Part 16

A waitress was needed in the White House of the Southern Confederacy. Three days after Mary Bowser arrived at the Van Lews', she had applied for the position and become a member of Jefferson Davis's household. Another link had been forged in the long chain of details by which the Spy worked her will and gained her ends.

Despite the suspicion and ill-will felt in Richmond for the Van Lews, more than one Confederate officer and public official continued to call there throughout the war, to be entertained by them. The fare was meager in comparison to the old lavish entertaining, but the conversation was brilliant and diverting, and so cleverly did Betty lead it that "many a young officer unwittingly revealed much important information of which he never realized the value, but which was of great use to 'Crazy Bet' when combined with what she already knew.

"And when night fell over the city Betty would steal out in her disguise of a farm-hand, in the buckskin leggins, one-piece skirt and waist of cotton, and the huge calico sunbonnet, going about her secret business, a little lonely, unnoticed figure, and in a thousand unsuspected, simple ways she executed her plans and found out such things as she needed to know to aid the Federal authorities."

History was in the making in those stirring days of 1862, when, having failed to take Richmond, General McClellan had returned North by sea, when the Confederates under General Lee prepared to invade the North, but were turned back after the great battle of Antietam. Thrilling days they were to live through, and to the urge and constant demand for service every man and woman of North and South instantly responded. But none of the women gave such daring service as did Elizabeth Van Lew. Known as a dauntless advocate of abolition and of the Union, suspected of a traitor's disloyalty to the South, but with that stain on her reputation as a Southerner unproved from the commencement of the war until its close, her life was in continual danger. She wrote a year later, "I was an enthusiast who never counted it dear if I could have served the Union--not that I wished to die." For four long years she awoke morning after morning to a new day of suspense and threatening danger, to nights of tension and of horrible fear. "No soldier but had his days and weeks of absolute safety. For her there was not one hour; betrayal, friends' blunders, the carelessness of others; all these she had to dread." All these she accepted for the sake of a cause which she believed to be right and just.

As her system of obtaining information in regard to movements of the Confederates became more perfect, she was connected more closely with the highest Federal authorities,--so closely connected, in fact, that flowers which one day grew in her Richmond garden stood next morning on General Grant's breakfast table.

"One day she received a letter from General Butler, which was to be delivered to a Confederate officer on General Winder's staff. In the letter this officer was asked to 'come through the lines and tell what he knew,' and there were promises of rewards if it should be done successfully. The Spy sat quietly thinking for some time after receiving this letter. If it should fall into Confederate hands it would be the death-warrant of its bearer. Who could be trusted to take it to the officer for whom it was intended? Coolly Elizabeth Van Lew arose, went out, and walked straight to the office of General Winder, took the letter from her bosom, and handed it to the officer for whom it was intended, watching him closely as he read it.

"In the next room were detectives and armed guards, the whole machinery of the Confederate capital's secret police. The officer had but to raise his voice and her game would be up; she would pay the penalty of her daring with her life. She had been suspicious of the officer for some weeks, had marked him as a traitor to his cause. Was she right?

"His face whitened, his lips were set as he read, then, without a quiver of a muscle, he rose and followed her out of the room; then he gave way and implored her to be more prudent. If she would never come there again he would go to her, he said. And so she gained another aid in her determined purpose of 'striking at the very heart of the Confederacy.'

"Another day there was a message of vital importance to send to General Grant, who had asked her to make a report to him of the number and placing of forces in and about Richmond. The cipher despatch was ready, but if it were to reach Grant in time there was not an hour to lose in finding a messenger. At that time no servant of hers could leave the city, and no Federal agent could enter it. Hoping for an inspiration, she took her huge market-basket on her arm, the basket which was so familiar by this time as a part of 'Crazy Bet's' outfit, and with it swinging at her side, humming a tuneless song, she passed down the street, smiling aimlessly in return for mocking glances--and all the while in her hand she held the key to Richmond's defenses!

"As she walked a man passed her and whispered, 'I'm going through to-night!' then walked on just ahead of her. She gave no sign of eagerness, but she was thinking: Was he a Federal agent to whom she could intrust her message, or was he sent out by the police to entrap her as had often been attempted? The cipher despatch in her hand was torn into strips, each one rolled into a tiny ball. Should she begin to drop them, one by one? In perplexity she glanced up into the man's face. No! Her woman's instinct spoke loud and clear, made her turn into a side street and hurry home. The next day she saw him marching past her house for the front with his Confederate regiment, in the uniform of a junior officer, and knew that once again she had been saved from death."

