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Alfred Wilson,who was one of the eight who failed to escape, speaks in feeling terms of the manner in which their leader was brought back to them on the third day after escaping. He says,—
"At the prison we were startled by a rumor that Andrews had been taken, but we at first gave little credence to it, probably because we did not desire to believe it. But, alas! the rumor was only too true, for soon after, a strong guard of soldiers, having in charge a prisoner, followed by a rabble of citizens, approached the prison. It was Andrews! Oh, how our hearts and hopes sank down within us beyond the power of expression!... I could have prayed that death had spared me those painful moments, the most harrowing of my life. He was the most wretched and pitiable human being I ever saw,—a sight which horrified us all, and even drew words of compassion from some of our prison guards. His own brother would scarcely have been able to recognize him. It did not seem possible that the short space of three days could have wrought a change so startling. As he lay there chained to the floor, naked, bloody, bruised, and speechless, he seemed more dead than alive. He had not eaten a morsel since he left us,—during which time he had made the most desperate struggle for liberty and life. He had swam about seven miles in the river in his efforts to keep clear of the dogs. His feet were literally torn to shreds by running over the sharp stones and through the brush. Towards the last he left blood at every step. His back and shoulders were sun-blistered almost to the bone, and so completely exhausted was he that he could hardly move his limbs after he was brought in. His face was pale, haggard, and emaciated. His eyes, which were sunken, gave forth a wild, despairing, unnatural light."When we were left to ourselves, we drew around the miserable man, and, after he had somewhat revived, he told us in that low, calm tone of voice in which he always spoke, and which seldom failed to impress the listeners favorably towards the man, the whole story of his unfortunate attempt to escape. He told us he had but little time to live, and that now, after having made every effort to save his life and to rescue us, and failed, he felt reconciled and resigned to his fate. He said he was incapable of doing anything more to help himself, and only regretted that his death could not in some way be instrumental in saving us, his comrades. He counselled us all against the fallacy of hoping for an exchange, or for any mercy from those into whose hands we had fallen. He said his doom foreshadowed our own, and entreated us to prepare for the worst, and, when the time came, to prove to them that we were as brave in confronting an ignominious death for our country's sake as we had been fearless in doing service for her."
"At the prison we were startled by a rumor that Andrews had been taken, but we at first gave little credence to it, probably because we did not desire to believe it. But, alas! the rumor was only too true, for soon after, a strong guard of soldiers, having in charge a prisoner, followed by a rabble of citizens, approached the prison. It was Andrews! Oh, how our hearts and hopes sank down within us beyond the power of expression!... I could have prayed that death had spared me those painful moments, the most harrowing of my life. He was the most wretched and pitiable human being I ever saw,—a sight which horrified us all, and even drew words of compassion from some of our prison guards. His own brother would scarcely have been able to recognize him. It did not seem possible that the short space of three days could have wrought a change so startling. As he lay there chained to the floor, naked, bloody, bruised, and speechless, he seemed more dead than alive. He had not eaten a morsel since he left us,—during which time he had made the most desperate struggle for liberty and life. He had swam about seven miles in the river in his efforts to keep clear of the dogs. His feet were literally torn to shreds by running over the sharp stones and through the brush. Towards the last he left blood at every step. His back and shoulders were sun-blistered almost to the bone, and so completely exhausted was he that he could hardly move his limbs after he was brought in. His face was pale, haggard, and emaciated. His eyes, which were sunken, gave forth a wild, despairing, unnatural light.
"When we were left to ourselves, we drew around the miserable man, and, after he had somewhat revived, he told us in that low, calm tone of voice in which he always spoke, and which seldom failed to impress the listeners favorably towards the man, the whole story of his unfortunate attempt to escape. He told us he had but little time to live, and that now, after having made every effort to save his life and to rescue us, and failed, he felt reconciled and resigned to his fate. He said he was incapable of doing anything more to help himself, and only regretted that his death could not in some way be instrumental in saving us, his comrades. He counselled us all against the fallacy of hoping for an exchange, or for any mercy from those into whose hands we had fallen. He said his doom foreshadowed our own, and entreated us to prepare for the worst, and, when the time came, to prove to them that we were as brave in confronting an ignominious death for our country's sake as we had been fearless in doing service for her."
Afew more words will finish this pitiful story. Andrews, in Wilson's opinion, was somewhat of a fatalist, or at least was haunted with a presentiment of coming doom from the time he had fairly entered upon this expedition. He had not long to wait. He was put back into "the hole," but not before a negro blacksmith had welded a pair of heavy fetters upon his ankles, and connected them with a chain only about eighteen inches in length. A scaffold was prepared for him in Chattanooga, but the indications of an advance by Mitchel, and, possibly, expressions of sympathy on the part of the citizens, induced the authorities at the last moment to transfer the death-scene to Atlanta. His comrades were sent with him to that town. On the way to Atlanta he was taunted with his approaching doom by the crowds, who surrounded every station.
It was the day appointed for the execution. On reaching Atlanta Andrews and his eight companions were conducted to a second-story room, not far from the depot. In a little time a body of soldiers marched up into the building, an officer appeared at the door, and, while all were silent as death, said, in a low, almost faltering tone, "Come on now, Mr. Andrews." He instantly arose, and the low, sad "Farewell, boys," spoken in his calmest, sweetest tones, mingled with the horrible clanking of his chains, as he walked out with the short, halting step his irons compelled. This was the final separation.
The survivors were conducted to the city jail of Atlanta, and there placed in an iron cage. At meal-time the guards told them how bravely Andrews died. His fortitude stilled even the clamorous spectators. The dying agony was protracted by the unskilfulness of the executioner, the rope stretching so that his feet touched the ground. But the earth was shovelled away, and the brave spirit set free. Why should the gallows be accounted infamous when courage and patriotismthere meet a hero's death? The cross was once esteemed more shameful than the gallows now, but one death has sanctified that instrument forever!
The grave of Andrews at Atlanta was unmarked, and, in the many changes that have taken place there, it is probably lost forever. The most diligent search on the part of the writer failed to discover it. But the rope adjudged by the court-martial, all of whose members have passed into obscurity with the downfall of the rebellion they served, cannot desecrate his memory. No flowers can be placed on his unknown grave by loyal hands, but loving tears will fall freely for him as long as hearts can feel for the extremity of misfortune that gathered around the last hours of the man who planned and boldly executed the most romantic and perilous enterprise of the Great Civil War.
Before describing the adventures of Wollam—Andrews' companion in flight from the Chattanooga prison—we will turn towards the twelve prisoners destined for Knoxville, where a yet more fearful tragedy was in preparation.
