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قراءة كتاب The Secret Service. The Field, The Dungeon, and The Escape

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‏اللغة: English
The Secret Service.
The Field, The Dungeon, and The Escape

The Secret Service. The Field, The Dungeon, and The Escape

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 5

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Fifteen Months of Fruitless Endeavor.—A Fearful Journey in Prospect.—A Friendly Confederate Officer.—Effects of Hunger and Cold.—Another Plan in Reserve.—Passing the Sentinel.—"Beg Pardon, Sir."—Encountering Rebel Acquaintances.

  • CHAPTER XL.

    "Out of the Jaws of Death."—Concealed in Sight of the Prison.—Certain to be Brought Back.—Commencing the Long Journey.—Too Weak for Traveling.—Severe March in the Rain.

    • CHAPTER XLI.

      A Cabin of Friendly Negroes.—Southerners Unacquainted with Tea.—Walking Twelve Miles for Nothing.—Every Negro a Friend.—Touching Fidelity of the Slaves.—Pursued by a Home-Guard.—Help in the Last Extremity.—Carried Fifteen Miles by Friends

    • CHAPTER XLII.

      A Curious Dilemma.—Food, Shelter, and Friends.—Loyalty of the Mountaineers.—A Levee in a Barn.—Visited by an Old Friend.—A Day of Alarms.—A Woman's Ready Wit.—Danger of Detection from Snoring.—Promises to Aid Suffering Comrades.—A Repentant Rebel

    • CHAPTER XLIII.

      Flanking a Rebel Camp.—Secreted among the Husks.—Wandering from the Road.—Crossing the Yadkin River.—Union Bushwhackers.—Union Soldiers "Lying Out."—An Energetic Invalid

    • CHAPTER XLIV.

      Money Concealed in Clothing.—Peril of Union Citizens.—Fording Creeks at Midnight.—Climbing the Blue Ridge.—Crossing the New River at Midnight

    • CHAPTER XLV.

      Over Mountains and Through Ravines.—Mistaken for Confederate Guards.—A Rebel Guerrilla Killed.—Meeting a Former Fellow-Prisoner.—Alarm about Rebel Cavalry.—A Stanch old Unionist.—The Greatest Danger.—A Well Fortified Refuge

    • CHAPTER XLVI.

      Dan Ellis, the Union Guide.—In Good Hands at Last.—Ellis's Bravery.—Lost! A Perilous Blunder.—A most Fortunate Encounter.—Rejoining Dan and His Party.—A Terrible March

    • CHAPTER XLVII.

      Fording Creeks in the Darkness.—Prospect of a Dreary Night.—Sleeping among the Husks.—Turning Back in Discouragement.—An Alarm at Midnight.—A Young Lady for a Guide.—The Nameless Heroine.

    • CHAPTER XLVIII.

      Among the Delectable Mountains.—Separation from Friends.—Union Women Scrutinizing the Yankee.—"Slide Down off that Horse."—Friendly Words, but Hostile Eyes.—Hospitalities of a Loyal Patriarch.—"Out of the Mouth of Hell."

    A GROUP OF ARMY CORRESPONDENTS A GROUP OF ARMY CORRESPONDENTS

    Engd. by Geo. E. Perine, N.Y.

    RICHARD T. COLBURN, "NEW YORK WORLD". CHARLES C. COFFIN, "CARLETON" - "BOSTON JOURNAL". WILLIAM E. DAVIS, "CINCINNATI GAZETTE". JUNIUS H. BROWNE, "NEW YORK TRIBUNE". L. L. CROUNSE, "NEW YORK TIMES". W. D. BICKHAM, "CINCINNATI COMMERCIAL". THOMAS W. KNOX, "NEW YORK HERALD". A GROUP OF ARMY CORRESPONDENTS.

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    THE FIELD, THE DUNGEON, AND THE ESCAPE.


    I.
    THE SECRET SERVICE.

    CHAPTER I.

    I will go on the slightest errand now to the antipodes that you can desire to send me on.

    Much Ado about Nothing.

    Early in 1861, I felt a strong desire to look at the Secession movement for myself; to learn, by personal observation, whether it sprang from the people or not; what the Revolutionists wanted, what they hoped, and what they feared.

    But the southern climate, never propitious to the longevity of Abolitionists, was now unfavorable to the health of every northerner, no matter how strong his political constitution. I felt the danger of being recognized; for several years of roving journalism, and a good deal of political speaking on the frontier, had made my face familiar to persons whom I did not remember at all, and given me that large and motley acquaintance which every half-public life necessitates.

    Moreover, I had passed through the Kansas struggle; and many former shining lights of Border Ruffianism were now, with perfect fitness, lurid torches in the early bonfires of Secession. I did not care to meet their eyes, for I could not remember a single man of them all who would be likely to love me, either wisely or too well. But the newspaper instinct was strong within me, and the journalist who deliberates is lost. My hesitancy resulted in writing for a roving commission to represent The Tribune in the Southwest.

    The Managing Editor.

    A few days after, I found the Managing Editor in his office, going through the great pile of letters the morning mail had brought him, with the wonderful rapidity which quick intuition, long experience, and natural

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