Fuller's Telegram.
"To General Leadbetter, Commander at Chattanooga:"My train was captured thisA.M.at Big Shanty, evidently by Federal soldiers in disguise. They are making rapidly for Chattanooga, possibly with the idea of burning the railroad bridges in their rear. If I do not capture them in the mean time see that they do not pass Chattanooga."William A. Fuller."
"To General Leadbetter, Commander at Chattanooga:"My train was captured thisA.M.at Big Shanty, evidently by Federal soldiers in disguise. They are making rapidly for Chattanooga, possibly with the idea of burning the railroad bridges in their rear. If I do not capture them in the mean time see that they do not pass Chattanooga.
"William A. Fuller."
Two miles above Dalton we stopped and obstructed the track, and once more cut the telegraph wire. The latter was of slight importance, but Wilson and others urged it upon Andrews, and he did not wish to discourage them by telling them that it was now useless. But the removal of a rail might have been of more value by giving us time for burning some of the bridges, which are very numerous on this part of the road. This stop was made in plain sight of a Confederate regiment commanded by a Colonel Glen. The work to be done, however, demanded too much speed for us to apprehend their interference. But before the rail could be more than loosened, the pursuers, who had halted atDalton for even a shorter time than we had, were upon us again, and we once more mounted our engine and sped onward. The telegram was sent ahead by this line as well as the other a minute or two before the wire was severed. It created a terrible excitement in Chattanooga, but did us no real damage. Both the pursuing trains were near us when we entered the great tunnel north of Dalton. Our supply of cross-ties was unfortunately exhausted, or they might have proved very serviceable in the darkness. In fearful proximity and with unabated speed the tunnel was passed. Murphy declares that he was quite relieved when he saw by the gleam of light ahead that our engine was passing on, for he had quite made up his mind that we would attack them or drive our engine back upon them in the darkness. But no such plan had entered our thoughts. We would far have preferred a fight in open day.
We now resolved to play what had been reserved as our last card. Running more slowly to economize fuel,—though a high velocity was still maintained,—we tried to light a fire in our only remaining car. It was already open at both ends, and now as much of the sides and top as could possibly be obtained was also torn off and prepared for fuel. The attempt to light these splinters by matches did not succeed, for the wind caused by the rapid motion blew them out. Fire was then brought back from the engine, but this seemed to smoulder rather than burn, for the rain, which fell in torrents, blew through the unprotected car, and all the boards were soaking wet. Never did kindling a fire seem so difficult. When at length it fairly caught, and began to burn briskly, our dampened hopes began to brighten in sympathy with it. Might it not be that our persistent struggle against ill-fortune was to win the victory even yet? Just then a long covered bridge was approached, which it was desirable on every account to burn. All of our party, whom the heat had not already driven forward, were ordered into the nearlyempty tender, and the car was uncoupled in the middle of the bridge. We did not leave it hastily, but stopped near the farther end of the bridge to watch the result in breathless anxiety. We had scarcely halted when the black smoke of the nearest pursuer was seen, and he bore down upon us at full speed. We were very loth to leave our position. We could see that the flame was rising higher, but could also see that the enemy's train had a large number of men on board, some of whom had firearms. Oh, what would we not have given for a few of the muskets we had left in camp, to have held our position for even a few minutes, or even one minute! But our situation was too unfavorable to allow more than a momentary thought of resistance. At long range we were virtually unarmed. But we lingered still, until we saw the enemy pushing our blazing car before them over the bridge; then, being in reach of their firearms, and but poorly protected in our engine and tender, we again sought safety in flight. They pushed the blazing car before them to the first side track, which happened not to be far away, and then left it to burn at its leisure. Thus our forlorn hope expired.
But not all of the adventurers were willing to accept defeat even yet. A halt was made—the last—for the sake of again obstructing the track, and getting a few sticks of wood that lay near the track to replenish the waning fire of our engine. Some of the number, from the force of habit more than anything else, began to take up a rail. The writer then suggested to Andrews a simple plan, which, at this late hour, still offered a glimmering hope. Could we throw the pursuers off the track, we might burn a few bridges yet, though the most important had been left behind us, and we could no longer hope to run our engine through Chattanooga. This attempt would have been more full of peril than any other of the day, with the possible exception of the first seizure of the train; but its successwould have turned the tables on our enemies overwhelmingly. With sufficient promptness and desperation it might have succeeded, while its failure would only have ended a hopeless struggle, exchanging certain and immediate death for whatever faint chances of escape might otherwise remain after the train was abandoned. There had been many hints on the part of the soldiers that we were running away from the enemy too many times, and that it would be better to fight, but this was the first definite proposal. The suggestion was to use our remaining fuel in once more running out of sight of the enemy, then, selecting a place for ambuscade in the low, thick-set bushes that frequently came close to the road, to obstruct the track in our usual manner. When this was done, all of us, except one of the engineers, could hide, in such a position as to be abreast of the enemy when he stopped to remove the obstructions. Our own engineer could wait until the pursuers were in sight, and then start off as usual, but slowly, so as to keep their attention fixed upon his train. We had several times noticed how, in the case of an obstruction, the Confederates had checked their headlong career, sprang to the ground even before the train had stopped fully, and worked furiously at clearing the track. This would be our opportunity for rushing forth. We could shoot down all who were on the engine or the ground, while one of our reserve engineers sprang on the engine and threw it back at full speed, jumping off as it started. The result could scarcely have failed to be a fatal collision with the next pursuing train, which was never far behind. Then we would have been free from pursuit, and left only to reckon with the forces ahead. The place and manner of leaving the train could then have been selected at our leisure. We afterwards learned that no preparation had been made to receive us farther south than Boyce's Station, some three miles from Chattanooga. There a strong military force had beenposted, the track torn up, and cannon planted. But we would never have ventured so near Chattanooga after knowing that a message had been sent ahead of us at Dalton. Our original hope had been to get so far ahead of all pursuit as to pass Chattanooga before the pursuers had reached Dalton. Then the junction of roads at the latter point would not have been an embarrassment to us, as will be made clear by a reference to the map.
Andrews said that the plan, of which a hint was given in a few rapid words, was good and worth trying. But the one great defect in his character as a leader came to the surface in this emergency. This was a disposition to turn everything carefully over in his mind before deciding. There was no time for reflection now. The Confederate whistle sounded, and our men, without waiting for the word of command, so accustomed had they become to this manœuvre, mounted the engine and sped away. Andrews bitterly regretted afterwards that this last expedient was not tried. With this exception, I do not know of anything more that could have been devised, beyond what we actually attempted.