But although she had many such escapes and her wit was so keen that it was a powerful weapon in any emergency, yet as the conflict between the North and the South deepened the need of caution became more necessary than ever, for Confederate spies were everywhere. In her half-destroyed diary which for many months lay buried near the Van Lew house, over and over again the writer emphasizes her fear of discovery. She says:

"If you spoke in your parlor or chamber, you whispered,--you looked under the lounges and beds. Visitors apparently friendly were treacherous.... Unionists lived ever in a reign of terror. I was afraid even to pass the prison; I have had occasion to stop near it when I dared not look up at the windows. I have turned to speak to a friend and found a detective at my elbow. Strange faces could sometimes be seen peeping around the columns and pillars of the back portico.... Once I went to Jefferson Davis himself to see if we could not obtain some protection.... His private Secretary told me I had better apply to the Mayor.... Captain George Gibbs had succeeded Todd as keeper of the prisoners; so perilous had our situation become that we took him and his family to board with us. They were certainly a great protection.... Such was our life--such was freedom in the Confederacy. I speak what I know." The diary also tells of Mrs. Van Lew's increasing dread of arrest, dear, delicate, loyal lady--for that was constantly spoken of, and reported on the street, while some never hesitated to say she should be hanged.

Another summer came and wore away, and the third year of the war was drawing to a close in the terrible winter of 1863-4. The Union army in the East had twice advanced against the Confederates, to be beaten back at Fredericksburg and at Chancellorsville. In June and July of 1863 Lee began a second invasion of the North, but was defeated at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. In July, 1863, Vicksburg and Port Hudson were captured and the Mississippi River was in Union hands, but in the following autumn the Confederates of the West defeated the Union army at Chickamauga, after which General Grant took command and was victorious near Chattanooga, and so with alternate hope and despair on both sides the hideous war went on.

Through cipher despatches "Crazy Bet" learned of an intended attempt of Federal officers to escape from Libby Prison, and at once a room in the Van Lew mansion was made ready to secrete them if they achieved their purpose. The room was at the end of one of the big parlors, and dark blankets were hung over its windows; beds were made ready for exhausted occupants, and a low light kept burning day and night in readiness for their possible arrival.

Meanwhile the prisoners in the Libby, desperate because of the horrible conditions in the buildings where they were quartered, were busily constructing a tunnel which ran from the back part of the cellar called "Rat-Hell" to the prison yard. The work was carried on under the direction of Colonel Rose, and his frenzied assistants worked like demons, determined to cut their way through the walls of that grim prison to the light and life of the outer world. At last the tunnel was ready. With quivering excitement over their great adventure added to their exhaustion, the men who were to make their escape, one after another disappeared in the carefully guarded hole leading from the cellar of the prison into a great sewer, and thence into the prison yard. Of this little company of adventurous men eleven Colonels, seven Majors, thirty-two Captains, and fifty-nine Lieutenants escaped before the daring raid was discovered. The news spread like wild-fire through the ranks of the prisoners who were still in the building and among those on duty. Immediately every effort was made by those in charge to re-capture the refugees and bring them back, and as a result, between fifty and sixty of them were once again imprisoned in the squalid cells of the Libby.

Just at that time John Van Lew, Betty's brother, was conscripted into the Confederate army, and although unfit for military duty because of his delicate health, he was at once sent to Camp Lee. As he was a keen sympathizer with his sister's Union interests, as soon as he was sent to the Confederate camp he deserted and fled to the home of a family who lived on the outskirts of the city, who were both Union sympathizers and friends of his sister's. They hid him carefully, and Betty at once came to aid in planning for his escape from the city. Unfortunately it was the night of the escape of the Federal prisoners from the Libby, so a doubly strong guard was set over every exit from Richmond, making escape impossible. Here was a difficult situation! Betty Van Lew knew that some way out of the dilemma must be found; for the house where her brother was secreted would surely be searched for the escaped refugees, and it would go hard with those who were concealing him if they were discovered harboring a deserter.

With quick wit she immediately presented herself at General Winder's office, where she used her diplomatic powers so successfully that the general was entirely convinced of John Van Lew's unfit physical condition for military service, and promised to make every effort toward his exemption. When all efforts proved unavailing, the general took him into his own regiment, and "the Union sympathizer never wore a Confederate uniform, and only once shouldered a Confederate musket, when on a great panic day he stood, a figurehead guard at the door of a government department. At last, in 1864, when even General Winder could not longer protect him from active service at the front, Van Lew deserted again, and served with the Federal Army until after the fall of Richmond."

Meanwhile the old Van Lew house, in its capacity of Secret Service station, was a hive of industry, which was carried on with such smooth and silent secrecy that no one knew what went on in its great rooms. And watching over all those who came and went on legitimate business, or as agents of the Federal Government on secret missions, was a woman, alert of body, keen of mind, standing at her post by day and by night. After all members of her household were safely locked in their rooms for the night, the Spy would creep down, barefooted, to the big library with its ornamented iron fireplace. On either side of this fireplace were two columns, on each of which was a small, carved figure of a lion. Possibly by accident--probably by design, one of these figures was loosened so that it could be raised like a box-lid, and in the darkness of the night the swift, silent figure of the Spy would steal into the big room, lift the carved lion, deftly slip a message in cipher into the cavity beneath the figure and cautiously creep away, with never a creaking board to reveal her coming or going.

With equal caution and swift dexterity, early the next morning an old negro servant would steal into the room, duster and broom in hand, to do his cleaning. Into every corner of the room he would peer, to be sure there were no watching eyes, then he would slip over to the fireplace, lift the lion, draw out the cipher message, place it sometimes in his mouth, sometimes in his shoe, and as soon as his morning chores were done he would be seen plodding down the dusty road leading to the farm, where some one was eagerly waiting for the tidings he carried. Well had the Spy trained her messengers!

