“Well, you see, ladies, you are in the position of Southerners sent south. The policy of the Government encourages the sending of all Southerners in Maryland south to stay. I am only explaining, that you may understand that it may be difficult for me to assist you, in spite of my willingness to do so. I can not send you back without authority from General Fish. I will telegraph to him at once, and do my best for you. My orderly will see you back to the tavern. And I will notify you when I hear from General Fish.” So we returned to the reception-room of the tavern. Among the groups thronging the tavern were a few graycoats who had been captured the day before. One of these prisoners, a tall, handsome man, walked restlessly up and down the room where we sat, his guard keeping watch on him. As he passed back and forth I looked at him sorrowfully, putting into my eyes all the sympathy and encouragement I dared. There was something in his look when he returned mine that made me think he wanted to speak to me. Every time he passed I thought I saw his eyes growing more and more wistful under their drooping lids. Without seeming to notice him I moved about the room until I got to a window which was in the line of his restless beat. I stood there, my back turned to him, apparently looking out of the window, until I disarmed the suspicion of the guard. Then I settled down into a seat, my side to the window, my back to the guard, my face to the prisoner when the turn in his beat brought him toward me. A swift glance showed him that I was on the alert. Not a muscle of his face changed--he was facing the guard--but when he turned and came back, as he passed me he dropped these words. “Going south?” He walked to the end of the room and turned. Coming back, he faced me and the guard. As he passed I said: “Yes.” When he came back, he said--always with his head drooped and speaking below his breath and so that his lips could hardly be seen to move: “Take a message?” When he passed back I said: “Yes.” Returning: “Get word to Governor Vance of North Carolina----” To the end of his beat, turning and passing again in silence, then as he walked with his back to the guard: “You saw Charlie Vance here----” To the end of beat one way, to the end another, and back again: “Prisoner--captured in fight yesterday----” Several beats back and forth in silence, then: “Carried north----” Again: “Don’t know where.” This was the last he had opportunity to say. I saw the orderly coming in. Before Lieutenant Vance was near enough to catch another word from me, the orderly stood before me, a telegram in his hand. It was from General Fish to General Kelly: “The ladies were sent south at their own request. I decline further connection with the matter.” “Why--why,” I cried in desperation, “we can’t go south, we can’t go north, and we can’t stay here!”