One object only could now be attained by clinging longer to the train, the speedy abandonment of which was inevitable. Andrews wished to shorten the distance to our own lines as much as possible, so that the slender chance of escaping through the woods and mountains might be increased. It was far easier to travel on the engine than to run or skulk through the country on foot. It was better to continue this mode of locomotion as long as possible, or until we were carried as near Chattanooga as it was prudent to venture. The old lightning rate of running could not be maintained, but we were still moving swiftly. The engine was in a bad state, and really incapable of much further service. The fuel, too, was gone. For some time we had been reduced to the fragments that had been torn off the cars before they were dropped, and towhat we had gathered up along the roadside. Now all that remained of a combustible character was crowded into the fire-box for the last pull. Andrews had always kept with him from the time we first met him at the midnight consultation a mysterious and well-filled pair of saddle-bags. These, of which he had been very careful, and which were supposed to contain important and compromising documents, were now added to the fire. It was a signal, if any were needed, that the time had now come to prepare for the worst. Andrews and three others—Brown, Knight, and Alfred Wilson—were now on the engine, and the remaining sixteen were huddled together on the tender. At no time since the writer had proposed attacking the pursuing train had he been in a position to urge the attempt on Andrews, and it was now too late. But another decision was arrived at on the engine against which some of us on the tender would have protested with all our energy had the opportunity been offered. Alfred Wilson, whose opinion was directly opposite to that of George D. Wilson and the writer, says,—
"A few minutes before we came to the final halt, Andrews, Brown, Knight, and myself hastily discussed as to the best thing to be done, and it was concluded that the best course was to separate and scatter in all directions."
"A few minutes before we came to the final halt, Andrews, Brown, Knight, and myself hastily discussed as to the best thing to be done, and it was concluded that the best course was to separate and scatter in all directions."
This fatal decision arose from two causes. Andrews, with all his courage, never rightly valued fighting men. He preferred accomplishing his objects by stratagem and in secrecy rather than by open force. It was simply wonderful that in all the exigencies of this expedition no one of his soldiers had been permitted to fire a single shot, or even to draw a revolver upon the enemy. He now considered that when scattered each one, as well as himself, would be able to find concealment, or if captured, to evade detection by false stories. This was a great mistake. The second reason for adopting this fatal course was the belief that the scattering of theparty would also scatter pursuit, and make it less eager in any one direction. Under ordinary circumstances such would have been the result. But the terror and the fierce resentment aroused by the daring character of our enterprise caused the whole country to burst into a blaze of excitement, and the pursuit to be pushed with equal energy for scores of miles in every direction.
An opposite course would have been far more hopeful. We were but twelve or fifteen miles from Chattanooga. Twenty miles of travel to the northwest would have placed us on the opposite bank of the Tennessee River, among the loyal mountaineers of the district. If we had remained together we could have traversed that broken and wooded country which lay before us as rapidly as any pursuing soldiers. No body of citizens not perfectly organized and armed would have ventured to halt us. Cavalry pursuit away from the main roads was impossible. Besides, one of our party possessed a pocket-compass, and two others, besides Andrews, were somewhat acquainted with the country. The writer is convinced that we might have left the cars in a body, and without even attempting concealment, but only avoiding the public roads, have hurried directly towards Mitchel's lines, and within forty-eight hours have been safe in his camp.
But we can neither wonder at nor blame the mistake made by our leader on this occasion, though it led to months of wretchedness and the death of many of the party. Andrews had met each new emergency with heroic calmness and unfailing resources; but he was now physically exhausted. He had been engaged in the most intense and harassing labor for many days, being without sleep for the past thirty hours and without food for twenty. An error in action was therefore most natural and excusable, even if it disagreed with the course which had been marked out in calmer moments. Wilson says,—
"Andrewsnow told us all that it was 'every man for himself;' that we must scatter and do the best we could to escape to the Federal lines."
"Andrewsnow told us all that it was 'every man for himself;' that we must scatter and do the best we could to escape to the Federal lines."
This, then, was the formal dissolution of the expedition by the order of its leader. When we were brought together again under widely different circumstances, we were simply a collection of soldiers, and while we respected the judgment and advice of Andrews, we no longer considered that we owed him military obedience.
As Conductor Fuller now disappears from our story, where he has been so conspicuous, and where his energy, skill, and daring shine in such brilliant colors, a few words may be appropriately devoted to his work and subsequent history. All the evidence goes to show that the Confederacy had no other available man who could have saved the bridges on the Western and Atlantic Railroad that day. With the exception of himself and his two companions, who were in a sense subordinate to him, though their services were of very high value, no other person seemed capable of planning or doing anything whatever. With a conductor of less energy in the place of this man, the probabilities are that we would have had the whole day uninterruptedly for the accomplishment of our task. But for Fuller's daring and perseverance the extra trains would have but added to the number of wrecks along the line as one after another ran upon the places where the track had been torn up; while the burning of the bridges and the loss of telegraphic communications would have diffused a universal panic.
The Legislature of Georgia gave Fuller a vote of thanks for his brilliant services, and instructed the governor to bestow upon him a gold medal; but, as he laughingly said years after, "Gold was so scarce in the South that it was hard to find enough for a medal. It was therefore postponed for a time, and then came the final collapse of the Confederacy, and I got nothing."The Confederate authorities gave him the rank of captain by brevet. Of course, the Federal government could not recognize services rendered against itself of however striking character. No one of the adventurers ever expressed any malice towards Conductor Fuller, believing that he simply did what he regarded as his duty. He retained his place as conductor until the whole road passed under the control of General Sherman, when he enlisted in the army. After seeing considerable military service, he was directed by the Confederate government to take charge of the rolling-stock of the Western and Atlantic Railroad, and keep it out of the hands of the Federals. He removed it to various parts of Georgia and South Carolina as the exigencies of the war and the narrowing territory of the Confederacy required. Finally, when the supremacy of the Union was restored, he brought it back to Atlanta and surrendered it to Federal authority. He afterwards resumed his place as conductor on the same road, and remained in that situation until 1875, when he located as a merchant in Atlanta. Here for many years he delighted in talking over this day of wild adventure.
Of his two companions, Cain continued for more than twenty years as an engineer on the same road, while Murphy built up a prosperous business as a lumberman in Atlanta.
Many persons, on hearing an account of this unparalleled chase, have suggested one expedient by which they imagine the fugitive Federals might have destroyed their enemy and accomplished their own purpose. "Why did you not," they say, "reverse your own engine and then jump from it, thus allowing it to knock the pursuing train from the track?" There were good reasons against that course. Such critics might as well ask a man who has ascended half-way up out of a well in a bucket why he does not cut the rope over his head for the sake of crushing somebody at the bottom of the well. That engine was the basis of all our hopes, and we could not think of abandoning it until the direst extremity. At the last moment, however, this attempt to reverse the engine for the purpose of securing a collision was made. This final effort was unavailing. The steam power was so nearly exhausted that the locomotive moved backward very slowly, and accomplished nothing beyond delaying the pursuit on foot for a very few moments. The pursuing train had no difficulty in also reversing and running back a little way until the captured engine came to a dead standstill. Indeed, the hard service of the engine had very nearly destroyed it, even before we thus flung it back at the enemy. A Confederate account says, "Their rapid running and inattention to their engine had melted all the brass from their journals." Wilson is still more graphic,—
"I could liken her condition to nothing else than the last struggles of a faithful horse, whose heartless master has driven and lashedhim until he is gasping for breath, and literally dying in the harness. The powerful machine had carried us safely for more than a hundred miles, some of the time at a rate of speed appalling to contemplate, but she was becoming helpless and useless in our service. She was shaken loose in every joint, at least she seemed so; the brass on her journals and boxes was melted by the heat; her great steel tires were almost red-hot, while she smoked and sizzled at every joint. Our race was almost run."
"I could liken her condition to nothing else than the last struggles of a faithful horse, whose heartless master has driven and lashedhim until he is gasping for breath, and literally dying in the harness. The powerful machine had carried us safely for more than a hundred miles, some of the time at a rate of speed appalling to contemplate, but she was becoming helpless and useless in our service. She was shaken loose in every joint, at least she seemed so; the brass on her journals and boxes was melted by the heat; her great steel tires were almost red-hot, while she smoked and sizzled at every joint. Our race was almost run."
We are not able to give an account of the time occupied by us in the different parts of this long and fearful race. The general impression of a frightful rate of speed is, however, fully borne out by one fact, which rests on the authority of the engineer of the "Texas," and I am not sure that this simple statement is not more eloquent than the most vivid word-pictures of our chase. It is simply that he ran the distance of fifty and one-half miles, made all the stops at stations for explanations and reinforcements, as well as to remove obstructions and to switch off the cars we dropped, in the space ofsixty-five minutes. This calm and definite statement, which I have never heard disputed, implies an average velocity, when in motion, of not less than a mile per minute! That such a speed could be attained upon a crooked road, laid with old iron rails, and with the utmost efforts of an enemy in front to obstruct the track, seems little less than miraculous.
But to return to the direct story. When the final and fatal command to disperse was given, the soldiers, still obedient to orders, jumped off one by one, and ran, either singly or in small groups, towards the shelter of the woods. The greater number fled in a western direction.
No time was lost by the enemy in organizing a most vigorous pursuit. This would have had little terrors if conducted only by the men on the pursuing trains. Some of these did join in it, but their part was insignificant. In an incredibly short space of time the whole country was aroused. The telegraph, no longer disabled, flashed alarm in every direction. Horsemenscoured at full speed along every highway, shouting their exaggerated stories to every passing traveller and to every house and village. The whole population for scores of miles on every side of Chattanooga seemed to have abandoned every other occupation, and devoted themselves exclusively to the work of hunting the fugitive Union soldiers. Each ferry and cross-road was picketed, while armed bands explored the sides of every mountain, and searched out every valley. The people, or at least the great part of those who thus engaged in this terrible man-hunt in the woods, were not novices in the work, and employed the most efficient agencies. The dark institution of slavery rendered the work of hunting down fugitive men very familiar. One of the points in which there is a strange conflict of testimony between Northern and Southern witnesses is in relation to the employment of blood-hounds in the pursuit of Union soldiers, especially when endeavoring to escape from prison. The writer wishes to be perfectly candid in this story, and can imagine one explanation of this discrepancy. Possibly the cause of the dispute is to be found in the use of the word "blood-hound." The pure-blooded Spanish blood-hound, a ferocious and terrible beast, is comparatively rare in the Southern States. But hounds, which were used for tracking men, and some of which were very large and fierce, were very common. To a poor man, whether white or black, flying for his life through some lonely wood, who hears, through the darkness of the night, the baying of a pack of hounds on his track, and knows that their fangs will soon be fixed in his flesh, it is little comfort to reflect that the deadly beasts are probably only mongrels and not of the pure Spanish breed! Hounds were freely employed in searching for the members of our party, and we felt our blood chill with horror as we listened to their baying. Escape by concealment for any considerable length of time was scarcely possible. Rapid flight over the roughest part of the country was theonly alternative, and this was far from hopeful. The adventurers were so widely dispersed that no collective narrative of their perilous wanderings is practicable. Yet many circumstances were common to all the members of the party. The drenching rain, which continued to fall, added greatly to our discomfort, and was at once a help and a hindrance. It rendered the tracking dogs much less efficient, and frequently threw them off the track altogether, but prevented us from travelling by the sun and stars; and, as we had no other guide, the flight of the greater number became a mere aimless wandering through the woods,—sometimes even in a circle. The endurance of indescribable suffering from cold, hunger, and fatigue was also an experience common to all who eluded capture for any considerable period. The expectation of a violent death immediately on capture and detection was shared by all. The only mode of giving an adequate impression of this painful but deeply interesting part of the history will be to narrate with some detail the adventures of a few of those groups, which will best serve as specimens of all. I offer my own experience first; not that it is more interesting than others,—indeed, it is greatly surpassed in number and variety of adventures by the narratives of Dorsey and Wilson,—but because it is easier to tell my own experience,—that strange weird period of hunting in the woods and mountains of Georgia, in which I was the game,—a period which stands out alone in memory separated from all former and after life!
On leaving the train the writer was alone, and for a moment his heart sank within him. No one happened to strike off in the same direction, and, although some of the fugitives might have been overtaken or fallen in with, yet the wish was strong to accompany the same band who had been associated on the southward journey. In looking for these the opportunity of going with any of the other adventurers was lost. Indeed, I hardly wished to have any other companions, as the remainderwere comparative strangers, and their trustworthiness had not yet been thoroughly approved. At that time I knew nothing of the locality in which I found myself,—whether it was fifteen or fifty miles from Chattanooga,—nor had I the most indefinite idea of the character of the country. I only knew that our army and territory lay north or northwest; but as the sun did not shine, I had no means of determining the points of the compass.
The train was still moving when I jumped off,—fast enough to make me perform several inconvenient gyrations on reaching the ground. As soon as I could stand firmly I looked about for a moment, and endeavored to grasp the situation and determine what to do. I had not anticipated that the train would be abandoned and we dispersed in the woods; but, on the contrary, had relied on being under the orders of a leader until we should succeed or perish. Now I was thrown entirely on my own resources, without even a conscious reliance on the protection of God. I cannot recall even breathing a prayer in this trying moment. Yet, in a dim way, I did feel that I was not utterly forsaken. One glance round the horizon—a swift balancing of the few elements of the problem that were within my reach—and then hurried flight was all time permitted. Most of my comrades were in advance of me. Three of them had taken the eastern side of the railroad, the remainder the opposite side. In my judgment the latter was best, and, following their example, I soon reached the cover of stunted pines that grew near. Feeling the necessity of getting some start before the enemy could arrange for pursuit, I continued to run at right angles away from the railroad. A little brook that ran parallel to the railroad was soon passed, and I pressed on up the long, steep, and open slope of a hill on its opposite side. Running up-hill was too severe to be maintained long, and I was obliged to drop into a walk in plain view of the enemy. Each step was fatiguing,and my limbs seemed made of lead. This greatly augmented my fears. It was more like trying to run away from danger in a nightmare than any waking sensation. I saw three of my comrades not far away on the left, and, urging my failing strength to the utmost, tried to overtake them, but in vain. This was a great disappointment, for I dreaded solitude above all things, and wanted the support of sympathy. I knew that pursuit would be rapid and instantaneous, and could hear shouts from the pursuing trains, which had now reached the spot and were discharging a host of enemies. Every breeze that sighed through the branches of the naked forest sounded like the trampling of cavalry.
The country was rough and uneven. On the bottoms and by the streams, as well as on the steep mountains, were a few pines; but on the slopes and tops of the hills, which here are a low continuation of the Cumberland range, the timber is mostly of oak and other varieties, which were not then in foliage. This was a great disadvantage, because it left no hiding-place and exposed us to the watchful eyes of our enemies.
As I struggled up the hill-side the sense of faintness and exhaustion passed away, and with strength hope came again. Nothing in this chase seems stranger than the manner in which my strength ebbed and flowed. When seemingly utterly powerless, without rest, food, or sleep, vigor came back again on more than one occasion, and the new supply would last for hours. My more rapid pace soon carried me over the hill-top and down to the bend of a little river, which I subsequently learned was the Chickamauga,—the witness, afterwards, of one of the most desperate battles of the war. It was then swollen by the continuous rains, and for some time I searched along its banks in vain for a crossing-place. Believing that death was behind, I finally committed myself to the turbulent stream, and succeeded in getting over, but only to find that before me the bank rose inan almost perpendicular precipice of shelving rock not less than one hundred feet in height. I dared not recross the stream, for I knew the enemy could not be far behind, and I therefore clambered up the precipice. Several times, when near the top, did I feel my grasp giving way, but as often some bush or projecting rock afforded me the means of saving myself. While thus swinging up the bare rocks, I could not help thinking what a fine mark I presented if any of the enemy, with guns, should happen to arrive on the opposite bank! At last, after imminent danger, I reached the top, again utterly exhausted, pulled myself out of sight, and sank down to breathe for a while.
I had been without breakfast or dinner, and had spent not only that day but many preceding ones in the most fatiguing exertion. Enemies were on every side. There was no guide even in the direction of home, for the sun still lingered behind an impenetrable veil.
While musing on this unenviable situation in which I found myself, a dreadful sound brought me to my feet and sent the blood leaping wildly through my veins. It was the distant baying of a blood-hound! A moment's reflection would have made it certain that in the existing state of Southern customs dogs would have been used to track fugitives in the woods. It was a mere every-day incident of slavery. But this consideration brought no comfort. Alone in the woods of Georgia, the horror of being hunted with dogs was indescribable.
A few moments' listening confirmed my worst fears. They were after us with their blood-hounds! not one pack alone, but all in the country, as the widening circle from which their dismal baying echoed revealed but too plainly. There was no longer safety in idleness. Yet the fearful sound was not without use in supplying a guide to flight, and I am now convinced that throughout the whole chase the dogs were of more real service to us than to our pursuers, as they rendereda surprise less probable. But none the less did they add to the repulsiveness and terror of our position.
Away across the hills and streams I sped, I know not how far,—I only know that the noise of the dogs grew fainter as the evening wore on. I had distanced them and began to breathe more freely. I even indulged the hope of being able to work my way ultimately to the Federal lines. Had the clouds permitted travelling by the sun and stars, this hope might have been realized.
As I descended the long slope of a wooded hill into a solitary valley, I saw a rude hut, with a man working in a cultivated patch beside it. Believing that he could not yet have heard of our adventure, I determined to risk something in order to get information. I also felt sure that one man could not arrest me. Approaching, I asked the road to Chattanooga, and the distance. He pointed the way, and told me that it was eight miles. Adding this information to the general knowledge I had of the geography of that district, it gave me some notion of my whereabouts. I did not wish to get any nearer the rebel town, as I rightly judged that in its vicinity pursuit would be most vigorous, but I continued my journey in that direction until out of sight, when I climbed the hill at right angles to my former course. This course was maintained for some hours, when an incident occurred which would have been amusing but for the fearful perils environing me.
I had often heard of lost persons travelling in a circle, but never gave much credit to such stories. Now, I had the proof of their credibility. I believe philosophers explain the phenomenon by saying that one side of the body has a little more vigor than the other, and that when we have no guide to direct us, the stronger side (usually the right), by its tendency to go ahead of the other side, gradually turns us in the opposite direction. In other words, the right foot outwalks the left, and thus, like a carriage-horse swifter than its mate ina driverless team, can only describe perpetual circles until the will-power again takes hold of the reins. But at this time I had never heard of such theories, and the following experiences presented themselves to my mind as an inexplicable and terrifying fatality.
I had crossed a road and left it for something like an hour, during which time I walked very fast, when to my surprise I came to the same place again. I was considerably annoyed thus to lose my labor, but struck over the hill in what I now supposed to be the right direction. Judge of my astonishment and alarm when, after an hour or more of hard walking, I found myself again at precisely the same spot! So much time had been lost that the barking of the dogs now sounded very loud and near. I was perplexed beyond measure and seemingly hopelessly entangled. A few steps brought me to a stream that was recognized as having been crossed hours before. In sheer desperation I took the first road that appeared, and followed it almost regardless of where it led or who was met. Previously I had kept away from the roads, and sought the most secluded route. But the risk of meeting any tangible enemy was preferable to being the sport of that bewildering chance which seemed to be drifting me around in a remorseless whirlpool.
Thus I pressed forward till the rainy, dreary evening deepened into night. I recall no thoughts of prayer, no feeling of dependence upon an infinite mercy beyond the clouds. All the memory I have of mental processes is that there was a fixed, iron-like resolve to use every power of body and mind to escape, and in perfect calmness to await the result. I intended to do all in my own power for safety and then perish, if it must be so, with the feeling that I was not responsible for it. The reader, a little farther on, will find that this feeling was so powerful that I did not shrink from any sacrifice of truth, or even from enlistment in the rebel army. For me the stake was life ordeath. I would win if my power could by any means be stretched so far; if not, I would pay the forfeit when I must.
It was not perfectly dark, for there was a moon beyond the clouds, and, as I heard a wagon approaching, I stepped to the bushes beside the road and accosted the driver. His voice assured me that he was a negro, and I made bold to get from him as much information as possible. Words cannot describe the flood of disappointment, vexation, and anger that swept over my bosom when I found I was within four miles of Chattanooga,—that town which I regarded as the lion's mouth! So far as I had a plan it was to leave this place far to my right, and strike the Tennessee River twelve or fifteen miles farther down-stream. I hoped to do this, and to cross over the river by floating on some dry branch of a tree before morning. If the stars came out, so that I could travel a straight course, this hope was not unreasonable. But near Chattanooga, however, all the river would be watched and the country around strictly patrolled. But if discouraged by the manner in which I seemed attracted towards the rebel headquarters, despair was useless; so, learning the direction both of Ringgold and Chattanooga from the negro, who, like all of his color, was ready to do anything for fugitives, with whom he had a fellow-feeling (though I did not make my true character known to him), I pressed forward through the rain and mud. As the road did not lead in the right direction, I again travelled in the fields and woods.
For some time I felt sure of having the right course in my head and hurried on. But when I had crossed a large field of deadened timber I was completely lost. Soon, however, I reached a road which seemed to lead right, and followed it with renewed vigor for several miles. At length I met three men on horseback. It was too dark to tell whether they were negroes or white men, but I ventured to ask them,—
"How far is it to Chattanooga?"
"Three miles!"
"Is this the right road?"
"Yes, sah, right ahead."