The old mansion had also hidden protection for larger bodies than could be concealed under the recumbent lion by the fireplace. Up under the sloping roof, between the west wall of the garret and the tiles, was a long, narrow room, which was probably built at the order of Betty Van Lew, that she might have a safe shelter for Union refugees. All through the war gossip was rife concerning the Van Lews and their movements, and there were many rumors that the old mansion had a secret hiding-place, but this could never be proved. Besides those whom it sheltered from time to time, and the one whose thought had planned it, only one other person knew of the existence of that garret room, and for long years she was too frightened to tell what she had seen in an unexpected moment.

Betty Van Lew's niece was visiting in the old house during the blackest period of the struggle between the North and South. She was a little girl, and her bump of curiosity was well developed. After tossing restlessly in bed on a hot night, she opened her door in order to get some air. To her surprise she saw Aunt Betty tiptoeing through the other end of the dark hall, carrying something in her hand. With equal stealth the curious child followed the creeping figure up through the dark, silent house into the garret--saw a hand reach behind an old chest of drawers standing against the wall in the garret, and with utter amaze saw a black hole in the wall yawn before her eyes. There stood her aunt before the opening of the wall, shading with cautious hand the candle she carried, while facing her stood a gaunt, hollow-eyed, bearded man in uniform reaching out a greedy hand for the food on the plate. The man saw the child's eyes burning through the darkness back of the older woman, but she put a chubby finger on her lip, and ran away before he had a chance to realize that she was flesh and blood and not an apparition. Panting, she ran swiftly down the long staircase and, with her heart beating fast from fright, flung herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillows, lying there for a long time, so it seemed to her. Then, scarcely daring to breathe, for fear of being discovered, she stole out of bed again, opened her door, and once more crept up through the silent mansion, this time alone. In a moment she stood outside the place where the hole in the wall had opened before her amazed vision. Not a sound in the great, dark garret! Putting her mouth close to the partition she called softly to the soldier, and presently a deep voice told her how to press the spring and open the secret door. Then, a shivering but determined little white-robed figure, she stood before the yawning chasm and talked with the big, Union soldier, who seemed delighted at the sound of his own voice, and years afterward she remembered how he had looked as he said:

"My! what a spanking you would have got if your aunt had turned around!" She did not dare to stand there talking to him long, for she was old enough to realize that there must be a reason for his being in hiding, and that if the secret room should be discovered it might bring unhappiness to her aunt. So in a very few moments the little white-gowned figure flitted silently, swiftly down-stairs again, and no one knew until years later of that midnight excursion of hers--or of the secret room, for which the old house was thoroughly searched more than once.

The winter of 1863-4 was one full of tense situations and of many alarms for both Confederates and Unionists. In February, after the daring escape of the Federal officers from the Libby, there were several alarms, which roused young and old to the defense of the city. The enemy made a movement to attack the city on the east side, but were driven back. Again on the 29th of the month, the bells all rang to call men to service. The city battalions responded, while General Wilcox ordered all men who were in the city on furlough, and all who could bear arms, out to protect the city, for Kilpatrick was attempting a raid on Richmond, along Brook turnpike. "But while he was dreaming of taking Richmond, Gen. Wade Hampton suddenly appeared with his troops and routed him, taking three hundred and fifty prisoners, killing and wounding many, and capturing a large number of horses."

Then came an event for which the Federal sympathizers, and especially those in the Union Secret Service, had prepared with all the caution and secrecy possible, trying to perfect every detail to such a degree that failure would be impossible. To release all Federal prisoners in Richmond--this was but a part of the audacious scheme in which Betty Van Lew and a Union sympathizer called "Quaker," for purposes of disguise, played an important part.

On the 28th of February, 1864, Col. Ulric Dahlgren left Stevensburg with a company of men, selected from brigades and regiments, as a picked command to attempt a desperate undertaking. At Hanovertown he crossed with his men, all dressed in Confederate uniforms, confidently expecting to get into Richmond by stealth. Unfortunately their movements were discovered, and when they rode along through the woods near the road at Old Church, in their disguise, a party of Confederates in ambush opened fire on them, captured ninety white men and thirty-five negroes, and killed poor little crippled Dahlgren, a small, pale young officer, who "rode with crutches strapped to his saddle, and with an artificial leg in the stirrup, as he had lost a limb a few months before. His death was as patriotic as was his desperate attempt, for bravely his eager band rode into the ambush--there was a volley of shots from the thicket by the roadside, and the young colonel fell from his horse, dead. Some of his men managed to escape, but most of them were captured."

In Dahlgren's pocket was found an order to all of his men and officers. To the officers he said:

"We will have a desperate fight, but stand up to it. When it does come, all will be well. We hope to release the prisoners from Belle Isle first, and having seen them fairly well started, we will cross James River into Richmond, destroying the bridges after us, and exhorting the released prisoners to destroy and burn the hateful city, and do not allow the rebel leader Davis and his traitorous crew to escape."

To his guides and runners he said: