintzelman was the Provost Marshal and was stationed at this point. Passes were not recognized either by the Union or Confederate armies, and Baker knew that he ran the risk of being arrested as a spy either by the Federal or the Confederate sentinels. However, he knew the attempt to get through both these lines was a part of his self-imposed task. When he was four miles out of the city he reached the headquarters of the Second Maine Regiment. His photographic outfit was slung across his back and the Colonel of the regiment invited him to take a view of the camp, including his own tent with the principal officers standing in the foreground. As Baker’s apparatus was next to worthless, he knew that it would be folly for him to pretend to take the picture, but he was equal to the occasion. After dining with the Colonel, he suggested that he would like to go to a neighboring hill and take views of the encampment and then return to photograph the headquarters. He was soon in the woods, and eluding the guards pushed forward through the tangled undergrowth in the direction of Richmond. After a while he felt that he had crossed the Federal lines, but at that critical moment he was startled by a loud command:

“Who goes there!”

Baker looked up and saw a sentinel standing with lifted gun upon a knoll just beyond the roadside. There was no opportunity for explanation. The guard marched the volunteer in the direction of the Colonel’s headquarters. That officer was sure he had caught a spy and escorted by ten men, Baker was sent back along the railroad, the very way he had started, to General Heintzelman’s headquarters. He was presented to the General in language that was more expressive than flattering:

“Here’s a dirty spy, General—we found him lurking about our camp and trying to get through the lines.”

“You contemptible villain!” exclaimed Heintzelman with an oath, “I’ve got a notion to stand you against the wall and shoot you through the heart.”

Baker, with all his courage, quailed before this fiery denunciation. He was in a predicament. His employment by General Scott was confidential and it might spoil his plan of campaign if he should disclose his identity, but while he was wondering what he should do under the circumstances, General Heintzelman burst forth with another tirade:

“I’ll fix you, you rascal!” he exclaimed. “I’ll send you to General Scott and I’ll wager that he’ll teach you a lesson that will last you for the balance of your life.”

The captive smiled at this announcement. It fitted in with his own desires so well that he could scarcely conceal his own satisfaction. A guard was placed around him and he was hurried to Washington and into the presence of General Scott. The veteran lifted his eyebrows with surprise and amusement and dismissed the escort.

“Leave this man with me,” he said, trying to conceal his smile; “I’ll know how to deal with him.”

When they were alone the General patted his messenger on the shoulder and said cheerfully:

“This is a complication that I had not anticipated. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to try again,” was the prompt reply of Baker, and ten minutes later he was started on his mission for the second time.

Soldiers were arriving in Washington at all hours of the day and night and in an almost unbroken line were marching over a long bridge into Virginia. That night Baker took his position at the end of the bridge and when a regiment came down in considerable disorder he quietly slipped into the ranks, hoping to be borne along with the troops. Unfortunately a lieutenant saw the movement and taking the interloper by the collar put him under guard and sent him back to the rear. He was released with a warning not to repeat the trick.

Another night was spent in Washington, but it was not wholly devoted to sleep. The active mind of the volunteer was busy with new plans and when daylight came he said to himself with the air of a child who is reciting a lesson:

“On to Richmond!”

Before breakfast that morning he had renewed his journey on foot, going through the lower counties of Maryland, toward Fort Tobacco. He traveled thirty-five miles that day and when night came he was so exhausted that he slept like a log. In the morning he gave a negro one of his precious twenty-dollar gold pieces to row him across the river and before noon that day he found himself well within the Confederate lines. The country was wooded and an unfrequented road, whose general direction was toward Richmond, suggested his line of advance into the old dominion. It was a hot day and he was forced to pause frequently to slake his thirst at brooks by the roadside. He had no settled plan of future movements, but trusted to circumstances to steer his course. He was about four miles from the banks of the Potomac when two Confederate soldiers made their appearance and demanded him to give an account of himself. He did so, but his story was evidently discounted, for the soldiers promptly placed him under arrest as a spy. They were friendly guards, however, and accepted an invitation from their prisoner to indulge in a glass of ale at a beer shop in one of the townships through which they passed. One glass, as frequently happens, led to another, until finally the two soldiers fell asleep on the step of the beer house and their prisoner went on his way unmolested.

