“Camp” Dick Robinson, so called from the Union soldiers having camped on his land in Kentucky, was an eccentric character. He occupied room No. 23, and seemed to think the world in general and the hotel in particular were made for his especial accommodation. One day, having written a letter and lacking an envelope, he came out into the hall in a towering rage, shouting at the top of his voice: “I want an envelope. Can’t I have an envelope? Why can’t I have an envelope?” Several doors were opened, heads thrust out, and the much needed envelope supplied. Later on No. 23 was used as a prison. A female spy was arrested and confined in this room a week or more. Her meals were carried to her and a guard stood at the door, musket in hand, night and day.
One Saturday night a lady arrived, and the next morning took her sewing and descended to the parlor, where she occupied herself with her work until some one reminded her that it was Sunday.
Another day two ladies from New Orleans, both young and fair, dressed in deep mourning, stopped for dinner and to await a train. They had with them a beautiful boy, about my own age, with long, yellow curls. They called him Percy. They remained but a few hours, but Percy and I played together on the veranda, and as they left, he cried for me to kiss him goodbye, and after he was gone, I cried because I wouldn’t.
ONE dark, dreary morning, when the rain was pouring down in torrents, a lot of soldiers took refuge in the lower hall of the Manassas House. I soon learned that there were four “boys” from home among them, that they had been out all night, were cold, wet, and hungry, and to my mind, hunger was the worst of all. To me, in those days, a soldier was greater than a king, and is yet for that matter, and I felt that something must be done. I went to my mother, that never-failing refuge in all my childish sorrows and perplexities, and with tearful eyes appealed to her for advice and help. With a smile she said, “Can you not go to Brown, and ask him for something for ‘our boys?’” For it was useless to think of feeding them all, in the then depleted state of the hotel larder. Brown was the steward, and the one being among all the hotel people of whom I stood in awe. But to Brown I went, and, to my delight, he gave me all that was left from breakfast. To the best of my recollection, that lunch consisted of bread, meat and cheese.