These, probably, were men sent out to search for the railroad adventurers, and they did not try to arrest me because I had accosted them so boldly and was going directly towards Chattanooga.
But it was evident I was again on the wrong road. Indeed, so hopelessly bewildered was I that it seemed impossible to travel any but the wrong road. As soon as the horsemen were out of sight I turned and followed them three or four miles, until I came to a large road running at right angles with my own, which terminated where it entered the other. I deliberated some time as to which end of this new road I should take. These mountain-roads are fearfully crooked, and the one I had been travelling bent too often to give me the direction even of the dreaded Chattanooga.
Many a time had I wished for a sight of the moon and stars. Long before the clash of arms had been heard in our peaceful land, before the thunder of battle had filled a nation with weeping, astronomy had been my favorite study, and I had often longed for the parting of the clouds, that, with my telescope, I might gaze on the wonders of the world above. But never did I bend so anxious an eye to the darkened firmament as in my solitary wanderings over the Georgia hills that memorable night. All in vain! No North Star appeared to point with beam of hope to the land of the free!
But at length I made choice, and, as usual, on this night chose wrong. After I had gone a long distance the moon did for a moment break through a rift in the clouds and pour her welcome light down on the dark forest through which I was passing. That one glance was enough to show me that I was heading towards the railroad I had left in the morning. Even then thelight was a compensation for all the disappointment, but in a moment it withdrew and the rain fell again in torrents. Wearily I turned and retraced my tedious steps, hoping in vain for another glimpse of the moon.
One of my feet had been injured by an accident three months before, and now pained me exceedingly. Still I dragged myself along. My nerves had become exhausted by the long-continued tension they had endured, and now played me many fantastic tricks, which became more marked as the night wore on. I passed the place where the wrong choice of roads had been made, and still toiled ahead.
I was thinly clad, and as the wind, which had risen and was now blowing quite hard, drove the falling showers against me, my teeth chattered with the piercing cold. I passed many houses, and feared the barking of the dogs might betray me to watchers within; but my fears were groundless. The storm, which was then howling fearfully through the trees, served to keep most of those who would have sought my life within-doors. For a time I seemed to have the lonely, fearful, stormy night to myself.
At last all thoughts gave way to the imperative need of rest. I reeled to a large log not far from the road, on the edge of a small patch of woodland, and crawling close under the side of it, not so much for shelter from the driving rain as for concealment from my worse dreaded human foes, I slept in peace.
Up to the time of this profound and dreamless sleep the incidents of that terrible night are graven on my memory as with a pen of fire. But after waking I found a marvellous change, and the next experience of the night floats in memory with all the voluptuous splendor of an opium-dream. Had I been at all disposed to superstition, I would have had room enough to indulge it. A rational view of religion would have enabled me to recognize the manner in which a Merciful Father interposed to relieve my sufferings,—aninterposition not less real or effective because, as I still believe, purely natural. But at that time I was indisposed to admit other than the material explanation. The want of sleep, fatigue, dampness, hunger, and intense mental tension were enough to cause a mild species of delirium. But the character of this was surely extraordinary, affecting as it did the senses and imagination only, and leaving the reason and will altogether untouched. I was as rational—as able to plan, and far more able to execute, during this singular psychological experience than before. But let me narrate facts and leave the reader to his own explanations.
I cannot tell how long sleep continued, but I wakened perfectly in an instant, and with a full realization of my position. But, in addition to this, I seemed to hear some person whisper, as plainly as ever I heard a human voice,—
"Shoot him! shoot him! Let us shoot him before he wakes!"
My first impression was that a party of rebels had discovered me in my hiding-place, and that my last moment on earth had come. But the next thought brought a new suspicion, and I cautiously opened my eyes to see if my senses were really playing me false.
Directly before me stood a bush or small tree. The first glance showed me a tree and nothing more. The next glance revealed a score of angels, all clad in lovely robes, that melted into the softest outlines, their heads nodding under feathery plumes above all beauty, and their wings, bordered with violet and pearl, slowly waving with indescribable grace. As my eye wandered farther, the whole grove was transformed into a radiant paradise, in which moved celestial beings of every order, all instinct with life and blushing with love. There were rose bowers, and ladies fairer than mortal, and little cherubs floating around on cloudlets of amber and gold. Indeed, all that I had ever seen, read, or imagined of beauty was comprised in that onegorgeous vision. It was very singular, and of this I can give no explanation, except the will of God, that no hideous, terrible, or even ugly image was seen. That there were not visions of blood-hounds, chains, and scaffolds, or other forms of terror, seemingly more appropriate to my condition; is unaccountable, so far as I know, on any theory save that of heavenly grace, and, personally, I wish for no better. It was also singular that though the brain and eye were thus impressed with ideal existences, I was perfectly calm and self-possessed, knowing the whole thing to be but a pleasing illusion. I had no fear of these figures of the brain, but, on the contrary, found them excellent company. They did not always personate the same characters. Occasionally they would change to the old feudal knights, arrayed in glittering armor. The finest landscapes would start up from the cold wet hills around, like mirages in the desert. Panoramas of the most vivid action passed before me, and the ear joined the eye in the work of pleasing illusion, for even language was not denied to my visitants, whose voices were inexpressibly melodious, and even very sweet music was occasionally heard.
Not less remarkable was the renewal of strength I felt. To walk or run was no longer a burden. To say that I was perfectly refreshed is altogether an inadequate expression. I seemed to have supernatural strength, and to be incapable of any weariness or disagreeable sensation whatever. Even the merciless pelting of the cold rain was pleasant and delightful! I was perfectly easy and peaceful in mind, feeling no fear, though perfectly conscious of my real situation and peril, and retaining the full force of the resolve to use every exertion for escape.
While night and darkness were thus changed into visions of beauty and joy around me, another faculty penetrated beyond these highly-colored illusions, and showed me, though in faint lines, the true face of the country and of events. Yet I had no hesitation incontrolling my conduct with respect to the faint rather than the bright pictures, and was only once, for a few minutes, deceived, and then by supposing the real to be fictitious. The error very nearly involved me in a serious difficulty. At a cross-road, I saw from a distance what I supposed, at first, to be a group of my spectral friends standing around a fire, the ruddy blaze of which rendered them clearly visible. They were not so beautiful as former figures, but I advanced unsuspectingly towards them, and would probably have continued until too late for retreat had not my progress been arrested by a sound of all others least romantic,—the squealing of a pig! The men around the fire had caught the animal, and were killing it preparatory to roasting it in the fire! This immediately drove away the seraphs and the angels! I listened, and became convinced that they were a picket sent out to watch for just such travellers as myself. Some dogs were with them, but these were, fortunately, too much absorbed in the dying agonies of the pig to give attention to me.
I crawled cautiously away, and made a long circuit through the fields. A dog from a farm-house made himself exceedingly annoying by following and barking after me. I did not apprehend danger from him, for I had managed to keep my trusty revolver dry all this time, but I feared he would attract the attention of the picket.
