The day was a quiet one through the great camp as Louis walked from the quarters of the Goreville Volunteers, a distance of nearly two miles, to where General McClellan had stationed himself and his staff. The troops had not yet recovered from the shock experienced at Fair Oaks and lay resting here, there, and everywhere, although the picket line was ever on the alert. For this occasion Louis had donned an almost new uniform, every particular button of which shone its brightest. He had, moreover, had his hair trimmed by a fellow-soldier who was a barber, and altogether he presented a prepossessing appearance as he came up, saluted, and told the orderly the object of his mission. General McClellan was just then busy dictating reports to his secretary and conversing with several of his officers, and Louis had to wait nearly an hour before he was admitted to the presence of the commander. When he was told to enter, General McClellan received him with a kindly smile. “Private Rockford, General Heintzelman reports that you were taken prisoner by the rebels, carried off to Richmond, and that you had a fair chance to look around the city before you escaped and got back into camp. Is that true?” “I did not have much of a chance to look around while I was a prisoner, general. But I did look around a bit after I escaped and before I started in this direction.” “Did you take note of any of their fortifications, or the number and disposition of their troops?” “I took note of all I possibly could, sir--feeling that it was knowledge worth getting for our side,” answered Louis, with pardonable pride. “Tell me your story. But be brief, for I am busy to-day. Never mind how you were captured or who took you to Richmond.” “I’ll tell you all I know in as few words as I can, sir,” and being motioned to a camp chair, Louis sat down and related how he and the others had been imprisoned in the pork-packing establishment, how he and Hornsby had escaped and separated, and of his doings at the home of Robert Dowling. At the mention of the spy’s name General McClellan elevated his eyebrows for an instant, but did not otherwise betray his surprise. “Here is something of a plan I have drawn of the rebel fortifications as I remember them,” the youth went on, and drew a roll of paper from his pocket. “You can see I am no artist, sir. Those crosses represent woods and those lines of dots are rebel troops. The little bars on the fortifications are batteries.” “Hum!” General McClellan spread the paper out on his camp table and pored over it earnestly. “This line is the outskirts of Richmond?” “Yes, sir. That box marked L. P. is Libby Prison, and that is the Williamsburg road. That fortification is near the Mechanicsville bridge, directly in front of these headquarters.” “And what is that?” and General McClellan pointed upon the map with the point of a pen.