Illinois—Enlists as a soldier—Supposed to have deserted—How he got his name—Examination by the Surgeon—Roster of the Regiment.

I was born in the town of Copley, in what is now known as Summit County, Ohio, on the 17th day of June, 1823, and at the time that I entered the army I was thirty-nine years of age. My father's name was Alfred Ruggles. At the time of his death he was living with his second wife. His family numbered twelve sons and seven daughters. I am the youngest of seven children by my father's second wife.

My father was a blacksmith by trade, and all of his sons, except myself, were learned the trade, under his personal instruction. Lorenzo Ruggles, my father's second son by his first wife, after having finished his trade, was sent to college and educated. He is the General Ruggles of the Confederate army.

When I was ten years of age my father died, leaving a large farm disposed of by a will. The children went to law, and spent the entire property in breaking the will and settling the estate. In consequence of that I was thrown upon my own labor for my support at a very early age.

My father was an old-fashioned strict disciplinarian; in the government of his family "he ruled with an iron hand." His government was not only rigid but chilling. The deviation of a hair from the paternal command was usually followed by a whipping, and sometimes one was administered without proper investigation.

People often ask me, "What is the essential qualification of a good spy?" My answer is, "It requires an accomplished liar." I mean by that, a man that can successfully practice deception. I do not mean by that that a man must be an habitual liar. There is nothing that I despise more than a man whose word can not be relied upon. Whether deception, as I have practiced it in the discharge of my duty as a spy, is a moral wrong, I shall not here attempt to argue. Of this much I am sure: it has many times saved my life, and perhaps the lives of thousands of others, besides saving immense sums of money to the Government.

Whatever of the art of deception I possess has been somewhat shaped by the chilling discipline administered to me by my father. An incident or two from my early life will serve to show what that discipline was, and what effect it may have had in my after career.

In my childhood days I was noted as "a mischievous boy." I suppose that means that I was constantly devising or hunting some sort of diversion. My father usually kept wrought nails of his own manufacture to sell to his customers. These I used to get and drive into the fence, firewood, shade-trees, or any thing else that came in my way. This my father had forbidden me to do, but sometimes the impulse of the moment would cause me to break over, and as often I would be whipped for my disobedience.

One day, as my father was going away from home he charged me particularly not to go into the shop during his absence. While he was gone I became so much interested in play that I never thought of going to the shop. Near the close of the day my father returned, and it so happened that he needed a few wrought nails to use the first thing after his arrival. On going to the shop after some, he found his nail-box empty. His last impression, on leaving, had been that I would get them, and now his first impression was that I had got them. Consequently, I was immediately summoned to give an account of them.

"My son, what made you go into the shop during my absence?" inquired my father.

"Father, I did not go into the shop," I replied.

"Somebody has been there and carried off my nails. Nobody else was here but you; you must be the one that got them."

"I did not get them, father; neither did I go to the shop. I certainly did not."

My father knew that I had been in the habit of getting them, and, though he had never known me to tell him a willful lie, nevertheless, he thought that I had carried off his nails. I had not only disobeyed, but had lied about it. It was too aggravated an offense to let pass without punishment. Taking a hickory gun-wiper that stood in a corner of the shop, he gave me a severe whipping, and then said, "Lorain, what did you do with the nails?" Again I denied getting them, and again he whipped me, which was repeated several times. At length "forbearance ceased to be a virtue"—at least, my poor back felt so—and I said to him, "Father, if you won't whip me any more, I'll tell you what I did with them."

"Well, what did you do with them?"

"I drove them into the grind-stone block."

After having talked to me about the wickedness of telling a lie, he sent me into the house, little thinking that he had been forcing me to tell one.

The next morning, as I was standing by, a customer entered the shop for some nails. He had called the day before, and finding nobody present, and needing them for immediate use, took all that he could find, weighed them, and returned home. "There, father," said I, "I told you that I did not get your nails!" His heart smote him for the whipping that he had given me, and he wept like a child. The incident, however, had its effect, and not many days passed until I was again placed on trial.

Myself and sister Electa attended the district school. Our nearest neighbor, Mr. Moss, had a daughter about the age of my sister, who used to attend the same school; her name was Cordelia. She was a very proud-spirited girl, and improved every opportunity to show off. Her mother bought her a new work-pocket; this she would frequently display, and say to my sister, in a proud, haughty way, "You haint got no new work-pocket bought out of the store." It displeased me considerably to have her assume to be any better than my sister; so I resolved to stop it at the first opportunity.

One day, as we were returning from school we espied a squirrel that had taken refuge in a small tree by the roadside. Cordelia laid her work-pocket at the roots of the tree, and she and my sister mounted the fence, and commenced to climb the tree to catch it. Discovering the work-pocket, I picked it up unperceived, and started on. Coming to a bank of loose earth, where a tree had been recently uprooted by the wind, I buried it, and then returned toward my companions and called to them to come along. The girls had started to overtake me, when Cordelia, missing her work-pocket, returned to get it. She searched for it a long time, but without success. Failing to find it, she accused me of getting it, which I stoutly denied. At last, complaint was made to my father. Both of the girls had seen it lying near the tree, but neither of them had seen me have it. My father asked me what I had done with it; but I denied having seen it. "You must have taken it," said the old man, "for nobody else was there that could have taken it."

"I must have got the nails too," I replied. This outflanked him; he remembered having whipped me once wrongfully, and feared a repetition of the same thing. The result was I evaded punishment, and my father never found out what I had done with the work-pocket.

The next summer, after my father's death, I hired out on board of one of the packet-boats running on the Ohio Canal, as cabin-boy. I continued for three summers to follow the canal in that capacity, and for four summers following I was a canal driver. The last three seasons I drove the same team, and at the end of the third season I received from the Transportation Company a prize of ten dollars for having kept my team in the best order.

The winter following, my seventh season on the canal, I went down the Mississippi River to Arkansas, and spent the season