without exception, houses were closed and devoid of all appearance of life.  Yet behind those closely-shut blinds women embraced each other with tempestuous joy, or paced the floor in uncontrollable agitation, or knelt in earnest prayer, mingling thanksgivings with agonized petitions for those whose fate was yet unknown.  Mothers, sisters, wives, strove, with trembling lips, to comfort each other, bidding the voice of patriotism be heard above the “tempest of the heart.”  In the midst of all this excitement my interests were never lost sight of.  Secret meetings were held, and various plans discussed.  At last, one day a note was received inviting me to spend a social evening at the house of “one of the faithful.”  A casual observer would have discovered nothing more than a few lines of invitation, still the paper bore a private mark which made my heart beat with hope.

Arrived at the house indicated, where seemed to be only an ordinary gathering of friends, I found it difficult to appear at ease, and watched eagerly for developments.  Not a sign or a word was given, however, until after supper, when the ladies repaired (as usual) to the dressing-room up-stairs to rearrange their toilets.  Instead of entering with the rest, the hostess, by a slight pressure of the hand, indicated to me that I was desired to pass on and up a second flight of stairs.

We did so unnoticed, and soon entered a small room in the third story, where were found waiting a few friends, among them a captain and clerk of a steamboat which was expected to leave in three days for Newport News with United States troops to reinforce Colonel Phelps at that point.  Here appeared to be a chance, but a hazardous one, since the officers of the boat must not evince any interest in their passenger, and could afford no assistance or protection among the rough soldiers who would crowd every available foot of room.  They must appear as good Union men, engaged in transporting troops to assist in quelling “the rebellion.”  In case of any rough treatment of the “rebel woman,” they could only appeal to the officers in charge of the troops, and the result of such an appeal, in the present state of feeling, would be doubtful.  The boat was not a passenger steamer, and had only two or three small staterooms, occupied by its officers.  These might be required by the military commanders.  Instantly, and unhesitatingly, I decided to make the trial.  We ladies then descended to the parlor, while one by one our friends were conveyed out of the house.

A new difficulty at once arose; a friend had applied to General Scott for a pass—­unsuccessfully.  The precious hours were passing, and failure seemed imminent.  This difficulty was increased by the fact that I had undertaken the charge of Jemmy Little, a boy of ten, who, having lingered too long at school in Baltimore, had been cut off from his family in Norfolk, and being desperately unhappy, had implored to be included in the plans formed for me.  He was to pass as my brother, and, having once promised, I could not disappoint him, especially as his waking hours were spent by my side, his hand often nestling into my own, his large wistful eyes questioning my face, as if dreading to find there some evidence of hesitation or change of purpose.