He proceeded along the road toward Manassas Junction, congratulating himself on his easy escape when four cavalrymen suddenly came out of the brush and ordered him to halt. They drew their sabers and commanded him to surrender. He pretended surprise.

“I’m a law abiding citizen,” he exclaimed, “unarmed and on my way to Richmond, where I have business.”

One of the men dismounted and proceeded to search him and succeeded in finding a number of letters. It was just the thing that Baker wanted, for two of these missives were notes of introduction to prominent men in Richmond. In spite of this, the four soldiers directed Baker to proceed to Brentsville, about ten miles distant. They rode all the way and kept him on foot between them. Brentsville was reached about ten o’clock that night and the prisoner was immediately taken to the headquarters of General Bonham of South Carolina, who was in command at that vicinity. The General, who was in full dress uniform, took a seat opposite Baker and began to question him.

“Where do you come from and where are you going?” he asked.

“I come from Washington and I am on my way to Richmond.”

“What do you mean by coming inside of my lines!” he exclaimed.

Baker’s face in the language of the movies “registered” intense surprise.

“I’m a loyal and peaceful citizen of the United States, engaged in an honorable and legitimate pursuit. I have business in Richmond and desire to get there at the earliest possible moment.”

The Confederate General laughed mirthlessly.

“Well, I’ll see that you get there and in quick order. I believe you’re a Union spy and I’m going to send you to General Beauregard.”

General Bonham handed a sealed letter to a lieutenant who was standing near by and said:

“Put this man in irons and take him to General Beauregard’s headquarters.”

So at midnight, expostulating all the way, he was compelled to go on foot in the direction of Manassas Junction. When he protested against being compelled to walk such a distance he was told that he had chosen that mode of conveyance and ought not to find fault with it. The party arrived at Manassas Junction at daylight and went at once to General Beauregard’s headquarters, which were located at the Wiere House. The prisoner was completely exhausted from his walk and he lay down in front of the house and went to sleep. He awoke at nine o’clock and found himself in charge of a guard, who told him that General Beauregard had expressed a desire to see him.

General Beauregard sat in front of a desk, surrounded by members of his staff. An open letter lay before him. He pointed to it, frowningly, and said:

“I see that you have been taken inside of our lines. What explanation have you to make?”

Lafayette Baker had been cross-examined so often during his brief career as a military spy that he was becoming used to the ordeal. He had his story by heart and he proceeded to tell it glibly.

“I am from Washington and I am on my way to Richmond where I have private business requiring my attention. I have not intended to violate any law, regulation or military rule of the Confederate Army.”

The General turned to a member of his staff and began whispering. The prisoner watched him anxiously. The letters that had been taken from him named him as Samuel Munson and he realized that it would not do to forget the appellation. He had assumed that name because he had learned that several families by the name of Munson belonged in Knoxville, Tennessee, and he had known a son of Judge Munson during the time he lived in California. While this thought was running through his mind the General finished his conversation with his staff officer and once more turned to the spy.

“So you are going to Richmond, are you?”

The prisoner smiled.

“That was my intention,” he replied, “but of course you are to be the judge in that matter. If it is your desire, I am willing to return to Washington.”

General Beauregard shook his head.

“No,” he said, with a slight trace of sarcasm in his voice. “I prefer that you should go to Richmond. Where do you reside?”

“I have lived in California for the last ten years, but formerly lived in the South in Knoxville, Tennessee.”

“How long has it been since you were in Knoxville?”

“Ten or twelve years.”

“What is your name?”

“Samuel Munson,” replied Baker with cheerful mendacity.

General Beauregard looked at the prisoner intently and then suddenly exclaimed:

“Yes, yes, I know that is the name on the letters that were found in your possession, but I’d like to know what your name was before you became a spy.”

If he expected to catch his man unaware, he was disappointed for Baker, looking at him with assumed dignity, said:

“I am no spy.”

The General arose from his chair and paced up and down the room several times. Presently he halted and pointing out of the window said:

“Do you see that tree?”

“I do.”

“Well, I half believe that you are a spy and if I was sure of it I would hang you on that tree as a warning to all other spies.”

Baker looked at him reproachfully and not without a secret feeling of fear. The General called to one of his attendants.

“Orderly,” he commanded, “take this man out and put him in the guard house.”