When he left me I returned to the road, but came to three horses hobbled down, which, no doubt, belonged to the picket behind, and had to make another circuit to avoid driving them before me. Then I pressed on, hoping that some good chance, if not providence, might bring me to the steep banks of the Tennessee. Yet I was not sanguine, for the country was more open and level than I expected to find in the vicinity of the river. Very many miles—possibly a score, or even more, for my pace was rapid—were passed in this manner, but at last my visions began to fade. I wassorry to see them go, for they seemed like a good omen, and they had been cheerful companions. When the last form of beauty disappeared the chill horror of my situation froze into my veins; my strange strength also passed gradually away. I would find myself staggering along almost asleep,—would wander a short distance from the road to a secluded spot, throw myself on the flooded ground, and be instantly asleep,—then, in a few moments, awaken, almost drowned by the pitiless rain, and so weary, cold, and benumbed that I could scarcely rise and plod onward.
Thus the latter part of that dreary night wore on. It seemed an age of horror, and places a shuddering gulf between my present life and the past. At length the cold gray dawn of a clouded morning broke through the weeping sky. Day brought no relief. I had not yet any guide, and had not stumbled on the Tennessee. I feared to make inquiries. Every one I saw seemed a foe. Still, I did not avoid them, or leave the road for any great distance. Slowly a new plan formed itself in my mind, for, if the rain and clouds continued, I despaired of working my way to our lines. What this plan was will appear in due time. It will be enough to say here that I did not now think a capture would be fatal, if once far enough away from the place where the train was abandoned, to plausibly deny all knowledge of that raid. I hardly thought it possible that I could endure another day and night alone in the woods. To prepare for all emergencies, I carefully washed all traces of that terrible night from my clothes. The wet would not matter, for the falling rain accounted perfectly for that.
It was Sabbath morning, but it came not to me with the blessed calmness and peace that accompany it in my own far-off Ohio. I realized how sweet those Sabbath hours and Sabbath privileges had been, which I had never valued before. I saw the people going to church, and longed to go with them. Of course this was impossible,but with the thought came more of a feeling of worship and of desire for God's protection than I had ever known before. In that hour I believe His blessed Spirit was calling me; but I soon turned my mind in another direction, preferring to plan for my own deliverance, and to arrange the stories I would tell if arrested, or if I ventured to any house for food, as would soon be necessary.
But I will dwell no longer on the miseries of this dreary morning. Its hours went tediously by, marked by no special incidents till about noon. Just beyond Lafayette, Georgia, I was observed by some one on the watch for strangers. A party of pursuit numbering twenty or thirty was at once organized. I knew nothing of my danger till they were within fifty yards, when I heard them calling for me to stop.
A single glance showed my helplessness. I laid my hand instinctively on my revolver, but knew that fight was useless. Neither was flight possible. The country was open and I was too weary to run, even if some of the party had not been mounted and others armed with rifles and shot-guns. It was time to see what could be made of my plans carefully contrived for just such an emergency. Therefore, making a virtue of necessity, I turned round and demanded what they wanted, though I knew only too well. They said courteously enough that they wanted to talk with me awhile. Soon they came up, and a brisk little man who had the epaulets of a lieutenant, but whom they called "Major," began to ask questions. He was very bland, and apologizedprofusely for interrupting me, but said if I was a patriotic man (as he had no doubt I was) I would willingly undergo a slight inconvenience for the good of the Confederacy. I endeavored to emulate his politeness, begging him to proceed in the performance of his duty, and assuring him that he would find nothing wrong. He searched me very closely for papers, and examined my money and pistol, but found no ground for suspicion.
He next asked me who I was, where I came from, and where I was going. I expected all these questions in about that order, and answered them categorically. I told him I was a citizen of Kentucky, of Fleming County, who had become disgusted with the tyranny of the Lincoln government, and was ready to fight against it; that I came to Chattanooga, but would not enlist there because most of the troops were conscripts, and the few volunteers very poorly armed. I told him where I had lodged in Chattanooga, and many things about the troops there, using all the knowledge I had acquired of that character while riding on the cars to Marietta the preceding Friday. I had also heard many words of praise spoken of the First Georgia Regiment, and now told the major that I wished to join that noble organization. This flattered his State pride, but he asked me one question more,—why I had not gone directly to Corinth, where the First Georgia was, without coming to Lafayette, which was far out of the way. The question conveyed much information, as I did not before know that I was near Lafayette, or out of the road from Chattanooga to Corinth. I answered as well as I could by alleging that General Mitchel was said to be at Huntsville, and that I was making a circuit around to avoid the danger of falling into his hands.
This seemed to be perfectly satisfactory to the little man, and, turning to the attentive crowd, he said,—
"We may as well let this fellow go on, for he seems to be all right."
I was greatly rejoiced at these words, and cast about in my own mind to see if I could not gain something more before passing on the way. But my joy was premature. A dark-complexioned man on horseback, with his hat drawn over his brows, looked slowly up and drawled out,—
"Well, y-e-s! Perhaps we'd as well take him back to town, and if it's all right, maybe we can help him on to Corinth."
This was rather more help than I wanted, but there was no help for it. Besides, I reasoned that if I could keep on good terms with this party, I could get information and aid that would be invaluable towards my final escape. Nothing could really suit me much better than actually to be forwarded to Corinth and enlisted in the First Georgia. I knew the ordeal of questioning before that course was determined on would be very trying, but did not despair. If I could only have had some food and a few hours' rest!
They conducted me to the largest hotel of the place, where I was received with much ceremony, but they neglected to order dinner. I could have had drink enough, but was too prudent to touch it, even if I had not always been a teetotaler. Soon all the lawyers came in,—Lafayette is a county-seat,—and they all had liberty to question me. For four mortal hours, as I could see by a clock in the room, I conversed with them and answered questions. We talked of everything, and their questions grew more and more pointed. I answered as well as I could, and never let an opportunity pass to put in a question in turn, for it was much easier and less perilous to ask than answer. When I told them I was from Kentucky, they wished to know the county. I told them Fleming. They asked after the county-seat. This also I could give. But when they asked after adjoining counties I was sorely perplexed. One of them said it was singular a man could not bound his own county. I asked how many of themcould bound the county we then were in. This question had a double purpose,—to gain time and information. They mentioned several and fell into a dispute, to settle which a map had to be produced. I got a look at it also,—a mere glance, for it was soon out of reach of my eager gaze; but I had seen much. Then they requested a narrative of my journey all the way from Kentucky. This I gave very easily and in great detail as long as it was on ground not accessible to my inquisitors. I told the truth as far as that would not be compromising, and then pieced out with inventions. The time I had spent on the train and in the woods were hardest to arrange for. I had toinventfamilies with whom I had lodged; tell the number of children and servants at each place, with all kinds of particulars. I knew not how many of my auditors might be familiar with the country I was thus fancifully populating, and was careful not to know too much. I plead forgetfulness as often as that plea was plausible, but it would not do to use it too often. I might have refused to answer any question, but this would have been a tacit admission of some kind of guilt,—at least as good as a mob would have required. I might safely use any retorts and sharpness in conversation,—and I did talk with perfect freedom,—but I had the feeling that silence would have brought me in danger of the lash and the rope. Can the reader conceive of any situation more critical and perilous: starving and almost fainting from weariness, in the midst of a growing tavern crowd, questioned by acute lawyers, and obliged to keep every faculty on the alert, feeling that an incautious answer would probably lead to an instant and frightful death, and compelled under such pressure to tell falsehood after falsehood in unending succession?