On parting from our comrades we were escorted to the cars by Colonel Cleiburne, where we found, much to our gratification, that we were to be guarded by a party of Morgan's guerrillas, whose exploits were then greatly celebrated. Cleiburne recommended us to the humane care of these partisans, saying, "These prisoners are men, like other men, and gentlemen too, and I want them treated as such." This charge from the generous Irishman, for such he was, did much to securecourteous treatment from our guard. Indeed, the position of the irregular soldiers who served under the guerrilla chief was such as to make them admire rather than blame the bold enterprise that led to our capture. They were themselves in citizen's dress, and were not always careful to provide uniforms before penetrating into the Federal lines. A considerable number of their comrades had been captured under such circumstances, and were, by every rule of right, equally liable with ourselves to be treated as criminals. Indeed, the position of some of their captured comrades was still more questionable, for they had assumed the United States uniform whenever they found it to their advantage. The inconsistency of the rebel government in treating our party so harshly is conclusively shown by the fact that they had passed laws for the encouragement of just such irregular warfare.
But we have no complaint to make of these dashing guerrillas. They were very indignant to see us in irons, and offered to be responsible for our safe-keeping if these were removed; but this was not allowed.
As was common in our removals from prison to prison, we had been started without any rations,—not so much, I presume, from wanton cruelty as because it was no one's especial business to furnish provisions. As the journey occupied twenty-four hours (and we were hungry to begin with), our privation would have been considerable but for the generosity of Morgan's men. They bought pies and whatever else they could find at the station eating-houses, and literally feasted us. From the time of our capture we had not experienced such treatment, and only hoped that these generous enemies might have charge of us as long as we remained in Confederate territory,—a hope which was not realized. We never met them again.
We arrived in Knoxville shortly after noon, having spent the night on the cars, and were marched through the hot, dusty streets to the city jail,—an old buildingof peculiar architecture,—solid, square, and massive, presenting quite an imposing appearance. It was used as a military prison, and was filled from top to bottom with ragged, dirty-looking prisoners. Some Union men, and several rebel soldiers who had been captured while attempting to desert, were with them. These constituted the less-valued class of prisoners, and were permitted to range over most of the building, which, however, was completely encircled outside, and watched in every passage-way, by a strong guard.
The class of prisoners whose offences were considered of a more aggravated character were shut up in cages. There were five of these cages, two of which were at once cleared for our reception. The smaller was seven by nine feet, and four of us were put in it. The larger was perhaps ten by twelve, and held the remaining eight.
We arrived at Knoxville in the latter part of May, and remained until June 10. Outside, the weather was intensely warm, but the enormous mass of iron and stone in the walls of the prison made it comparatively cool within. The days here spent were not altogether unpleasant. Our food was scanty and of indifferent quality, but as long as we were allowed hope I did not feel much disposed to complain of this. Besides, many of the Union men of Knoxville, who visited us, were liberal in the gift of money, and by employing the services of those prisoners who were less strictly guarded, we were able to get many an extra loaf of bread.
We here became acquainted with some Tennesseeans who were long our companions. One of the most remarkable was an old man named Pierce. He presented a most peculiar appearance, having at some period of his history received a terrible blow with a gun-barrel, which left a permanent gash more than an inch deep clear across the forehead from the nose to his hair. From this circumstance he was variously known in the prison as "Forked Head," "Old Gun-barrel,"etc. He presented the singular combination of great piety and great profanity, singing hymns and cursing the Confederacy with equal zeal. But his friendship for Union soldiers knew no bounds, and, being very bold, he was able to render us many valuable services.
Another East Tennesseean, more widely known, was Captain Fry, of Greenville, a town near the Virginia boundary. He was confined in a cage, and considered by our guards almost equally criminal with ourselves. Early in the war he had gathered a number of his neighbors, and, running the gauntlet of guarded roads, succeeded in reaching our army in Kentucky. Here he was appointed captain of his recruits, and remained for some time. When an advance into East Tennessee through Cumberland Gap was contemplated, the Union general asked him to return to his home, organize the loyal citizens of that vicinity, burn the bridges on the Richmond and Knoxville Railroad, and then to keep possession of the mountainous region till our forces could arrive. With the most explicit assurances of speedy aid, he departed on his perilous mission. Success on his part was rapid and complete. He raised fifteen hundred men, obstructed all communications, burned the bridges, and seriously threatened Knoxville itself. A very small Union reinforcement could then have rendered invaluable services, and all the men needed for the work were assembled not far from Cumberland Gap. But the attention of the military authorities was then turned in another direction, and the plan of advancing into East Tennessee was accordingly abandoned. No word of the change reached Fry, who struggled on alone. But the odds were too great. An overwhelming force of the enemy was thrown upon him, and after several contests he and his brave men were forced to disperse. A few succeeded in reaching the loyal lines, and these mostly enlisted in our army. Others were captured, and many of themhanged as rebels! General Leadbetter was very conspicuous in this savage work. Fry himself passed the whole winter in hiding among the wild mountains of that section, and in the spring mustered several hundred of those who were fugitives like himself, and tried to reach the Union lines. Near the border he was overtaken by a superior rebel force, and after a severe contest he was defeated, wounded, and taken prisoner. This was on the 5th of March, 1862, and he was kept in solitary confinement until placed with us on the 11th of June following. Captain Fry's subsequent fortunes were closely united with those of our party—indeed, with my own—and will be related in due time.
When I bring back in memory the minute impressions of those eventful days, I feel surprise that so many hours of comparative pleasure were found. We had here many persons to converse with. We had light and air, which we had not at Chattanooga. We procured newspapers with frequency, no attempt being made to prevent this as in other prisons, and were able to form some idea of the gigantic contest in which we were so deeply interested, and which at that time progressed hopefully. We had become most intimate with each other, and would not allow despondency or brooding over trouble to take hold upon any one of our number. We also provided employment for each waking hour, and until those tragic events occurred which deepened the gloom around us we were comparatively hopeful and happy. I even managed to take up the thread of my law studies and prosecute them vigorously. I sent word through a visitor to a law firm—Baxter & Temple—that I wanted to borrow "Greenleaf on Evidence," and almost as much to my surprise as pleasure the volumes were promptly sent. The prison made quite a good study, and the spectacle of a man reading law in an iron cage seemed to guards and visitors alike an excellent jest. But I could afford to let them laugh, for mine was the gain, not only inthe knowledge acquired, but in causing the prison days to pass less wearily.
Before we had been long at Knoxville we were visited by an officer, whom we had seen frequently in Chattanooga, and who told us that he was judge-advocate of a court-martial about to convene, and notified us to prepare for trial. Neither this intelligence nor his manner in giving it was at all alarming. We knew that we had been ordered to Knoxville for this very purpose, and were only anxious to have the trial soon over, that we might be formally declared prisoners of war, and thus be placed in position to be exchanged, if an opportunity should occur. To this end we asked the judge-advocate if we would all be put on trial at once, and when he answered in the negative, we urged the expediency and justice of that course, assuring him that the cases of all were precisely alike. But he refused with some curtness. We next asked that he would select one of our number to be tried, whose award might determine the position of the whole party, and offering to sign a paper agreeing to this course. This he also refused, with the declaration that the court knew its own business, and that every one of us should be tried on his own merits. The only reason I have ever been able to imagine for this course is that the intentions towards us were much more serious than we had been allowed to conjecture, and that it would have looked too absurd to arraign so large a band of private soldiers from one brigade on the charge of being spies. We asked him for the charge on which the trial was to take place, and with some apparent hesitation he gave it,—the same against all. It was charged, in substance, that we were enemies who were lurking in and around Confederate campsas spiesfor the purpose of obtaining military information. Not one word was said about seizing the cars or anything that we did or tried to do. Wilson spoke out boldly, and said, "But you know we are not spies, and have yourself told us thatwe cannot be held as such." Then, with what I cannot but consider as deep deception, he replied that their expectation now was to obtain a negative verdict, which would justify them in exchanging us. He further advised us to employ counsel and put our cause in good shape, but not to make ourselves uneasy. The whole conversation left some apprehension upon our minds, but in the case of most of us the inherent hopefulness of youth soon banished it.