Five minutes later the adventurer found himself inside of a log house within a stockade. The discreet use of one of his gold pieces secured him a warm breakfast and later in the day he was permitted to go outside in the care of a guard. The two men were soon on good terms and the guard did not disdain the offer of a drink with his prisoner. Before they returned, Baker had the satisfaction of seeing all the troops in the vicinity of Manassas Junction—including the famous Black Horse Cavalry concerning which General Scott was anxious to obtain information.

The volunteer spy now had important information which would be of great value to General Scott, but he had no means of conveying it to the Union Commander. Indeed, he was kept under lock and key with no means to communicate with the outside world. Perhaps his guards repented having given him so much liberty. If so they did not propose to repeat the mistake. During the long watches of the night he had time to think over his position, and to consider his plans for the future. As a result of this he abandoned all thought of trying to escape—at least at that stage of the adventure. His one desire was to reach Richmond, and thus carry out his original design. But if he were kept confined there would not be much prospect of reaching the Confederate capital. Curiously enough, the thought of being shot as a spy did not enter his thoughts at that time. He was so much engrossed in his mission that he did not think of the risk he was running. All during that night his one thought was:

How shall I get to Richmond?

Just before daylight the answer came in the most abrupt and unexpected manner. One of his guards aroused him, shouting:

“Hey there, wake up and get ready for a journey! You’ve got to go to Richmond and give an account of yourself to Jeff Davis!”

Baker could have cried with joy. The one thing he most desired had come about without any effort on his part. He cheerfully arose and won the good will of the guard by his seeming docility. He was taken to the station and placed on a freight car, along with some others who were also going to Richmond. Evidently he was regarded as an important prisoner, for he was carefully guarded during every stage of the journey. That trip during the night, over a badly constructed road was a nightmare, long to live in the memory of Lafayette Baker. But the prospect of actually setting foot in the Confederate capital kept him in the best of spirits and enabled him to exchange jests with his captors.

On the arrival in Richmond he expected to be taken to Libby Prison, concerning the horrors of which he had heard a great deal from Union soldiers who had been captured in some of the early skirmishes of the war. But instead of that he was conveyed to a room on the third story of an engine house in the city. His apartment was large and airy, and was all that could be desired. He was treated with great consideration, but was guarded with scrupulous care. Evidently the officers felt that they had no ordinary prisoner in their charge. The cause of this extreme courtesy became evident on the morning of the second day after Baker’s arrival in Richmond when he was informed that President Davis desired to interview him. The head of the Confederacy had his headquarters in the Spottswood House whence the Northern spy was escorted. Baker expected to find much formality there, but to his surprise found Mr. Davis in his shirt sleeves and without collar and tie. He was evidently very busy because his desk was filled with papers and there were a number of persons waiting to have a talk with him. He motioned Baker to a seat without looking at him, and continued with some writing with which he was engaged when the prisoner was brought into his room. Presently he turned to the suspect and said abruptly:

“They say your name is Samuel Munson?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the cheerful fabricator, “that is my name.”

“I understand,” said the civil chief of the seceding States, toying with his pen, “that you have been in Washington recently. What can you tell me about conditions there?”

“Not much,” was the answer, “except that there is a great deal of excitement and confusion there.”

“How many troops do you think there are in Washington and vicinity at the present time?”

“That is a pretty difficult question to answer, but there are probably from 75,000 to 100,000, with more arriving all the while.”

Mr. Davis seemed to ponder over this for some time, and then looking his caller in the eye, he said,

“I presume that you know you are suspected of being a spy?”

The look of injured innocence which appeared upon the face of Lafayette Baker would have done credit to a professional actor. Nevertheless he evaded a direct answer by saying:

“No man is safe from accusation in times like the present.”

“But what have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing except that I defy my accusers to prove their charges.”

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Davis, “that some one said you were a Southern man.”

“Yes, sir, I came originally from Knoxville. The members of my family lived there for years, but in recent times I have lived in California.”

“Have you any way of proving that?”

The alleged Mr. Munson shrugged his shoulders.

“I am afraid I cannot find any one here to identify me.”

The President of the Confederacy smiled a somewhat sarcastic smile.

“Perhaps we may be able to help you out in that respect. There is a Knoxville man in the city and as soon as I am able to locate him I will have you meet him.”