But I had an increasing hope if my endurance continued to the end. At supper-time I meant to boldly demand food, and I felt sure of getting it. Besides, although they were clear that I was a suspicious character,they did not seem in any way to connect me with the great railroad expedition,—the only identification I feared. The very fact that I was so far away from the point where the train was abandoned was in my favor. Temporary confinement, enlistment in the army, anything they were likely to do was without terror as long as I was not connected with the daring adventure which had culminated the day before. They were somewhat perplexed by the assurance with which I spoke, and held numerous private consultations, only agreeing that the case needed further investigation.
Matters were in this position when a man, riding a horse covered with foam, dashed up to the door. He came from Ringgold and brought the news—of deeper interest to me than to any one else—that several of the bridge-burners had been taken near the place where they abandoned the train. When first apprehended they claimed to becitizens of Kentucky, from Fleming County; but on finding that this did not procure their release, they confessed being Ohio soldiers, sent by General Mitchel to burn the bridges on the Georgia State Railroad!
I have no reason to believe that any of those who were captured described their companions, or gave any information leading intentionally to their discovery. This was not needed. The unfortunate telling of the same fictitious story and the subsequent revelation of their true character on the part of some of the number who were captured close to the abandoned train, unmasked the others as well. After the first captures, which were made Saturday afternoon, whenever a fugitive was arrested who hailed fromFleming County, Kentucky, and was not able to prove his innocence, he was at once set down as a member of the railroad party.
The message from Ringgold ended all uncertainty in my own case. I was at once conducted, under strict guard, to the county jail.
The little major was my escort. He took advantage of his position to purloin my money, and then turned me over to the county jailer. That personage took my penknife and other little articles of property, then led me up-stairs, unfastened a door to the right, which led into a large room with barred windows, and having a cage, made of crossing iron bars, in the centre. He unlocked the small but heavy iron door of the cage and bade me enter. For the first time in my life I was to be locked in jail! My reflections could not have been more gloomy if the celebrated inscription had been written over the cage that Dante placed above the gate of hell, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here."
There did seem absolutely no hope for me. I was there as a criminal, and I knew that life was held too cheaply in the South for my captors to be fastidious about disposing of an unknown stranger. I had heard the message from Ringgold, and at once comprehended its bearing against me. Nothing save a confession of my true character as a soldier and my real business in the South would be credited. The probability was that even this would only make my doom the more speedy.
In that hour my most distressing thoughts were of the friends at home, and especially of my mother,—thinking what would be their sorrow when they heard of my ignominious fate,—if, indeed, they ever heard, for I had given "John Thompson" instead of my own name. That all my young hopes and ambitions, my fond dreams of being useful, should perish, as I then had no doubt they would, on a Southern scaffold, seemed utterly unbearable. But one moment only did these thoughts sweep over me; the next they were rejected by a strong effort of the will as worse than useless, and were followed by a sense of unutterable relief, for I could now rest. I had found a refuge even in prison, and needed no longer to keep every failing faculty at the utmost tension. The sweetness of rest for the moment overcame every other feeling savehunger, and that, too, was soon satisfied. The jailer brought some coarse food, which was devoured with exceeding relish. There was another prisoner in the same cage,—probably a detective, put in for the purpose of gaining my confidence and leading me to a confession. His first step was to plead ill health as an excuse for not eating his share of the prison food. I excused him, and ate his allowance as well as my own without difficulty.
He then wished to talk, and asked me some questions, but I was in no mood for further conversation. Being cold I borrowed his prison blankets, of which he had a plentiful supply, and, wrapping myself up in them, soon sank into a deep sleep—profound and dreamless—such as only extreme fatigue can produce. The quaint advice contained in the last words of my companion, however, lingered in my memory. Said he,—
"If you are innocent of the charge they make against you, there is no hope for you. You are much worse off than if you are guilty, for they will hang you on suspicion, while, if you are a soldier, you can tell what regiment you belong to, and claim protection as a United States prisoner of war."
My sleep lasted until long after dawn of the next morning. This repose, with the breakfast which followed, completely restored my strength, and with the elasticity of youth I began to revolve my situation and plan for the future. I was not long left in loneliness. The people of the village and surrounding country came in throngs to see a man who was supposed to belong to the daring band of engine thieves,—one of the most common names by which our party was recognized during our imprisonment. They were very free in their criticisms of my appearance, and some were very insulting in their remarks. But I would not allow myself to be drawn into conversation with them, for I had a momentous question to decide in my own mind.
The more I thought of the advice of my fellow-prisoner the more weighty did it appear. I did not value it because it was his opinion, but because it seemed reasonable. I also longed to assume my true name once more and my position as a soldier. The thought of perishing obscurely and in disguise was most revolting. Besides, I felt that a soldier had more chances of life than a suspected wanderer. Our government might put forth energetic efforts to save those who were in such deadly peril. I remembered, with increasing hope, that the Federals, at this very time, held a number of rebel prisoners in Missouri, who had been captured while disguised in Federal uniform inside of our lines, engaged in an attempt very similar to our own,—the burning of some railroad bridges. Why might not these be held as hostages to assure our safety, or even exchanged for us? To entitle me to any help from our government I must be William Pittenger, of the Second Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and not John Thompson, of Kentucky. My mind was soon made up,—the more readily that I heard my citizen visitors talking about the capture of several others of our party, who had all admitted that they were United States soldiers. They were influenced, no doubt, by the same course of reasoning that I have indicated. I believe this decision ultimately saved my life.
But there was room for choice as to the manner of making my confession. I told the jailer that I had an important communication for the authorities, and he reported the matter to some person of influence, who summoned a vigilance committee, and ordered me before it.
I found them prepared to renew the examination of the previous day. They had the same lawyers in waiting, and, indeed, all the principal men of the town. When their preliminaries were over, they asked the nature of the communication I wished to make, and hoped that I could throw some light on the mysterious capture of the railroad train. I said,—
"Gentlemen, the statements I made yesterday were intended to deceive." ("So we suspected," said one of the lawyers,sotto voce.) "I will now tell you the truth."
The clerk got his pen ready to take down the information, and the roomful of people assumed an attitude of deepest attention.
"Go on, sir; go on," said the president.
"I am ready," said I, "to give my true name, and the division and regiment of the United States army to which I belong, and to tell why I came so far into your country."
"Just what we want to know, sir. Go on," said they.
"But," I returned, "I will make no statement whatever until taken before the regular military authority of this department."
Their disappointment and surprise at this announcement were almost amusing. Curiosity was raised to the highest pitch, and did not like to postpone its gratification. They employed every threat and argument in their power to make me change my decision,—some of them saying that I should be hanged to the nearest tree if I did not. But I knew my ground. I told them that though an enemy I was a soldier, possessed of important military information, and, if they were loyal to their cause, it was their duty to take me at once before, some regular military authority. The leading men admitted the justice of this view, and when they found that I would reveal nothing there, they made arrangements to take me to Chattanooga. This was distant about twenty miles from Lafayette. Ringgold, near which we abandoned the train, was about the same distance to the east. In that long and terrible night of wandering I had travelled twenty miles in a straight line, and, with my meanderings, must have walked more than fifty.
