After committing the act described in the preceding
chapter, which every English reader will pardon,

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I went up stairs, put on a clean pair of stockings, and
placing a rose in my lustrous black hair, proceeded at
once to the camp of Generals Price and Mosby to
put them in possession of information which would
lead to the destruction of a portion of the Federal
army. During a great of my flight I was exposed to
a runing fire from the Federal pickets of such coarse
expressions as, “Go it, Sally Reb,” “Dust it, my Confederate
beauty,” but I succeeded in reaching the
glorious Southern camp uninjured.

In a week afterwards I was arrested, by a lettre de
cachet of Mr. Stanton, and placed in the Bastile.
British readers of my story will express surprise at
these terms, but I assure them that not only these articles
but tumbrils, guillotines and conciergeries were in
active use among the Federals. If substantiation be
required, I refer to the Charleston Mercury, the only
reliable organ, next to the New York Daily News,
published in the country. At the Bastile I made
the acquaintance of the accomplished and elegant
author of Guy Livingstone* to whom I presented a
curiously carved thigh bone of a Union officer, and
from whom I received the following beautiful acknowledgment:

“Demoiselle: Should I ever win hame to my ain countrie,
I make mine avow to enshrine in my reliquaire this elegant

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bijouterie and offering of La Belle Rebelle. Nay, methinks this fraction
of man's anatomy where some compensation for the rib lost
by the `grand old gardener,' Adam.”