This was startling news indeed and it came near shaking the self-assurance of the volunteer spy. But before he had time to make any reply he found himself being escorted out of the room and taken to his place of confinement in the engine house. He was treated as kindly as before, but he realized that the watch upon him was closer than ever. He did some serious thinking that night. As he looked out of the barred windows and up into the unpitying stars he felt that he had reached a real crisis in his life.

One of two things would happen. Either he would escape from his place of confinement, and attempt to reach the North, or he would be shot as a spy. All of the chances seemed to point to his execution on the charge of spying.

But his naturally buoyant disposition came to his aid, and when morning arrived he was taking a more cheerful view of the future. That day he was taken before President Davis and submitted to a further cross-examination. The Chief of the Confederacy appeared to be more anxious to get reliable information concerning the Union forces than to prove that Baker was a spy.

“Who is in command of the Yankees at this time?” he asked.

“General Scott,” was the truthful reply.

“Where is he?”

“In Washington.”

“Ah, then he is not in charge of the troops?”

“No, sir, I believe that General McDowell is in active command of the forces in the field.”

This was correct, and Baker in making the statement felt that he was not giving away any of the secrets of the war. But the information interested the President and he turned aside and talked with several of his advisers who were in the room. In the meanwhile he made a gesture to indicate that he was through with Mr. Baker, alias Mr. Munson, and the spy was led from the room and once again taken to his prison in the engine house. In spite of his optimistic nature these repeated cross-examinations were beginning to unnerve him. He was afraid that he might be tripped up in some of his answers, and then he felt sure that he would be stood up against a wall and shot. He felt that such a procedure would make him a martyr, but he had a very natural desire to postpone his martyrdom as long as possible.

His real ordeal was to come on the following day. Shortly after breakfast he learned that Mr. Davis desired to see him again. And he learned something else that caused him much perturbation. It was that a Knoxville man had been located in Richmond and that he had been sent for to identify the supposed Mr. Munson. Baker tried hard to screw up his courage for the interview. He was at a loss as to how he should act and talk. It was certain that the man did not know him and in such an event he would be in the position of being condemned as an impostor and a spy. While he was preparing to go over to the Spottswood House he heard one of his captors speak of a Mr. Brock of Knoxville, who had also been summoned to meet the President. Baker grasped at this as a drowning man grabs at a straw. All the way to the hotel he racked his brain in the effort to work out a plan of action. But he could reach no definite conclusion. He would have to be guided entirely by circumstances. One thing he did do was to refresh his mind as to certain names and places in Knoxville. When he reached the headquarters of the Confederate Government he found Mr. Davis talking with a man in a frock coat and a slouch hat. At first he supposed that this must be Brock, but fortunately he learned that it was Robert Toombs, and was thereby saved from making a break that might have caused his undoing. In a moment the President turned to the spy.

“Hello, Munson,” he said, “I have sent for a man who has lived in Knoxville for many years, and he will be able to tell us if you are the person you claim to be. Take a seat. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Baker sat on a chair facing the door and anxiously waited for the man who was to give the verdict. The moments went by on leaden heels. He could feel the cold sweat coming out on his brow. But he had courage and he was resourceful. Once the door opened and a messenger came in. Baker half rose to his feet, but caught himself in time. He could not afford to make a mistake. The President and Toombs talked together as if oblivious to his presence. Presently Toombs threw himself on a couch in a corner of the room and Mr. Davis busied himself with some papers on his desk. The spy kept his eyes glued upon the door. Out of it would walk his doom or his deliverance—he could not tell which. Suddenly when the strain was beginning to seem too great for further endurance, the door was opened and a middle-aged man entered the room. He hesitated for a moment and looked about him inquiringly. Baker felt that he must be the man. He did not hesitate for the fraction of a moment, but jumping up and hurrying toward the newcomer he held out his hand and exclaimed in a tone of great cordiality:

“Why, hello, Brock, how are you, anyhow?”

The surprised visitor did not have time to think. He accepted the proffered hand in a mechanical manner and said slowly:

“You—you are—”

“Sam Munson, of course. Don’t you remember me?”

“Judge Munson’s son?”

“Certainly—but it’s been ten years since we’ve met. I’m surely glad to see you. How are you, anyhow?”

“I’m right well,” said the stampeded one, “and how are you?”

“Well, I haven’t been very well, but the sight of you is a cure for sore eyes. They’ve locked me up on suspicion, and you’ve just come in the nick of time. They wanted some one to let them know that I was really Sam Munson. How long has it been since you’ve been in the old town?”

“Two years,” said Brock, watching the other man intently.

“Well, it’s been ten since I was there, and I’ll bet they’ve had some big changes in that time.”

“Rather!”

“By the way,” continued Baker, trying to prevent the other from having time to think, “you remember the Bradleys, don’t you? Well, I heard not long ago that Sue Bradley had married—married some fellow from Chattanooga. She was a mighty fine girl was Sue, and the fellow that got her got a prize.”

Well, to make a long story short the bluff worked—not like a charm, but with sufficient smoothness to enable the nervy spy to save his life. Brock and Baker had one or two more interviews, and by ransacking his brain for incidents he had learned about the prominent people of Knoxville he finally persuaded Brock that he was really Sam Munson. The visitor even went so far as to apologize for his seeming inability to place his fellow townsman at first sight.

“But you must remember that it has been many years since you left the old town, Sam. You’ve changed a lot since then.”

“Don’t mention it,” was the hearty response. “I’d have been the same if I had been in your place. But you’ve done me a good turn, and I won’t forget it.”

There was no doubt of the good turn—if saving a man from being shot as a spy can be placed in that category.

As a result of the business Baker was not released, but he was placed under parole. This gave him the right to wander about Richmond at will—the very privilege he most desired. If he had planned the thing in advance it could not have worked out more to his liking. He was free to go and come as he pleased, and he was actually under the patronage and the protection of the Confederate Government!

For two days and two nights he roamed about until he became as familiar with conditions in Richmond as if he were a resident. He obtained a mass of data concerning military plans and proposed movements, learned where troops were quartered and where fortifications were being erected. Most of this information he carried in his head, but in a few instances he made notes of a character which were intelligible to himself, but which were not likely to be decipherable to any one else. Finally the time came when he knew more than “was good” for himself, from a Confederate point of view. The question was how to get this knowledge to the Federal Government. The fact that he had been before Mr. Davis and was now at liberty made him seem harmless to most of the officers in Richmond. He became personally acquainted with some of them. One was the Provost Marshal, and so, one day, when he asked that official for a pass to permit him to visit Fredericksburg it was granted without any hesitation.

He proceeded to that place without any difficulty. Once or twice he was halted by sentinels, but the production of his pass was all that was needed to permit him to go on his way. On the night of the day he reached Fredericksburg he parted with another of his precious gold pieces to a negro who rowed him across the Rappahannock. He drew a breath of relief when he reached the other side of the stream, and yet he realized that his dangers had only begun. That night he slept in a haystack—slept the sleep of a dog-tired man, if not of the just. When he awoke at dawn he discovered signs of activity in the vicinity of the barn where he had slept and he knew that he was being pursued. He lay very quiet and listened. Voices were shouting and it did not take him long to learn that a squad of Confederate cavalry was on the hunt and that a number of horsemen surrounded the barn.

He shuddered at the thought of the consequences. He had plenty of courage but he did not relish the thought of being caught like a rat in a trap. He had provided himself with a revolver, and he firmly resolved that if he were detected he would not give his life easily. He grasped the weapon, and lay very, very quiet. He was almost afraid to breathe. Presently one of the cavalrymen dismounted and flourishing his sword began a search of the barn. Some of those on the outside were shouting instructions to the searcher, and he responded cheerily. He poked his sword here and there in the hay rick, calling meanwhile on any supposed fugitive to surrender if he did not want to be killed. At one time the point of the sword just grazed Baker’s boots. He could have screamed with nervousness, but by a super-human effort he managed to keep perfectly quiet. And by so doing he saved his life, for the officer turning to his companions called:

“He ain’t here, boys—we might as well move on!”

They rode off, to the great joy of the hidden man. He remained still until the sound of the horses’ hoofs had died out in the distance, and then he crept from his place of concealment more dead than alive. He waited for a long while and then crept out of the barn and made for the woods. How long he straggled through the woods he could not tell, but he was so hungry, and faint and footsore that nothing seemed to make any difference. That night he managed to get supper in a hut owned by a poor colored man, and afterwards tried to find just where the Potomac was located. When he reached that stream he discovered an old row boat. The owner of it was lying, half asleep, on the banks of the river. Baker invited him to sell the boat, offering the last of his gold pieces for craft, but the owner indignantly refused saying that he would not part with it for any price.

