As I recall and write these trivial events, those old, sweet days seem very near, and I have but to close my eyes to fancy that as a little child I am again running through the long hall of the Manassas to the upper piazza, watching for George, the hotel clerk, as he came from the postoffice, it having been prearranged between us that whenever there was a letter for us from Ohio, he was to hold it up so I could see it, otherwise I was to know there was none. The postoffice, now in charge of the military, was in the depot and in full view of the hotel, and the railroad ran parallel with both. I almost lived on the veranda and saw every train that passed.
There was a large encampment in the open space across the railroad, and opposite the hotel. Lieutenant Pease, one of the boarders, had a telescope, which he would adjust properly for me and I would spend hours looking through it, watching the soldiers, as they performed their daily camp duties. I could see them cooking, washing and hanging their clothes to dry. Many times we have witnessed drill and dress parade from the veranda. Lieutenant Pease was a tall, dark, quiet gentleman, a great reader and a great friend of mine. The first copies of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Magazine and Ballou’s Monthly I ever saw were given me by him, and I can yet recall some of the stories I read in them.
THERE was published in Corinth a paper called _The Corinth War Eagle_. Its editor and publisher was a patriotic young man from the North, whose name was Elbridge Dwight Fenn. I remember him distinctly, although I did not see him while at Corinth, but later on at Jackson, where he was largely in evidence. His name and handsome physique would have fitted him to figure as the hero in a two-volume novel. I saw him frequently at the City Hotel. He was full of life and spirits. I saw him one day dancing about the upper corridor with a looking glass under his arm, the lady boarders and chambermaids looking on in great glee. On the day of the expected battle, Fenn was seemingly everywhere. While a number of us were standing on the balcony at the Manassas viewing the troops as they stood in battle array, he came dashing up with a red sash tied about him from shoulder to waist, mounted on a coal-black horse. One of the ladies called to him, saying, “When are the rebels coming, Fenn?” Raising his arm high in air, he shouted, “Never!” and rode away as rapidly as he had come. We brought a copy of the _War Eagle_ home with us, and after many years, when it was almost worn out, I cut the least worn articles from its columns, and they adorn the pages of my war scrapbook. The issue I have bears the date of September 18, 1862. There is a flag at the head of the editorial column, and the motto is, “Be just and fear not.”