Our plan of defence has been partly indicated before. It was to tell just who we were and what we had done, and to claim that we were United States soldiers, detailed on a military expedition without our own consent or knowledge, and simply obeying orders. We were to deny in the strongest terms that we had been lurking about any camps, or that we had sought or obtained any military information. No question was to be answered that would lead to the discovery of the engineer or tend to show that any one had volunteered for this service. As to evidence against us, we knew that our recorded confessions, made when we were first brought to Chattanooga, could be used, and possibly the evidence of those who first captured us. But no one could say anything about our lurking around Confederate camps. We had been within the guard-lines at Big Shanty, but we were no more "lurking" there than a body of cavalry who might charge into a camp. Indeed, we felt sure that the charge, in the form it bore, could not be sustained. To make the greatest impression of candor, our story was sketched in brief, with the approval of the whole number, and, at a subsequent visit of the judge-advocate, handed to him. He took our signatures to it, and it was read on the trials as our confession. It saved our enemies some trouble in the matter of witnesses, and put our case in what we judged the most favorable light.
Baxter & Temple, who had so kindly accommodated me with books, were willing to act as our counsel.They stipulated that, as fast as tried, we should give them our notes for one hundred and fifty dollars each. They did not care for the money, and, indeed, the prospect of obtaining it was not very favorable. But their own safety required that their help should appear to be purely professional. They assured me privately that they were loyal to our government and would do us any favor they dared. They did promote our comfort by the secret gift of some money.
The story of the trials may soon be told. The charges and specifications of William Campbell were first handed in. He was a citizen of Kentucky in reality, but claimed to be a member of Company K, Second Ohio, and we were careful to endorse his statement. It was never suspected that he stood in any different relation from his comrades. After the overthrow of the Confederacy the writer obtained copies of these charges and specifications, together with many other papers from the rebel archives. They are still on file at Washington. With the exception of the change of names and position in the army, the charges were precisely alike in all the cases.
"Charge.—Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the Rules and Articles of War."Specification 1st.—In that the said William Campbell, private Company 'K,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., not owing allegiance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the service and army of the United States, then and now at war with the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day of April, 1862, leave the army of the United States, then lying near Shelbyville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twenty other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen's clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the encampment of said forces, representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army."Specification 2d.—And the said William Campbell, private Company 'K,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in citizen's clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army, did proceed by railroad to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines of the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments of the Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid."
"Charge.—Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the Rules and Articles of War.
"Specification 1st.—In that the said William Campbell, private Company 'K,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., not owing allegiance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the service and army of the United States, then and now at war with the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day of April, 1862, leave the army of the United States, then lying near Shelbyville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twenty other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen's clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the encampment of said forces, representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army.
"Specification 2d.—And the said William Campbell, private Company 'K,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in citizen's clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army, did proceed by railroad to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines of the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments of the Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid."
All mention of the capture of the train, with the terrible chase that followed, is entirely omitted from this paper. Could this be for any other reason than that this sequel would disprove the fact of "lurking as a spy," on which the whole charge is made to turn, and make the whole expedition appear of a distinctive military character? The whole charge of "lurking as a spy" was constructive—not real. No evidence could be adduced to show that any one of us had lingered for a single hour at any one of the three Confederate encampments mentioned. Neither was there any evidence that our false stories were told inside of any encampment.
With charges which were simply a recital of a small part of our own admissions and some inference from them, the trials were very simple and brief. William Campbell was taken out first, the above paper read to him, and he responded, "Not true, so far as lurking in any camp or being a spy is concerned." The plea of "not guilty" was then entered for him, our own confession read, one or two minor witnesses called, and he returned to prison. The next day another man was taken to the court and the same story rehearsed. Thus each day one trial only took place, and no pleadings were heard by the prisoner, either for or against himself, and no sentence was given. The time occupied in each session of the court was not much more than an hour. The table around which the court sat was covered with bottles, newspapers, and novels, and the members occupied themselves during the proceedings in discussing these. All this was very well if the object was, as they assured us, merely to put formally on record our true character as prisoners of war; but it was most heartless if the trial was in earnest, and a matter of life or death.
Wilson related to me a ludicrous incident that occurred when he was on trial. No instance of his being anywhere within the guard-lines was proved. A young lieutenant requested to be placed on the witness-stand to testify of one occasion when he knew that the prisoner had passed their picket-lines. His offer was gladly accepted. On being sworn, he stated that he had commanded a picket-post which included the Chattanooga ferry, and this ferry the prisoner admitted passing. Immediately the president of the court arose and said that the young gentleman was mistaken, as he himself commanded the guard that day, and thatno guard was placed at the ferry. The whole court was thrown into a roar of laughter, and the confusion of our would-be convictor may be imagined.
Our lawyers visited us frequently in the prison for the purpose of consultation, and expressed themselves as delighted with the turn matters were taking. No evidence had been found to discredit or go beyond our own statements. They said that all the plans of the prosecution had been deranged, and that if convicted now, it would be through mere prejudice and perjury on the part of the court.
There was one feature of the trial, however, which I did not like, and against which we protested with all our power. No one who was tried was allowed to be present to hear the pleading of counsel on either side. We could neither hear what the judge-advocate urged against us nor what our lawyers said in our favor. Even at the trial of Andrews, in Chattanooga, he had not been debarred this privilege. But in this, and one other particular to be narrated later, the rebels used our soldiers with less show of justice than had been accorded to Andrews himself.