This was discouraging, and in lieu of anything better to do he lay down and went to sleep, with the hard earth for a couch, and the shining stars for his covering. He awakened just before daylight with every bone in his body aching, and an intense yearning for home. The owner of the boat was still asleep, and his craft lay anchored in the water. It did not take Baker long to come to a decision. At that stage of his career larceny seemed a very petty offense. He crept down to the water side and climbing into the boat began to row gently into the stream. The job was not an easy one because the oars were broken and decayed. However, by great care he managed to get the boat into the middle of the stream. At that moment the owner awoke, and when he discovered what had happened sent up a series of ear-splitting screams.

“Come back with that boat, you thief,” he yelled, “or I’ll kill you.”

Baker did not fear anything from the man, but in a few moments he saw that three or four soldiers had suddenly appeared upon the scene, and were talking with the distracted owner of the boat. They grasped the situation at a glance, and ordered him to halt at the risk of his life. Instead of halting he pulled harder than ever. Without another word one of the soldiers raised his gun and fired. The shot struck one of the oars and shattered it. Once again came the command to halt and once again the fleeing man renewed his efforts as best he could with the broken oar. This time three of the soldiers aimed at the man in the boat. There was a hissing sound, Baker ducked and the bullets went skimming across the water. The situation was becoming perilous. The fugitive plied his one good oar, and worked the stump of the other with great vigor, and in this way managed to lengthen the distance between himself and the shore. A final volley came from the soldiers and this time the shots fell short of the mark by several yards.

Baker breathed freely for the first time since he had boarded the boat. He was out of danger for the time being. All depended now upon his ability to get to the Maryland side of the stream. It was a hard job, but he stuck at it with the persistence of a desperate man, and eventually felt the small craft grazing the beach. He felt a strong desire to cheer, but he overestimated his strength, for the moment he climbed out of the boat he fell to the ground, exhausted. The perils and the privations he had undergone were enough to kill a less resolute and less hardy man. He lay on the shore for more than an hour, until finally a farmer passing that way halted and picked him up. He was taken to a farmhouse, and given a meal which he ate with the ravenousness of a wolf. His hosts were naturally filled with curiosity, but he felt that discretion was the part of wisdom and he declined to reveal his identity, or the cause of the plight in which he had been found.

That night, in spite of the protests of the farmer, he resumed his journey to Washington. He walked the greater part of the night and slept in a barn as usual. He begged his breakfast and then started on his last lap to the National Capital. It was some time before he felt that he was out of danger, but finally the dome of the Capitol came into view, and he knew then that he was safe and that his remarkable adventure was to be a success. It was nearly noon, and there was a broiling sun when he finally reached the streets of Washington. He did not wait to eat or to make himself presentable, but headed immediately for the headquarters of General Scott. The attendant at the door repulsed him and said that it would be impossible to see the General at that time. Baker knew that this reception was caused by his disreputable appearance, and once he was sure that Scott was in his room, he pushed the man aside and bolted into the apartment where the head of the army was making his headquarters. The General was seated at a desk and as the strange looking specimen of humanity stood beside him, he said rather gruffly:

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?”

Baker threw out his arms in a gesture of entreaty and said with a wan smile:

“Why, General, don’t you know me?”

The veteran rose to his feet and closely scrutinized the speaker, and then he said, with a welcoming smile and outstretched hand:

“Well, by all that’s holy, it’s Baker!”

He would not let him tell his story then, but insisted upon his taking a hearty dinner and making himself comfortable. After that the adventurous one sat down and gave a detailed account of his exploits from the time he left Washington. He presented a complete report of all he had learned while in Richmond, and furnished him with data concerning the size and movements of the Confederate soldiers. Other members of the staff were called into consultation, and after their talk had been concluded Baker was plied with questions which he had no difficulty in answering. It was dusk before he had talked himself out, and then the General took him by the hand and thanked him for what he had done for the Government.

“You have more than made good,” he said, “and I will see that you get the recognition which you deserve.”

On the following morning General Scott walked over to the War Department, and when he returned he carried with him a commission which made Lafayette Baker an agent in the secret service of the War Department. From that time until the close of the war he participated actively in the work of both the War and State Departments. He was recognized by President Lincoln and became intimately associated with Secretary Stanton. As the result of all this he was made Provost General and later was promoted to the post of Brigadier-General in the army.