My reason for postponing my confession until reachingChattanooga was that I wanted to get out of the hands of the mob as soon as possible. There was no body of soldiers or responsible authority in Lafayette. If I had perished there no one, in any contingency, could have been called to account for it. Where a department commander was stationed I would have to reckon with him alone, which was far preferable, and I counted on the curiosity of the mob to preserve me as long as my secret was not revealed.
I was remanded to the jail to wait for the preparation of a suitable escort. After dinner about a dozen men entered my room, and guarded me out to the public square. There a carriage was waiting, in which I was placed, and then commenced the complicated process of tying and chaining.
By this time a great mob had gathered, completely filling the square, and in the most angry and excited condition. Some persons questioned me in loud and imperious tones, demanding why I came down there to fight them, and adding every possible word of insult. I heard many significant hints about getting ropes, and the folly of taking me to Chattanooga when I could be hanged just as well there.
For a little time I made no answer to any question, and paid as little attention as possible to what was said. But the tumult increased, and the mob grew so violent in its denunciations that I feared a passive policy would no longer serve. Though I was being very effectually bound, my tongue was still at liberty. I had no experience in managing mobs, but I felt, by a kind of instinct, that mobs and dogs are very similar,—neither likes to attack a person who quietly and good-humoredly faces them. I had proved this with savage dogs several times for mere sport, but this was a more serious matter. I was not much in the humor of talking, but it was better to be led by policy than by inclination. Selecting, therefore, some of the nearest persons, I spoke to them. They answered with curses, but inthe very act of cursing they grew milder and more willing to converse. I answered their innuendoes cheerfully, jesting, whenever opportunity offered, about the manner I was being secured, the bracelets they were giving me, the care they had for a "Yankee," as they persisted in calling me, and tried to look and speak as if the whole matter were a mere comedy. I soon got some of the laughers on my side, and before long had the satisfaction of hearing one man say, regretfully, "Pity he is a Yankee, for he seems to be a good fellow," and another agree to the sentiment. Yet I was not sorry to hear the driver announce that we were now ready to start.
The manner in which I was tied indicated that my captors intended to "make assurance doubly sure, and take a bond of fate." One end of a heavy chain was put around my neck, and fastened there with a padlock; the other end was passed behind the carriage-seat, and hitched to my foot in the same manner, the chain being extended to its full length while I was in a sitting position, thus rendering it impossible for me to rise. My hands were tied together, my elbows were pinioned to my sides by ropes, and, to crown all, I was firmly bound to the carriage-seat, while two horsemen, armed with pistols and carbines, followed the carriage at a short distance, and my evil genius, the little major, took the seat beside me, likewise armed to the teeth. I ought to have felt secure, but did not. The same exaggerated caution was often noticed afterwards.
As we left Lafayette behind, the sky, which had been clouded for days, suddenly cleared. The sun shone in beauty, and smiled on the first faint dawnings of spring that lay in tender green on the surrounding hills. What would I not have given for such a day forty-eight hours earlier! But even then it was very welcome, and my spirit grew more light as I breathed the fresh air and listened to the singing of the birds.
My companions were quite talkative, and I respondedas well as I could. They even tried to make me think that the extraordinary manner in which I was tied and guarded—with which I reproached them—was a compliment, showing that they had formed a high opinion of my daring character! Their conversation was pleasant and courteous enough, except that when they passed houses they would cry out, "We've got a live Yankee here!" Then men, women, and children would rush to the door, staring as if they saw some great monster, and asking,—
"Whar did you ketch him? Goin' to hang him when you get him to Chattanooga?" and similar expressions without number.
I cared little for this at first, but its perpetual recurrence was not without its effect in making me think that they really would hang me. In fact, my prospects were far from encouraging; yet I considered it my duty to keep up my spirits and hold despair at arm's length while any possible ground for hope remained. The afternoon wore slowly away as we journeyed amid grand and romantic scenery that in any other circumstances would have been enthusiastically enjoyed. But now my thoughts were otherwise engaged.
I was not so much afraid of death in itself as of the manner in which it was likely to come. Death amid the smoke and excitement and glory of battle never had seemed half so terrible as it now did when it stood, an awful spectre, beside the gallows! And even sadder it was to think of friends who would count the weary months, waiting and longing for my return, till hope became torturing suspense, and suspense deepened into despair. These and kindred thoughts were almost too much for my fortitude; yet, setting my teeth hard, I resolved to endure patiently to the end.
The sun went down, and night came on,—deep, calm, and clear. One by one the stars twinkled into light. I gazed upon their beauty with new feelings,as I wondered whether a few more suns might not set me free from the short story of earthly things and make me a dweller beyond the sky. A spirit of prayer and the faint beginnings of trust stirred within me. Hitherto I had been looking at passing events alone, and refusing to contemplate the great new experiences death would open. But now my thoughts took a new direction. God was helping me, and inclining my heart upward. I was to pass through many more terrible scenes and taste bitter sorrows before I could recognize His voice and fully repose on His love. I was not then a member of church nor a professor of religion. I believed the doctrines of Christianity, and purposed some day to give them practical attention. It had been easy to postpone this purpose, and, latterly, the confusion and bustle of camp-life had almost driven the subject out of my mind. But now God appeared very near, and, even amid foes and dangers, I seemed to have hold of some hand, firm but kind, beyond the reach of vision. What influence was most powerful in turning my thoughts upward I cannot tell,—whether it was the familiar outlines of the grand constellations, the quiet and stillness all around, so congenial to exhausted nature after the excitement of the last few days, or a yet more direct message from the Highest,—I only know that the memory of that evening, when I was carried, chained, down the long hill to the valley in which Chattanooga lies, there to meet an unknown fate, is one of the sweetest of my life. My babbling guards had subsided into silence, and, as we wended along through the gathering darkness, high and noble thoughts of the destiny of man filled my breast, and death appeared only a mere incident of existence,—the gate out of one department of being into another. I was nerved for any fate.
It may be thought strange that in these moments of reflection and spiritual yearning I had no feeling of remorse for any of the deceptions of which I had beenguilty. But I had not. It did not even occur to me to consider them as sins at all. If necessary or expedient I would then have added to them the sanction of an oath with equal recklessness. Some sophistry—felt rather than reasoned out—about the lawfulness of deceiving or injuring public enemies or rebels in any possible way—a conviction that they had forfeited everything, even their right to be told truth—must have controlled me. Before starting on this expedition I had placed the highest value on truth, and would have regarded a wilful lie with scorn and loathing. But I accepted deception as one of the incidents of the enterprise, and all sense of its wrongfulness passed away, and did not return until long afterwards.
We arrived at Chattanooga while a feeble glow of the soft spring twilight lingered in the air. The headquarters of General Leadbetter, then district commander, was in one of the principal hotels of the town, and we at once drove there. I was left in the carriage while the major ascended to inform him of the arrival.