Morning found the boat at Fortress Monroe, whence, after a short delay, she proceeded to Newport News.

Under pretence of guarding well the “female rebel,” the good clerk escorted us to the officers’ quarters.  Here my pass was examined closely; many questions were asked and answered.  Still, the result seemed doubtful; means of transportation were wanting.  The colonel in command was inclined to be suspicious and sternly unsympathetic.  While standing tremblingly before those whose adverse decision would, I knew, crush all my hopes, one of the officers espied around my neck a slender black chain, and demanded to know what it held.  Instantly hope returned:  I drew from my bosom a small case enclosing the Masonic document before mentioned.  As at my mother’s house, it was examined and returned without comment.  An hour later, however, a plentiful repast was set before us, after which a covered ambulance appeared, in which was placed for my comfort the only arm-chair the camp contained.  Soon, attended by an officer and a guard of Federal soldiers, our little party entered upon the last stage of our journey to the Confederate lines.

The route lay amid scenes of desolation sadder than anything I had ever dreamed of.  Fields, which a few short weeks before had given promise of a rich harvest, were laid waste.  Here and there tiny columns of smoke arose from the smouldering ruins of once happy homes.  The heat and dust were almost insufferable, but as the sun declined a cool breeze sprang up, and later a flood of moonlight clothed the landscape with a mystical beauty.  It shone coldly on the few deserted homes which the hand of the destroyer had spared, and to me it seemed that its silvery rays were like the pale fingers of a mourner who places white wreaths upon the grave of love.  In the soft wind I heard only moans and sighs.

The children slept soundly in the straw at the bottom of the ambulance, and soon the steady, monotonous tramp of the guard lulled me also to rest.  We approached the Confederate lines just at sunrise.  A flag of truce was unfurled, and at once answered by an officer on picket-duty.  A short parley ensued.  At a word of command the Federal guard fell back and were replaced by Confederates.  A moment later, I, with my charges, descended, to be greeted with enthusiasm, tempered with the most chivalrous respect, by the “boys in gray,” who proved to be members of the battalion to which my husband was attached, and who at once relieved my fears by assurances of his safety.  It was a supreme moment, such as comes seldom in a lifetime, and yet a time for stern self-repression.

The emotions of a heart at rest, after trials so sore, were too sacred to find expression.

I gazed around me in silent ecstasy.  It seemed to me that the sun had never shone so brightly, or on a scene so lovely.  Noting the manly faces and noble bearing of those who wore the gray, I felt that the purple and ermine of kings could not have clothed them half so magnificently.  And, oh I how delicious and appetizing seemed “the rations,” which, though simple, were served under those green trees with the earnest, genuine hospitality which is so well described by the term “Southern.”