I have been asked by Miss Van Lew to aid her in the espionage effort. Miss Bet approached me and asked if I was willing to live as a slave in the White House-- The Confederate White House. Of course I didn't want to do that at first, but she went on to tell me I would be collecting information to aid the Union, I would be listening in to the president's very own conversations and communicating them back to her. So of course, I agreed.

It has been a long, dragging eight months here in the White House. I doubt why I agreed to do this job, as I was wholly unprepared to return to being treated like a slave again. Every day, I do the labor, work the kitchen, and all at the same time I must carefully listen in, but it will surely become worth it when this wretched war is over, and I can return home, confident that no longer will I or my family have to face the injustice that we face today. I live there under the alias "Ellen Bond." At night, when the work is over, which comes late, we can all return to our quarters, small houses we share with other kitchen workers. We wake early, at 4 in the morning, to prepare breakfast for the President and his wife. Work, clean, prepare a lunch, and then a dinner or even one for up to twenty men, when the president's close friends and advisors come to dinner.

A whole year in this house, and it is worth it. I have seen the slow decline of happiness and confidence exhibited by the President, if you can call him that. The downside to all our victories is that he is increasingly more agitated, taking out his anger of the war on the workers in the house. We live in fear of the master coming and punishing us. I have my small victories, though. I manage to convince everyone that I am a strange, slightly crazy woman, but I work well. The president has been having many meetings of his advisors, generals come occasionally, but the news is never good for them, and always good for me. I can listen in to conversations easily, then return to Miss Van Lew. She meets me at the edge of the property once a week to get my information. She says it is helping the Union greatly, but I have no way of knowing, and can only hope it is.

 Miss Van Lew is no longer able to receive my information, as the President has caught wind of my meeting with her outside the house. He was told that I had simply been meeting with her, but he is suspicious nonetheless. Miss Van Lew has hired the baker that delivers baked goods to the house to collect my information. His name is Thomas McNiven. A kind man with a hint of a Scottish accent, whenever he brings the bread to the house, I relay to him the information I have gathered from the President. That President is a cruel, evil man. He cares not a bit about any of the people who run his house, and if we are too slow he erupts like a volcano, spewing anger and curses. He made me nervous enough, as I am here by choice, and that man is my greatest enemy, the greatest enemy of my parents and of any Negro who ever lived under his horrid presidency. 

The tension in the White House is so thick, I could cut it with a knife. The president has started to suspect me highly. I heard him talking in hushed tones to someone about 'a leak in the White House' and once I entered the room, they stopped talking and both went back into their chicken. Writing this entry at the end of a long day, I can say that I go to bed worn out, tired, not at all happy. They don't feed us as well as they should, and stealing food is impossible. A guard of sorts is always in the kitchen, watching. On a slow day, we might cook a few simple meals, if the President is away then we only have to cook for anybody staying in the White House or living here. Slow days are somewhat enjoyable, talking, but mostly just not having to deal with the stress of a hectic day. Those days are the ones with banquets, many guests, we have to cook as fast as we possibly can, racing and dashing around the kitchen. Today was a busy day, and I am tired out of my mind. I am sure tomorrow will also be such a hectic day, and I barely get any sleep anyway.

I am home, finally reunited with Miss Van Lew and my sweet husband William, although not for a happy reason. As I continued to relay information to McNiven, the President only became more and more aware that I was the leak in the White House. I realised this, and in the middle of the night, fled the property, running out and away. I felt a need to do one final thing to aid my country, and I took a match and kindling, and desperately attempted to light the building on fire. Nothing caught, and I was forced to run, all the way, with the hounds at my heels. Thinking surely death was imminent, I considered if all my time there had been worth it. Surely, though I had hated it, during the Civil War, I had to live with my greatest enemy, be treated like a dirty bug under someone's shoe, and risk my safety, I was content knowing the Union has benefited. I am thankfully alive.