After three or four of our number had been tried, one of our lawyers read to us the plea, which he said he had read after the trial of each man, and would continue to read. It appeared to me to be a paper of greatability, and I cannot conceive how it could be successfully answered. Judge-Advocate-General Holt officially speaks of it as "This just and unanswerable presentation of the case." It was contended that our being dressed in citizen's clothes instead of Federal uniforms, which was the only unmilitary incident in the whole history, ought not to weigh against us, because this was nothing more than the Confederate government had expressly authorized in the case of their own soldiers, and that making war without uniform was practised by all the guerrillas in the Confederate service,—by some from necessity, and by others because they were thus able better to escape detection, and inflict more damage upon the enemy. A special instance was cited in which General Morgan had dressed a detachment of his partisans in Federal uniform, and passed them off as belonging to the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, by which means he had succeeded in reaching and damaging a railroad within the Federal lines. Some of these very men were captured by the Federal government, and were, up to the present, held as prisoners of war. To decide that we were spies because we were captured without our uniform would not only provoke retaliation, but establish a principle far more dangerous to the Confederate than to the Federal forces. It was urged that we had stated the object of our expedition, which was a purely military one, and as such entirely within the laws of war. No evidence had been adduced to show that we were other than what we claimed. The plea closed by asking what good purpose could be served by sacrificing ignominiously the lives of so many brave men on a charge which had been conclusively disproved by the evidence, and which every member of the court knew to be really untrue. We were not spies in fact, and to call us such against their own convictions, and on merely technical and constructive grounds, would be as unwise as it was cruel. The plea didnotembrace one argument whichadded very much to our hopefulness, and which our lawyers considered likely to have a great weight with the court, though they dared not formally state it. McClellan had not yet been repulsed before Richmond, and the collapse of the Rebellion seemed imminent. The same rigid construction which was necessary to make us spies would assuredly render them all liable to the punishment of treason, and they were not in a position to make it prudent to invoke the utmost severities and extreme penalties of the laws of war. As I glance back over the lapse of twenty years it still seems to me strange that the decision of the court-martial in our favor could have been for a moment doubtful. But, alas! reason and sound judgment do not always rule in human affairs. Though we knew it not then, the life of every man in that Knoxville prison was trembling in the balance.
For one whole week—seven days—the trials went on, the same forms being used in the case of each man, who was taken out for an hour and returned, knowing nothing of his sentence, having heard no pleading against himself, and being treated in no sense differently after his trial. On the seventh day we read that General Mitchel had advanced to Chattanooga and was shelling the town across the river, and also, that the Federal General Morgan was advancing from Cumberland Gap, and threatening Knoxville. We fervently hoped that the latter would settle the question of our fate by capturing the town while we were still in it. This would have done away with all further perplexity as to the decision of the court-martial!
This advance did prevent all further trials. The officers of the court were hurried off to their regiments to resist the enemy. From the newspapers, which some prisoners managed to obtain every day, and then loaned or read to all the others, we were kept well informed as to the progress of events. Some of the intelligence they brought thrilled us to our souls. More than aweek before this we read of the escape of Andrews and Wollam from the Chattanooga prison. We greatly rejoiced, believing firmly that our leader would be sure to get to our lines, and then use all his influence to secure some form of help for us. The news of his recapture overthrew all these hopes and filled us with anxious apprehension, although we were ignorant of his being sentenced to death. Of the fate of Wollam nothing was stated.
But a more terrible blow was in store. One day a newspaper was silently passed up to our cage by some friend outside, and, glancing at it, the first thing that arrested our attention was an account ofthe execution of Andrews! With equal silence we sent it into the other cage. Just before this deadly intelligence came we had been engaged in story-telling and in various games, for we were always merry, refusing to indulge in gloomy forebodings. But this was the sudden opening of an awful gulf at our feet. All noise and merriment were suspended, and we passed the whole day in mourning. We could not talk to our guards as lightly as we had done before, for there was now blood between us. We all loved Andrews, and would have undergone any peril to save him, but there was no possibility now even of vengeance. And, although his fate was governed by different principles from ours, we could not help feeling more distrustful of our own position.
An extra guard, bearing a great number of ropes, came in the morning after the last trial, and we were called out of our cages. This was startling, as we had no hint of their purpose, and the word was even passed around that we were all to be taken out and hanged immediately. But one of the outside prisoners found an opportunity to inform us that he had overheard the commander saying that he was to remove us to prevent our capture in case of a sudden Federal dash upon Knoxville. This convinced us that we were only to have another of our frequent changes of prisons.
In our cages here we had not been ironed, and, as our fetters had been used on some prisoners sent to Richmond, we were now obliged to content ourselves with a most liberal allowance of cotton rope. It was this provision for tying us which at first excited our apprehensions.
While we were being securely bound I had an amusing passage-at-words with the adjutant, who was superintending that operation. I said to him, as politely as I could,—
"I suppose, sir, our destination is not known?"
"It is not known to you at any rate, sir," was the gruff rejoinder.
This was noticed by the whole party, and I felt rather beaten; but a moment later came my chance for revenge. He turned again to me, and said, in a dictatorial manner,—
"Who was it that run your engine through?"
I bowed, and returned in the blandest tone, "That is not known to you at any rate, sir."
All the prisoners around roared with laughter, and the adjutant, reddening to the eyes, turned away, muttering that he believed I was the engineer myself!
When the process of tying was completed to the adjutant's satisfaction, we took our departure southward, and passed through Chattanooga once more, but, to our satisfaction, did not stop there. We continued southward, in the direction of Atlanta. No rations were taken for us, as usual, and having on this occasion no guerrillas to buy us supplies, we were obliged to fast the whole time. At various stations the populace taunted us with Andrews' death, and charitably hoped we might soon meet the same fate. The remark was often made that we were going to Atlanta to be hanged there, as he had been! Captain Fry, Pierce, and a few other of the East Tennesseeans were taken along with us. Before we reached Chattanooga, we had, as I thought, an excellent chance to effect our escape. Thejourney was so slow that night came on, and our guard, wearied with the frequent delays, had relaxed their vigilance, and most of them slept by our sides. They exceeded us in numbers, and were armed, while we were tied. But our two months' experience had made us adepts in some of the poor, pitiful arts prisoners soon learn. We could communicate without exciting the suspicions of the soldiers, who were sitting in the very seats with us, and scarcely one of our number had failed to so "settle himself" in the cotton ropes that they could have been thrown off at a moment's notice. To be ready at a signal, to dash out the two lights that burned in our car, each of us to seize the musket of the man nearest us while the train was in motion, to secure the doors, and let no one get out, or make any alarm, seemed to me easy enough. Then we could have uncoupled our car, and,with the arms of our guard, have started across the country towards the Union lines, which could not have been more than thirty or forty miles west of us. But George D. Wilson opposed the project with all his energy. He thought we might succeed, but some would probably be killed in the scuffle, and all might be captured outside, and then our case be made much worse, while by simply remaining quiet, we were sure of a speedy exchange. He had talked for hours with the captain of our guard, who was certain that our case had been virtually decided in our favor. He encouraged Wilson by saying that he had heard officers high in authority say that it had been necessary to execute Mr. Andrews, as he was a Confederate citizen, and as an example; but that this was enough, and that no other would suffer anything worse than possibly, if no favorable exchange could be arranged, the penalty of being kept to the close of the war. This, in Wilson's opinion, was not far distant. Wilson's opposition made us regretfully yield the attempt. Could the future have been foreseen our decision would undoubtedly have been reversed.
Atlanta, we found, was our destination. Here, almost in the centre of the rebel States, the Confederates were as yet free from interruption by Union armies. Andrews had already perished in this city, and here our own fate was to be determined. As we marched, with ropes bound tightly round our hands and pinioning our arms, from the depot to the Atlanta city jail, a crowd gathered around us, as usual, and a man, calling himself the mayor of the city, addressed himself first to Captain Fry, telling him that he knew his history and would soon have the pleasure of hanging him. Then turning to us, he boasted that he had put the rope around Andrews' neck and was waiting and anxious to do the same for us!
The city prison was much smaller than that at Knoxville, but was quite a large edifice. The lower story was occupied by the jailer and family. The upper story contained four rooms, two on each side of an entry, into which the staircase from below led. We, in company with Captain Fry, were given one of these rooms. The other Tennesseeans brought from Knoxville with us were put into another, just across the entry from us. Our comrades, who had been left behind at Chattanooga, had been in this building ever since the death of Andrews, and in the third room. The fourth room was on the same side as our own, and had a succession of occupants,—frequently negroes who had been in search of the North Star. This jail was to be our home for many eventful months.
For some days our food was comparatively good and abundant. Turner, the jailer, was a kind man, and, in a mild way, of Union sentiments. He showed us all the favor in his power, and, indeed, became so much suspected that an odious old man named Thoer was sent to watch him. The change in our condition was at once manifest. Our fare became worse and more scanty than in any former prison. The constant vigilance of this spy kept the jailer from doing anythingto mitigate our sufferings. But in this prison we had one great relief. Our ropes were removed and no chains or handcuffs put upon us. Within our prison-cell we were free. Here we remained in quiet for a week, thinking the worst of our trials now over. Little did we imagine how fearful a storm was about to burst over us.
The event described in this chapter will never be effaced from the memory of any witness. Nothing more terrible or more gratuitously barbarous is recorded in the annals of civilized war. The seven men of whose death I am now to write were all young,—from eighteen to twenty-five. With good prospects, and well connected, they had entered the army at the bidding of patriotism, ready to endure every peril to insure the triumph of the old flag. Their only offence, when stripped of all technicality, was that of accepting a dangerous service proposed by their own officers. They had entered on this service in the same spirit that they would have obeyed an order to head a desperate charge on the enemy's fortifications. Had they perished in the enterprise itself, their fate would have been but the common fortune of war. But more than two months had passed since they had been in the power of their enemies, who had repeatedly testified admiration for their heroism, as well as for their gallant bearing in captivity. Prominent officers had held friendly conversations with them and assured them of ultimate safety. Now, without a moment's warning——. But I must not anticipate the narration.
One day—the 18th of June, 1862—while amusingourselves with games and stories in our prison-cell, we saw through the barred window a squadron of cavalry approaching. This only excited a languid curiosity at first, for it was a common thing to see bodies of horsemen in the streets; but soon we saw them halt before the gate of the high prison-wall and throw a line of soldiers completely round the building. This was no ordinary occurrence. What could it portend?
A moment after we heard the clink of the officers' swords as they ascended the prison stairway in unusual numbers, while we waited the event with deep solicitude. They paused at our door, which was unlocked by the jailer, and the names of the seven who had been tried at Knoxville were called over, one by one, and each man as he was called led out of the room. Samuel Robinson was very sick with fever, and was not able to rise without assistance, but two guards helped him to his feet, and he was taken out with the others. Then the door opposite to ours, on the other side of the hall, was opened, and the Tennesseeans in that room put with us, while our comrades, with the whole number of officers, went into the vacated room, and the door was closed.
With throbbing veins we asked one another the meaning of these strange proceedings. A confused sound was heard through the closed door opposite, as of some one reading, but we could distinguish no words. Some of us supposed they were taken in there to receive their acquittal; others, still more sanguine, maintained that they were now being paroled, preparatory to an exchange.
I was also suffering with malarial fever at that time, but rose to my feet oppressed with a nameless fear. A half-idiotic man who was among the Tennessee prisoners came to me and wanted to play a game of cards. I struck the greasy pack out of his hands, and bade him leave me.
Our terrible suspense was not of long duration. Thedoor opened and George D. Wilson entered first, his hands and arms firmly bound, and his face pale as death, but with form erect and firm step. Some one asked in a whisper a solution of the dreadful mystery, for his countenance had appalled every one.
"We are to be executed immediately!" was the awful reply, whispered with thrilling distinctness.
Behind him came the others, all tied, ready for the scaffold! They were to be hanged at once. Not a day nor an hour was given for preparation. From their hopefulness and fancied security they were snatched in a moment to die as felons! Surely no rule of war, no military necessity, no consideration of policy, required such frightful and murderous haste. I have never heard a word in defence of this military massacre. Even Andrews, our leader, was given a week for preparation before the execution of his sentence. The most atrocious criminals are always allowed a short respite. For a long time I cherished the belief that some misunderstanding of orders, some terrible error, and not deliberate cruelty, led to this frightful haste. But the following death-sentence seems to leave no room for doubt. In the very centre of the Confederacy, with hundreds of troops at their disposal for guards, there could have been no military necessity for hurling these poor men into eternity without one hour's warning!
The following is a literal copy of the death-sentence read to the doomed men during the few minutes they were separated from us:
"Headquarters Department East Tennessee,"Knoxville, June 14, 1862."General Orders, No. 54. VII."At a general court-martial held at Knoxville by virtue of General Orders Nos. 21 and 34 (Department Headquarters, April 15 and May 10, 1862), whereof Lieutenant-Colonel J. B. Bibb, of the Twenty-third Regiment Alabama Volunteers, was president, was tried George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment,on the following charge and specifications, to wit:"Charge.—Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the Rules and Articles of War."Specification 1st.—In this, that the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, not owing allegiance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the service and army of the United States, then and now at war with the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day of April, 1862, leave the army of the United States, then lying near Shelbyville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twenty other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen's clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the encampment of said forces, representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army."Specification 2d.—And the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in citizen's clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army, and did proceed by railroad to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines of the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments of the Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid."To which charge and specifications the prisoner plead 'Not Guilty.'"The court, after mature deliberation, find the accused as follows: Of the 1st specification of the charge, 'Guilty.' Of the 2d specification of the charge, 'Guilty,' and 'Guilty of the Charge.' And the court do therefore sentence the accused, the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment (two-thirds of the members concurring therein), as soon as this order shall be made public, 'to be hung by the neck until he is dead.'"The proceedings in the foregoing case of George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, are approved."The sentence of the court will be carried into effect between the 15th and 22d days of June, inst., at such time and place as may be designated by the commanding officer at Atlanta, Georgia, who is charged with the arrangements for the proper execution thereof."By command of"Major-GeneralE. Kirby Smith."J. F. Breton, A.A.A.G."To Commanding Officer of post at Atlanta, Ga."
"Headquarters Department East Tennessee,"Knoxville, June 14, 1862.
"General Orders, No. 54. VII.
"At a general court-martial held at Knoxville by virtue of General Orders Nos. 21 and 34 (Department Headquarters, April 15 and May 10, 1862), whereof Lieutenant-Colonel J. B. Bibb, of the Twenty-third Regiment Alabama Volunteers, was president, was tried George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment,on the following charge and specifications, to wit:
"Charge.—Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the Rules and Articles of War.
"Specification 1st.—In this, that the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, not owing allegiance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the service and army of the United States, then and now at war with the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day of April, 1862, leave the army of the United States, then lying near Shelbyville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twenty other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen's clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the encampment of said forces, representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army.
"Specification 2d.—And the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in citizen's clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army, and did proceed by railroad to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines of the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments of the Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid.
"To which charge and specifications the prisoner plead 'Not Guilty.'
"The court, after mature deliberation, find the accused as follows: Of the 1st specification of the charge, 'Guilty.' Of the 2d specification of the charge, 'Guilty,' and 'Guilty of the Charge.' And the court do therefore sentence the accused, the said George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment (two-thirds of the members concurring therein), as soon as this order shall be made public, 'to be hung by the neck until he is dead.'
"The proceedings in the foregoing case of George D. Wilson, private Company 'B,' Second Ohio Regiment, are approved.
"The sentence of the court will be carried into effect between the 15th and 22d days of June, inst., at such time and place as may be designated by the commanding officer at Atlanta, Georgia, who is charged with the arrangements for the proper execution thereof.
"By command of"Major-GeneralE. Kirby Smith."J. F. Breton, A.A.A.G.
"To Commanding Officer of post at Atlanta, Ga."
It will be noticed that the sentence was to be executedas soon as made public. The time fixed was between the 15th and 22d days of June. This was the 18th. The sentence had been received the preceding day, and the time employed in clearing a spot of wooded ground then lying east of the city cemetery, but since included in its bounds, and in erecting a scaffold there. But no word of the awful preparations had been allowed to reach us. According to the orders of General E. Kirby Smith, several days' respite might have been allowed; but in a communication to the Confederate Secretary of War, Colonel G. I. Foreacre, post-commander at Atlanta, says, "General Smith only sent from Knoxville instructions and orders to have seven of them hung, which was promptly attended to by myself."
After the sentences had been read came the farewells,—which, in their full meaning, we could scarcely realize,—farewells with no hope of meeting again in this world! Our comrades were dear as brothers to us, and to stand helpless while they were dragged away to the scaffold froze our blood and crushed our hearts.
These doomed men were brave. On the battle-field they had never faltered in the presence of danger. They were ready to die, if need were, for their country; but to die on the scaffold,—to die as murderers die,—this was almost too much for human nature to endure.
Then, too, they were destitute of the best support a man can have in the presence of death. Although most of them had been of excellent moral character, yet they had no firmly-grounded religious hope. The near prospect of eternity, into which they were thus to be hurled without a moment's preparation, was black and appalling. Wilson had been a professed disbeliever in revelation, and many a time had argued with me for hours at a time. But in this awful moment he said to me, "Pittenger, I believe you are right now! Oh, try to be better prepared, when your turn comes to die, than I am!" Then laying his hand on my head, with a muttered "God bless you!" we parted. I sawno more the one I had loved and trusted as few others in the world.
Shadrack was profane in speech and reckless in action, but withal exceeding kind-hearted, lovable, and always merry. Now turning to us with a voice the forced calmness of which was more affecting than a wail of agony, he said, "Boys, I am not prepared to meet my Jesus." When asked by some of us, in tears, to trust in His mercy, and to think of heaven, he answered, still in tones of thrilling calmness, "I'll try! I'll try! But I know I am not prepared."
Samuel Slavens, who was a man of immense strength and iron resolution, turned to his friend Buffum, and could only articulate, "Wife—children—tell—" when utterance failed.
John Scott had been married only three days before he came to the army, and the thought of his young and sorrowing wife nearly drove him to despair. He could only clasp his hands in silent agony.
William Campbell smiled grimly as we pressed his bound hands, and said in response to our declarations, "Yes, boys, thisishard."
Marion Ross bore himself most firmly of all. He had been more gloomy and depressed than any other member of the party previously, and did not seem to share fully in our hopes. Now his eyes beamed with unnatural light, and there was not a tremor in his voice as he said, in full, clear tones, "Tell them at home, if any of you should escape, that I died for my country, and did not regret it."
These parting words occupied but a moment, and even then the officers standing in the door seemed impatient to finish their horrible work!
In this manner the poor men were hurried to their doom. Several of them, in passing, had the privilege of shaking hands with our comrades in the other room. Robinson, though too sick to walk, was dragged away with them.
Thus we parted. The rough wagon, with a wood-rack for a bed, drove off with our comrades, surrounded by cavalry. In about an hour it came back,empty. The deed of shame was done.
Later in the evening the provost-marshal came to our door, and, in response to eager questions, informed us that our friends "had met their fate as brave men should die everywhere."
The next day we obtained from the guards, who, in the absence of their officers, were always willing to talk with us, full particulars of the sevenfold murder.
When all had been mounted on the scaffold Wilson asked permission to say a few words, which was granted,—probably in the hope of hearing some kind of a confession. If such was the expectation, they were much disappointed. It was a strange scene,—a dying speech to a desperate audience, and under the most terrible circumstances conceivable.
But Wilson was equal to the occasion, and when he had once begun to speak, the force of his words was such that the mob remained silent, making no attempt to interrupt him. Unterrified by the near approach of death, he spoke his mind freely. He told the rebels that they were all in the wrong, that he had no hard feelings towards the Southern people for what they were about to do, because they had been duped by their leaders, and induced by them to engage in the work of rebellion. He also said that though he had been condemned as a spy, yet he was none, and they well knew it. He was only a soldier in the performance of the work he had been detailed to do; that he did not regret to die for his country, but only regretted the manner of his death. He concluded by assuring them in prophetic words that they would yet live to regret the part they had taken in this rebellion, and would see the flag of our country wave in triumph over the very ground occupied by his scaffold.
This address made a deep impression on the mindsof all who listened, and I often afterwards heard it spoken of in terms of deepest admiration. When he ceased the signal was given, and the traps fell!
Then followed one of the disgusting exhibitions which so often disgrace all kinds of public executions. Five only remained dangling in the air. Campbell and Slavens, being very heavy, broke their ropes, and fell to the ground insensible. When they revived, they asked and received a drink of water. Then they requested an hour to pray before entering the future world. This most reasonable petition, which would not have been denied to the most hardened murderer under civilized rule, was sternly denied, as if they wished to do their utmost to murder both soul and body. As soon as the ropes could be readjusted they were compelled to mount the scaffold once more, and were again turned off.
The afternoon following the execution of our brave comrades was one of indescribable sorrow, gloom and fear. We knew not how soon we might be compelled to follow in the same path and drink the same bitter cup. As has been before narrated, we had offered at Knoxville to accept the award of the court in one of the cases as the sentence of all, since there was not the slightest difference among us. At that time, however, we were confident of acquittal. Now that confidence had utterly vanished, and no one of our number anticipated anything but speedy death on the scaffold.
But even without the addition of apprehension for ourselves, the parting from our loved friends, whose voices were still ringing in our ears, while they themselveshad passed beyond the gates of death into the unknown land of shadows, was enough to rend the stoutest heart. Few words were spoken, but tears and sobs were frequent.
I could not shed a tear. A fierce fever burned in my veins, and my head seemed as if on fire. For hours I scarcely knew where I was, or the loss I had sustained. Every glance around the room, which revealed the vacant place of our friends, would bring our sorrow in a new wave upon us again. Slowly the afternoon wore on in grief too deep for words, and despair too black for hope.
At last some voice suggested prayer. We had no chaplain, and few of us were professedly religious, but the very thought of prayer seemed to bring relief, and was eagerly accepted. We knelt around the bare prison-walls, as so many prisoners have done before, and tried to draw near to God. We felt as if already cut off from the world. Captain Fry first prayed aloud. His voice was broken by sobs, but he did not now pray for the first time, and we felt our faith leaning on his as he poured out strong supplications for that Almighty help we so sorely needed. He prayed that God's love might be revealed to us, and that we might be able to trust the Saviour even on the gallows. When he ceased another took up the thread of petition. After him, another and another followed, until all but two had prayed aloud, and even these were kneeling and sobbing with the rest. As the twilight deepened, our devotional exercises grew more solemn. In the lonely shadow of coming night, with eternity thus tangibly open before us, and standing on its very brink, we prayed with inconceivable fervor. These exercises continued far into the night, and wrought their effect deeply in our hearts. From that night I recognized God's right to my allegiance. I did accept Christ as my Saviour, and determined to confess His name before men, whether I lived or died. This resolutionin my own case—and I doubt not the same result was produced in other hearts—restored the fortitude that had been so rudely shaken, and I felt nerved for any fate. Strangely enough, with this resignation to the worst came the glimmer of a hope, unfelt before, that possibly life might yet be spared.
This hour wrought a complete and permanent change in the routine of our prison-life. Games, sports, and stories were no longer our leading pursuits. The cards we had been accustomed to play for pastime only—an old greasy pack obtained from the compassion of some soldier on guard—were thrown out of the window, and that game given up forever. Each morning and each evening we had a prayer-meeting,—not simply a single prayer, but all praying in turn. We asked for and obtained a Bible from the jailer, and read a chapter or more as part of our exercises, and sang hymns, so that our meetings became as much like those we had witnessed in the distant but never forgotten days of freedom as we could make them. There was wonderful pathos in the very rudeness of the singing, for our sweetest voices were silent in death. The remark was often made, "If Ross was only here to lead the singing!" The one who read the Bible lesson was considered the leader of the meeting, and, for a time, we took this position by turns. In place of "Do they miss me at Home?" we sang the more inspiring and helpful "Jesus, Lover of my Soul," and "Rock of Ages." The jailer, the guards, and all who came near the prison noticed the great change.
I had one peculiar difficulty which, to many readers, will appear almost whimsical, but to me was most real. Our hope of ever regaining liberty, or even preserving our lives much longer, was but slight; yet my greatest difficulty in finding satisfactory religious consolation had reference to a possible release. I had been a diligent law student, and had managed to continue the study even in the army and in prison. But now itwas impressed upon my mind, with daily increasing force, that I must submit the decision of my future career to God. If I took this matter into my own hands, I could not feel that I was completely true to Him. Underlying this feeling was the further conviction that if I made such a submission of my future profession to God I would be led into the ministry, and the thought of this was very repulsive. Yet the longer the struggle continued the plainer duty became. If I gave myself to Christ, it seemed a necessary consequence that I should accept any work He gave me to do. If I feared that He would guide me in a certain direction, this was sure proof that I was not resigned to His will, and, according to my views, not a true Christian. At last the choice was made,—I resolved to follow my sense of duty, no matter where that should lead,—to the ministry or anywhere else. When this conflict was over there was no great emotional excitement,—only a sense of peace and rest. I could wait calmly in the prison until led forth to die, if such should be my doom, and then go forth out of life feeling that I was loyal to God, and that I should remain His, into whatever worlds the gate of death should open. If, contrary to all probability, the prison-gate should open for my passage back into the free world, from which I seemed almost as effectually separated as if death had already intervened, I promised still to be loyal to Him. This was the essence of the inward change I date from that time. My standard of action before had been pleasure, inclination, the world's notion of honor and morality. Even this had not been held too strictly, as the reader of these pages has discovered. But afterwards, however imperfectly maintained, my standard became the will of God, as revealed in the Bible, and my own sense of duty as enlightened by His Spirit. No great joy, such as is often expressed in conversion, came at first. But it was even better than any joy to feel that I now had a strong arm upon which I couldlean,—that there was one person to whom I could go at any time, and who was not indifferent to my fate.
I now read the Bible with a clear purpose, and with a light on its pages that never before beamed there. Its very history was full of new meaning. Its grand beginning, the growth of wandering tribes into great empires, the pathos of the Psalms, the sublimity and eternal hope of the prophecies, and, above all, the life and death of that loving and lowly man who was greater than Psalmist or Prophet,—all these passed before me in the old Atlanta jail, until the place seemed like a new isle of Patmos. I had a strong bent towards scepticism, though I had not yielded to it, and found it hard to exercise simple faith in all the Word of God. But, little by little, my doubts became weaker and my conviction of truth clearer.
For a considerable time the whole of our party took turns in the leadership of our devotions, but finally this work devolved on the writer, and, after some months, the guards and other prisoners began to call me the "preacher," though, as yet, I was a member of no church, unless our prison band can be dignified by that title.
Two Southern ministers visited us at this period. The first requested permission of the guard, and was allowed to enter with the express provision that his conversation should be confined to religious topics. His name was Scott, but I am not sure what denomination he belonged to, and his conversation gave no clue. His first question did not contribute to a good understanding. He asked how we could be so wicked as to enter the Federal army, to fight against the Southern people and free their negroes? We were sorry enough about many things, but had not yet repented of those particular sins, and therefore answered a little tartly, by asking how he and his friends could be so wicked as to rebel against a good government? A heated dispute followed. Our visitor talked so loudly and vehemently that the officer of the guard enteredand told him that he "had given those men religious counsel enough for one time and had better leave." He never came again, and we were not sorry.
Our jailer, Mr. Turner, had a very kindly feeling towards us, and hearing us so often singing and praying, asked if we would not like to talk with a minister. Knowing that ministers were not all alike, we assented. Rev. George G. N. MacDonell, of the M. E. Church South, then visited us. We were glad to see him, and a very profitable conversation took place. A little offence was occasioned by his first prayer, in which he petitioned that our lives might be spared, if consistent withthe interests of the Confederacy. But we made no comment, and were richly rewarded for our complacency. He not only gave us Christian sympathy and counsel above all value, but on leaving sent us some excellent books. When the first lot of books was finished—of which we took the best of care, reading most of them aloud—we returned them, and received others,—continuing the process of borrowing until we had perused nearly the whole of the good man's library. Only those who know what a terrible trial it is to pass day after day with no definite employment, no company, and no means of diverting thought from one never-ending round, can form any idea of the great boon thus bestowed upon us. The Christian kindness and disinterested benevolence of this minister will never be forgotten. But even these books were not sufficient. I sold my vest—not expecting to live until cold weather—and my pocket-book,—which my captors had left when they took all its contents,—and with the proceeds the jailer bought me three little books—all gems,—"Paradise Lost," "Pilgrim's Progress," and Pollok's "Course of Time." These I deliberately set to work to memorize. It was a pleasant and profitable employment, helping very much to shorten those interminable days.
Our room was of greater size than that in Chattanooga;the windows larger, and our number reduced; yet the heat was fearfully oppressive. One of the party, Mark Wood, was very sick. He had been prostrated with fever for nearly a month, and at this time his life was despaired of. This was not thought by the others to be any great misfortune to him, and they accordingly administered consolation in a style worthy the best of Job's friends. They would say, "Now, Wood, I wouldn't try to get well, if I were in your place. They will only hang you if you do. Better try to die and save them the trouble." Wood, however, did not relish this counsel, and, becoming contrary, he recovered, "just for spite," as he often declared.
The black waiters of the prison were very friendly. They assisted us by every means in their power, and seemed willing to take any personal risk on our behalf. It was not long before they found that we desired few things so much as to read the news, and they tasked their ingenuity to gratify us. Newspapers were prohibited, as they had not been at Knoxville. But the waiters would watch until the jailer or some of the guard had finished reading a paper and laid it down, when they would slyly purloin it, put it into the bottom of the pan in which our food was brought, and thus hand it to us unsuspected. It had to be returned in the same way to avoid suspicion. Our ministerial friend also, as he acquired confidence in us, gave us reason to think that he was not so much devoted to the Confederacy as his first prayer (made in hearing of the guard) indicated. He asked permission of the jailer to give us some old files of religious papers, and sent in a bundle weekly, or oftener. They were acceptable, but their value greatly increased when we found that an old religious paper might have a new daily folded carefully inside! These acts of friendship were deeply grateful to us, and lightened many a weary hour.
One morning our jailer came to our door and asked if we knew John Wollam. We were startled, and hesitated to answer. For three weeks we had heard nothing of Wollam, and hoped that one member of our devoted band had escaped. Now we knew that the jailer was in possession of some news, and while we burned to hear it, we feared the possibility of doing Wollam an injury by acknowledging the acquaintance. But while we deliberated John himself came up, and put an end to our doubts by greeting us heartily. The door was unlocked, and he entered. All the survivors of our party were now together, as those who had been separated from us at Chattanooga were put into our room immediately after the execution of our comrades. Our number, including Captain Fry, who remained in our room, was fifteen.
The first thing in order, when left alone, was for John to tell us all his adventures from the time he and Andrews had broken out of the Chattanooga dungeon. He was fired upon while still suspended in the air by the blankets upon which he was descending, but fortunately the hands of the guards were too unsteady to inflict any injury. He succeeded in getting safely to the ground, and then out of the prison-yard and through the guard-line.
In his efforts to escape Wollam displayed qualities which would have done credit to an Indian. A few moments' running brought him down to the river-side in advance of all pursuers. Finding no means of crossing, the brilliant thought struck him of making his enemies believe he had crossed. This idea was instantly acted on. He threw off his coat and vest, dropping them on the bank of the river, and then walked a few rods in the water to throw any hounds that might be following off his track. He next slipped quietly back and hid in a dense thicket of canes and rushes. He heard his pursuers on the bank above him, and all around, talking of their various plans. At lastthey found the clothes, and at once concluded that he had taken to the river. Accordingly they ferried the blood-hounds to the other side, and searched for the place of his exit from the water. As might be expected, the dogs were unable to find that, and after a due time spent in consultation, the Confederates concluded that he had been drowned and gave over the search.
Wollam spent the day in great anxiety, but night gave him the opportunity of leaving his hiding-place. He made his way cautiously down the river on the Chattanooga side for some miles. At length he found a canoe, in which he drifted down the stream by night, while hiding it and himself in the bushes by day. On two occasions he would have been saved if he had only known it. General Mitchel had captured a steamboat and fitted it up as a cruiser, with which he patrolled the river as far as his lines extended. In his night-voyaging Wollam passed this extemporized gunboat twice, but fearing that it was some rebel craft, he crept quietly by in the shadow of the shore without discovery.
At length he felt sure that he was inside the Union lines, and beyond the probable danger of capture, and therefore ventured boldly forward in the daytime. This was a fatal mistake. The danger of capture is never so great as in the debatable ground between two armies, where both exercise their utmost vigilance. This boundary in most cases is also a shifting one. It was so in this instance. A band of rebel cavalry on the shore saw the lonely voyager, and, riding on ahead, procured a boat and came out to meet him. He was unable to escape, and thus the poor fellow was captured on the very brink of safety. As usual, he tried to persuade them that he was a Confederate, but unfortunately a certain Lieutenant Edwards, who had assisted in his previous capture, happened to be present, and at once recognized him by his bold and reckless bearing. He was then taken to join us at Atlanta.
Our provisions here became worse and less, until the starvation point was very nearly reached. Constant hunger was one of the torments of our life. We only received a very small fragment of half-baked corn-bread, without salt, and a morsel of pork,—the latter always spoiled, and frequently covered with maggots. But none of it was wasted! Several had very little appetite, because of malarial or intermittent fever. The allowance ofsuchfood was abundant for these, but the others ate all that the sick spared. Many a Barmecide feast was spread by the description of rich dainties that would be enjoyed if "at home" once more; and what was even worse, the same banquets would be spread in dreams, from which the tantalized sleepers awoke more hungry and miserable than ever. I am not sure that the aching head and burning fever were more painful than the constant pangs of unsatisfied hunger. However, I need not linger over these details. In the mere matter of starving I presume we suffered no more than thousands of our fellow-soldiers in Andersonville and other prisons. Alfred Wilson, whose iron constitution bore up well under all hardships, and whose appetite was always good enough for all the rations of every kind he could get, felt these privations most keenly. He says of the food that it was "almost enough to convulse the stomach of a hungry dog. I have found by experience, and I think I will be corroborated by all the men who have been in rebel prisons and have suffered the protracted pangs of hunger and starvation, that man, when forced to it, is as ravenous, reckless, unreasonable, and brutish in his appetite as the lowest order of animal creation." In other prisons, it was not uncommon for the inmates to fight over their miserable allowance; but our common sympathy and discipline were so strong that few disputes arose, and these were quickly settled by the general voice. The religious influence that had grown up in our midst also tended powerfully to prevent anyinterference of the stronger with the rights of the weaker.