In February the attempt was made to persuade the Union men of our prison room to enlist in the rebel army. Over twenty recruits were obtained. They were loyal in heart to the old government, but so worn down and dispirited by suffering that they could resist no longer. The refusal of the remainder to take the same step seemed to exasperate the prison officials, and new hardships were devised for us. Captain Alexander, the tyrant who had charge of the prison, issued an order for taking out a working-party to perform menial service each day. At first volunteers were called for, and the desire to be in the open air was so great that they were readily obtained, notwithstanding the conditions of the work were far from being pleasant. As soon as no more volunteers offered, a list was prepared, and a certain number of the names called daily for service. This was putting the matter in another light. One of the first called was a frank, brave Tennesseean named McCoy. He answered boldly, "I'm not going."
"What's the matter now?" demanded the officer who was calling the list.
"I didn't come here to work, and if you can't board me without, you may send me home," replied the fearless man.
"Well! well! You'll be attended to," growledthe officer, and proceeded with the roll. Four others on the list likewise refused. In a short time a guard entered the room and seized them. We feared that one of the terrible floggings, which were only too common in the case of prison insubordination, was going to take place. But another mode of punishment was devised. The four were taken before Captain Alexander, who ordered them to "the cell." This was a windowless place, beside the open court, only about four feet wide by six or seven in length. It had no floor but the damp earth, and was dark at mid-day. They were informed that they should remain here until they consented to work.
We found another alternative for them. There was a piece of file and a scrap of stove-pipe in our room, which we secreted, and, buying a piece of candle from the commissary, found an opportunity, when taken to wash in the prison-court, of slipping the articles into the cell. Thus provided, our friends began to dig their way out under the wall. All day and night they worked, but did not get through. We furnished another candle and they worked on. Towards morning of the second night they broke upward through the crust of the ground outside of the wall. The foremost wormed his way out and glided off. He was never heard of afterwards, and, I presume, reached the Union army. The next man was just under the wall, when the barking of a dog that happened to be prowling around drew the attention of the guard that way, and the hole was closed. This incident prevented the confinement of any others in the cell.
Yet the attempt to secure workers from the prison was not given up. I happened to be on the next list prepared. To work with a guard carrying a musket to enforce obedience did not seem to me a part of my business as a United States soldier. Carefully counting the cost, I determined to go any length in resistance.
On our refusal, we were ordered into the jail-yard.It was a very cold, windy day in February, with abundant rain. We were nearly naked, having only the remnant of the rags that had already outserved their time. The bottoms were out of my shoes, and the water stood in the yard several inches deep. The yard itself was only a vacant corner in the building inclosed by high brick walls, on the top of which guards walked. The cold, wet wind swept down with biting sharpness, and almost robbed us of sensation. We paced the narrow bounds, through the mud and water, until too weary to walk any more, and then resigned ourselves to our misery. If this exposure had come earlier, when we were accustomed to the endurance of cold, it might have been less serious. But for several weeks we had been in a close, warm room, and the contrast was almost unbearable.
Here we remained from early in the morning until nearly dark in the evening. They told us we would have to stay there till we agreed to work or froze to death! The first we had resolved never to do. The latter seemed only too probable. I do not think any of us could have survived the night. We resolved as soon as it was fairly dark to scale the wall and seek our own deliverance, feeling that it could not be worse to die by the bullet than by exposure.
But we had help from an unexpected source. The old commissary, Chillis, had come out of his room, which was near by, several times during the day to observe us, and each time went away muttering and grumbling. We thought he enjoyed our suffering, but were greatly mistaken. In the evening he went to Captain Alexander and remonstrated with him in the strongest terms. Said he,—
"If you want to kill the men, do it at once! The rascals deserve it. Hanging is the best way. But don't leave them out there to die by inches, for it will disgrace us all over the world."
His remonstrance was heeded, and we were remandedback to our room, which, with its warm fire, never seemed more agreeable. We soon sank into a pleasant stupor, from which all awoke very ill. One poor fellow died within a few hours, and several more after a short interval. I was the only one of our railroad party who had been thus exposed. That day of freezing does not seem a worse hardship than many endured previously, but coming when already enfeebled, it was far more injurious. Pneumonia followed, and when I grew better a distressing cough continued, which has never left me. Ever since I have been a confirmed invalid. But the attempt to make us work was relinquished.
One day we were summoned into line, and the names of our railroad party, with a few others, called over. One of the prisoners who had not been called, asked the reason of the omission. The officer replied,—
"We can't tell, for this list came from Yankee-land."
This speech set wild conjectures afloat. Why should a list be sent from the North? Was it for the purpose of exchange? Had the Federal government made some arrangement at last which applied especially to us, and not to the mass of Union men in the prison? We could not tell, but it was pleasant to believe that we were not utterly forgotten.
It was soon discovered that a special exchange of political prisoners—prisoners whose offences were of a civil and not a military character—was in contemplation. Soldiers were being exchanged frequently from the Libby on the other side of the way, but it had seemed as if we were altogether forsaken. Now the rumor was current that a large number on each side who were held for various offences were to be massed into one general exchange, and the including of our names in a list sent from the loved loyal States was sufficient fuel to rekindle the almost extinct fire of hope.
But the delay was long, and we grew very weary of waiting. Truce-boat after truce-boat went off, and week after week slid away, leaving us still in our dark and irksome prison. So completely did this damp our hopes that if any one referred to exchange he was laughed into silence.
One day, however, we received a most welcome token of governmental remembrance. An officer bustled into the prison and asked for the name of every one there who claimed United States protection. There, was a general rush towards him, for, although we did not know how our government could protect us while in rebel hands, we were resolved not to lose anything for want of claiming it. It then transpired that the authorities at Washington, in order to relieve the sufferings of the Richmond prisoners, had offered to furnish a supply of clothing for them. The offer was accepted, and some of the clothing reached its destination,—not nearly all, as I judge from comparing the accounts given on the opposite sides of the line. My own portion was a pair of boots, which were sorely needed. We did not obtain a complete supply, but what we did get was very grateful, as a token that we were not forgotten, but that a great nation still cared for us.
I have said but little for some time past of our religious exercises. It must not be inferred that we had lost the zeal enkindled during the dark hours in Atlanta. Up-stairs we continued to pray, sing, and repeat Bible lessons morning and evening. When we first came into the room below, where we were strangers, and where the whole current of opinion seemed utterly irreligious, I did feel as if it would be impossible for us in the common room to worship publicly as before. At the arrival of the usual hour I was sorely perplexed, and almost persuaded to wait a day or two for better acquaintance with our new room-mates. But the matter was settled providentially for us. Mr.Pierce, who had accompanied us all the way from Knoxville, and who was very profane in speech, had never shown any interest in our prayers beyond remaining silent when we were thus employed. But now he stepped on a box, and calling and stamping until he had the attention of everybody in the room, he said,—
"I have a matter to propose for our general interest. We have some preachers with us who are accustomed to sing and pray and read the Bible every morning and evening. Now, I am wicked enough myself, but I like to have something good going on; so I propose that we invite them to go ahead as they have done in other prisons. All that favor the motion say 'aye!'"
The response was most hearty. In a prison a proposition for anything which will break the monotony for even a little time is sure of favor. No one voted in the negative, and Pierce, turning to me, said, "Go ahead."
There were no preachers in our party, but, under such circumstances, we gladly embraced the providential opportunity. The majority of the prisoners gathered around in respectful silence, and seemed greatly pleased to hear, in that gloomy place, the voice of prayer and sacred song. Even the guards drew near the open door, and stood in reverent attention. But a small company of the more reckless of the prisoners regarded the whole matter in the light of a burlesque. One I especially noticed, who seemed to be their leader. He was quite young, had a confident bearing, and uttered great oaths on the smallest occasion. He watched us without making any disturbance while we read and sang, but, when we knelt for prayer, he knelt too, and became very noisy in his mock devotions, responding "amen" with more than Methodistic fervor and at the most inopportune places. This we endured patiently for that evening, but I resolved to win him over, feeling sure that we would thus do good and secure ourselves from interruption. On the next day I managedto get into conversation with him, told him the story of our adventures, which always commanded attention, and asked the reason of his imprisonment. He gave the story, and I afterwards asked after his friends in his far-off Canadian home. He told me that he had no near relatives except a sister, and his blue eyes filled with tears as he spoke of his longing to see her once more. There were no interruptions to our evening service; and I learned that my friend had taken occasion to say that those Ohioans were good fellows, and that anybody who disturbed them would have to reckon with him. A number of other religious persons made themselves known when the way was thus open, though each one had supposed himself alone before. We formed quite a church when all assembled, though there was a great mixture of creeds, a Roman Catholic being one of the most devoted of the number.
A day now approached that had been longed for ever since we first tasted the bitter cup of captivity,—a day which yet shines golden and glorious in the light of memory,—a day which I never recall without a mental ejaculation of thanksgiving to Almighty God. To have assured its coming I would at anytime during the preceding eleven months have unshrinkingly sacrificed my right hand!
On the evening of the 17th of March, 1863, when we were sitting around the stove, discussing quietly but not indifferently the siege of Vicksburg, an officer stepped within the door and shouted the strange order, "All who want to go to theUnited Statescome to the office!"
No more plans were laid for capturing Vicksburg that night! We thought we were in the United States all the while, but had no objection to be still more so, and at once fell into line, and walked out, between two files of soldiers, to the office. It seemed like a dream. For a moment a delicious hope thrilled through my veins,—a vision of happiness and home, dazzling as aflash of summer lightning,—but it instantly faded before the remembrance of the manner in which we had been deceived in Atlanta. I did not doubt that an exchange had been arranged for some of the inmates of our room, but feared that the good fortune would not reach so far as our proscribed band. The oath of parole, binding each man not to serve against the Confederacy until regularly exchanged, was being signed as fast as the names could be written and the oath administered. To end the suspense, I pressed forward, gave my name, and held my breath, while fully expecting to hear "The engine thieves can't go,"—but no objection was made. I wrote my name, and watched each of my five comrades do the same, with growing hope, as still no objection was made. Then came the remembrance that our names were the first on the list, read a few days before, which, as we had been told, came from "Yankee-land,"—and I suspected, what I afterwards learned to be the fact,—that our government, in arranging this exchange, had specially stipulated that we should be included. Although a sickening fear would still intrude itself now and then, there was really no reason to doubt that all the preliminaries of our exchange were actually arranged.
When all the prisoners had signed the papers we were ordered to return to our room, and be ready to start for the North at four o'clock next morning. We could have been ready in four seconds! but we really needed the quiet night hours to realize the full magnitude of our deliverance. The wild excitement of that evening can never be fully described. The majority of paroled men acted as if bereft of reason. The joyousness of some found vent in vociferous shouts,—in dancing and bounding over the floor,—in embracing each other, and in pledging kind remembrances. Some seemed stupefied by their good fortune, others sat down and wept in silence, and still others laughed for minutes together. But in the room there were a few not permittedto go, and my heart bled for them. I remembered the hour when we had been left by our comrades on first arriving in Richmond, and now these friends sat cheerless and alone, seeming more wretched than ever amid the general joy.
But there was one expression of joy which it would have been the basest ingratitude for us to omit. It was near midnight before we became calm enough to offer up our usual evening devotions. But when all were wearied out by the very excess of joy, when the quietness which ever follows overwhelming emotion had settled upon us, we knelt in prayer,—a prayer of deep, strong, fervent thankfulness. We implored that we might not be deceived in our vivid hopes and dashed back from our anticipated paradise. Yet, if such should be God's mysterious will, and we should see these hopes fade, as others had faded before them, we asked for strength to bear the trial. Then, with solemn trust, we tried to commit the whole matter to the wisdom and the mercy of God, and lay down to sleep, if we could, and to await the event.
Few eyes closed during the entire night. Fancy was too busy peopling her fairy landscapes,—picturing the groups that awaited us, beyond that boundary which for nearly a year seemed to us as impassable as the river of death. But even as we muse we find that hope is not the only painter at work. What unbidden fears spring up to darken the prospect and stain the brightness of our joy! How many of those dear friends we were hoping to meet may now be no more! For a year not a whisper from them has reached us,—no letter or message from any friend, and we tremble as we think of the ravages of time and of battle. These and a hundred other thoughts whirled through our brains during that ever-memorable night. It seemed but a few moments after lying down until we heard the voice of an officer, who stood by the open door, and gave the thrilling order to—prepare for our journey!
Hurriedly we thronged to our feet. It was yet long before daylight, but the guard were in readiness, and they did not need to wait long for us. The visions of the night were swept away, but in their stead was the blessed reality. It was true! Freedom once more! Our terrible captivity ended! Oh joy!joy!—wild and deliriousJOY!
There was a hurrying around in the darkness, illumined by the flashing of torch-lights,—a discordant calling of names,—a careful inspection of each man to see that none went except those who had been chosen; then, forming two lines in the court-yard, with bounding hearts we passed outward through the dreaded portals of Castle Thunder,—the same portals we had passed inward more than three months before!—passed out into the cool butfreenight air, and stood in the dark and silent street.
Beside us rose the tall, square, and ugly outline of the prison we had left. Not far away on the left was the shadowy form of the twin prison,—the Libby,—fit emblems, in their frowning blackness, of that system of oppression which had shed rivers of blood in a vain war, and was soon to pass away forever. But we could not pause to moralize even upon such a theme. As soon as all were out of the gate, and the column of prisoners duly formed, with guards on either hand, we marched onward through the muddy streets for many squares. There were with us a number of sick, who were too weak to walk unassisted, and yet unwilling to be left behind. As no conveyances were provided for them, we placed each of them between two friends, on whose shoulders they leaned, and they were thus able to totter the weary distance. A few had to be carried altogether by those who were themselves far from strong, but hope, and the exultation of liberty, made everything possible. After we were seated in the cars, which were waiting at the depot, and had begun to glance around with happy faces in the dimmorning light, some Richmond papers were procured. Looking over them we found the very interesting news that "a large number ofengine thieves, bridge-burners, murderers, robbers, and traitors will leave this morning for the United States. The Confederacy may well congratulate itself on this good riddance." The item was handed from one to another, and we recognized the names applied with quiet joy. Our congratulations were not less fervid than theirs, but we could not help thinking that the riddance might have been made long before!
With the rising sun we glided out of Richmond, and, passing fortifications and rifle-pits, soon reached Petersburg. Then, with but short detention and no notable incidents, we continued on to City Point, on the James River,—the place of exchange. It was not far from noon when we came within sight of the most glorious and fascinating object on the American continent!—the "Stars and Stripes," which we had not seen before for eleven months, floating in proud beauty over the truce-boat "State of Maine." It was a glorious vision. Cheer after cheer arose from the cars. The guard ordered the noise stopped, but the command was unheeded, and the officers did not try to enforce it.
The memories of that hour are indistinct from their very brightness. I seem to see again the great boat with its beautiful flag, the line of Federal guards with their bright blue uniforms, the gray-clad company for whom we were to be exchanged, and who did not seem nearly so glad as ourselves, and my own tattered and starved companions, some three hundred in number. I hear once more the seemingly interminable reading of names, the checking of lists, the wrangling over trifles, and at last the order—which needed no repetition—to go on board. There was still a sense of trembling and apprehension until the boat actually pushed off and we were on our way down the James.
Then our delight was boundless. We had awakenedfrom a hideous nightmare-dream to find that all its shapes of horror and grinning fiends had passed away and left us in the sunlight once more. Our hearts kept time with the glad threshing of our wheels on the water, and sang within us, knowing that each ponderous stroke was placing a greater distance between us and our dreaded foes.
The hearty, cheerful welcome we met on board was no small element in our pleasure. We were hungry—no wonder after a year's fasting—and we were fed,—the only difficulty being to avoid hurtful excess. With a full supply of provisions and a large tin cup of coffee—I am not sure that so good a cup of coffee has been made since—I sat down and ate slowly, as if I could never have enough. Then I wandered all over the boat, from the upper deck and the cabin down to the hold, in the mere wantonness of liberty. To go about with no guard watching me was as strange as it was delightful. The act of going up to, and passing unchecked through a door, was a great pleasure! I saw little of the country through which we passed, for the mind was too busy. No emotion on earth has the same sweep and intensity as the throbbing sensations that rush through the bosom of the liberated captive!
I have no recollection whatever of the lower James, of Fortress Monroe, of the Chesapeake. In all my memoranda no word occurs of these things. Whether the hours were spent in sleep or waking, whether the monotony of happiness obliterated memory, or nature, weakened by disease and exhausted by too great a multiplicity of sensations, refused to receive new impressions, I know not; but not until we were near Washington can I again recall passing events. Then we thronged to the vessel's side, and bent loving eyes upon the snowy front of our beautiful Capitol. It seemed a far more grand and fitting emblem of our country's power now than when I had first looked upon it, an inexperienced boy, in the far-away opening of the war,though only two years had elapsed since that time. In those two years the whole country had learned many lessons, and to me they were an age!
Here a brief controversy arose with the commander of the truce-boat. He had orders to forward all the exchanged soldiers to the parole camp at Annapolis, and wished to send our party with them. I demurred, feeling that it was right for us to report at Washington, at military headquarters. General Mitchel, who sent us forth upon our expedition, was dead. Our leader, Andrews, was no more. How many of our officers had fallen in the sanguinary battles of the West we knew not; possibly we had been reported as dead and our places filled. This, we afterwards learned, was actually the case. The right place for us to report, in order that everything might be put in proper shape, was at Washington, and to the Secretary of War, Hon. Edwin M. Stanton, in person. Our case, as the rebels had been showing to our cost for the past year, was not that of ordinary prisoners of war, and we thought ourselves entitled to claim the same distinction on Federal soil. I therefore informed the commander that we had urgent business with Secretary Stanton, and must be sent to him. He was a little incredulous at first, but as soon as I gave my reasons he gracefully yielded.
Our reception in Washington was even more cordial than it had been on the truce-boat. We were provided with most comfortable quarters, and literally feasted on the best the city afforded. Secretary Stanton asked us to go before Judge-Advocate-General Holt and there give our deposition, that the full particulars of what he was pleased to consider our extraordinary adventures might be given to the world on an unquestionable basis. Our first visit to Judge Holt was merely friendly, at which Major-General Hitchcock and Mr. J. C. Wetmore, Ohio State Agent, were also present. We were invited to come again on the morrow, when we found a justice of the peace and a phonographer totake our testimony. I was questioned first, and the examination covered all the outlines of the story. All were sworn except Mason, who was unable from illness to be present. The result of the examination, together with Judge Holt's comments upon it, were published in theArmy and Navy Gazetteof that date.
General Hitchcock then accompanied us in our call upon Secretary Stanton, where we enjoyed a most delightful interview. At its close he brought out six medals which had been prepared according to a recent act of Congress and left to his disposal. He said that they were the first given to private soldiers in this war. Jacob Parrot, the boy who had endured the terrible beating, received, as he well deserved, the first one.
Secretary Stanton next presented us one hundred dollars each from the secret service fund as pocket-money, and gave orders for payment to us of all arrearages, and for refunding the full value of the money and arms taken from us at our capture. This was not all. He tendered us, each one, a commission in the regular army, and on our expressing a preference for the volunteer service, he requested Governor Tod, of Ohio, to give us equivalent promotion in our own regiments. These commissions were promptly given, but through ill health, some of our number, myself included, were not able to be mustered as officers.
Stanton praised the bravery of Mitchel in the highest terms, and stated that he had been aware of our expedition, but, until the escape of our eight comrades in October, had supposed that we had all perished; that he had then threatened retaliation in case any more of us were executed, and had demanded to know the reason for the execution of the seven who had been put to death. It was answered that the Confederate government had no knowledge of the death of any member of the party. Since that time he had been most anxious to effect our exchange, and by special effort had at last succeeded in arranging it.
We were then escorted to the Executive Mansion, and had a most pleasing interview with President Lincoln. We told him many incidents of prison experience and received his sympathizing comments in return.
After taking our leave of the President we received transportation at government expense to our homes. The joy of our reception in our own Ohio and among our own kindred I will not attempt to describe.
"Judge-Advocate-General's Office,"March 27, 1863.
"Sir,—I have the honor to transmit for your consideration the accompanying depositions of Sergeant William Pittenger, Company G, Second Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; Private Jacob Parrot, Company K, Thirty-third Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; Private Robert Buffum, Company H, Twenty-first Ohio Volunteers; Corporal William Reddick, Company B, Thirty-third Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; and Private William Bensinger, Company G, Twenty-first Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; taken at this office on the 25th instant, in accordance with your written instructions; from which the following facts will appear:
"These non-commissioned officers and privates belonged to an expedition set on foot in April, 1862, at the suggestion of Mr. J. J. Andrews, a citizen of Kentucky, who led it, and under the authority and direction of General O. M. Mitchel, the object of which was to destroy the communications on the Georgia State Railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga.
"The mode of operation proposed was to reach a point on the road where they could seize a locomotive and train of cars, and then dash back in the direction of Chattanooga, cutting the telegraph wires and burningthe bridges behind them as they advanced, until they reached their own lines. The expedition consisted of twenty-four men, who, with the exception of its leader, Mr. Andrews, and another citizen of Kentucky,—who acted on the occasion as the substitute of a soldier,—had been selected from the different companies for their known courage and discretion. They were informed that the movement was to be a secret one, and they doubtless comprehended something of its perils, but Mr. Andrews and Mr. Reddick alone seem to have known anything of its precise direction or object. They, however, voluntarily engaged in it, and made their way, in parties of two or three, in citizen's dress, and carrying only their side-arms, to Chattanooga, the point of rendezvous agreed upon, where twenty-two out of the twenty-four arrived safely. Here they took passage, without attracting observation, for Marietta, which they reached at twelve o'clock on the night of the 11th of April. On the following morning they took the cars back again towards Chattanooga, and at a place called Big Shanty, while the engineer and passengers were breakfasting, they detached the locomotive and three box-cars from the train and started at full speed for Chattanooga. They were now upon the field of the operations proposed by the expedition, but suddenly encountered unforeseen obstacles. According to the schedule of the road, of which Mr. Andrews had possessed himself, they should have met but a single train on that day, whereas they met three, two of them being engaged on extraordinary service. About an hour was lost in waiting to allow these trains to pass, which enabled their pursuers to press closely upon them. They removed rails, threw out obstructions on the road, and attained, when in motion, a speed of sixty miles an hour; but the time lost could not be regained. After having run about one hundred miles they found their supply of wood, water, and oil exhausted, while the rebel locomotive which had been chasing them wasin sight. Under these circumstances they had no alternative but to abandon their cars and fly to the woods, which they did, under the orders of Mr. Andrews, each one endeavoring to save himself as best he might.
"The expedition thus failed from causes which reflected neither upon the genius by which it was planned, nor upon the intrepidity and discretion of those engaged in executing it. But for the accident of meeting these trains,—which could not have been anticipated,—the movement would have been a complete success, and the whole aspect of the war in the South and the Southwest would have been at once changed. The expedition itself, in the daring of its conception, had the wildness of a romance; while in the gigantic and overwhelming results which it sought, and was likely to accomplish, it was absolutely sublime.
"The twenty-two captives, when secured, were thrust into the negro jail of Chattanooga. They occupied a single room, half under ground, and but thirteen feet square, so that there was not space enough for them all to lie down together, and a part of them were, in consequence, obliged to sleep sitting and leaning against the walls. The only entrance was through a trap-door in the ceiling, that was raised twice a day to let down their scanty meals, which were lowered in a bucket. They had no other light or ventilation than that which came through two small, triple-grated windows. They were covered with swarming vermin, and the heat was so oppressive that they were often obliged to strip themselves entirely of their clothes to bear it. Add to this, they were all handcuffed, and, with trace-chains secured around their necks by padlocks, were fastened to each other in companies of twos and threes. Their food, which was doled out to them twice a day, consisted of a little flour wet with water and baked in the form of bread, and spoiled pickled beef. They had no opportunity of procuring supplies from the outside, nor had they any means of doing so,—their pockets having beenrifled of their last cent by the Confederate authorities, prominent among whom was a rebel officer wearing the uniform of a major. No part of the money thus basely taken was ever returned."
[The report narrates the continued sufferings of the adventurers in prison substantially as they are given in the preceding pages, and concludes:]
"So they remained until a few days since, when they were exchanged; and thus, at the end of eleven months, terminated their pitiless persecutions in the prisons of the South,—persecutions begun and continued amid indignities and sufferings on their part, and atrocities on the part of their traitorous foes, which illustrate far more faithfully than any human language could express it the demoniac spirit of a revolt, every throb of whose life is a crime against the very race to which we belong.
"Very respectfully, your obedient servant,"J. Holt,"Judge-Advocate-General.
"Hon. Edwin M. Stanton,"Secretary of War."
The following extracts from an editorial published in the AtlantaSouthern Confederacyof April 15, 1862, will serve to show the intense excitement of the hour:
"THE GREAT RAILROAD CHASE!
"THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY AND ASTOUNDING ADVENTUREOF THE WAR!!
"THE MOST DARING UNDERTAKING THAT YANKEES EVERPLANNED OR ATTEMPTED TO EXECUTE!
"Stealing an Engine—Tearing up the Track—Pursued on Foot, on Hand-Cars, and Engines—Overtaken—A Scattering—The Capture—The Wonderful Energy of Messrs. Fuller, Murphy, and Cain—Some Reflections, Etc., Etc.
"Stealing an Engine—Tearing up the Track—Pursued on Foot, on Hand-Cars, and Engines—Overtaken—A Scattering—The Capture—The Wonderful Energy of Messrs. Fuller, Murphy, and Cain—Some Reflections, Etc., Etc.
"Since our last issue we have obtained full particulars of the most thrilling railroad adventure that ever occurred on the American continent, as well as the mightiest and most important in its results, if successful, that has been conceived by the Lincoln government since the commencement of this war. Nothing on so grand a scale has been attempted, and nothing within the range of possibility could be conceived that would fall with such a tremendous, crushing force upon us as the accomplishment of the plans which were concocted and dependent upon the execution of the one whose history we now proceed to narrate.
"Itsreality—what was actually done—excels all the extravagantconceptionsof the Arrowsmith hoax, which fiction created such a profound sensation in Europe.
"To make the matter more complete and intelligible, we will take our readers over the same history of the case we related in our last, the main features of which are correct, but lacking in details which have since come to hand.
"We will begin at the breakfast-table of the Big Shanty Hotel at Camp McDonald, where several regiments of soldiers are now encamped. The morning mail and passenger train had left here at fourA.M.on last Saturday morning as usual, and had stopped there for breakfast. The conductor, William A. Fuller, the engineer, J. Cain,—both of this city,—and the passengers were at the table, when the eight men, having uncoupled the engine and three empty box-cars next to it from the passenger and baggage-cars, mounted the engine, pulled open the valve, put on all steam, and left conductor, engineer, passengers, spectators, and the soldiers in the camp hard by, all lost in amazement, and dumbfounded at the strange, startling, and daring act.
"This unheard-of act was doubtless undertaken at that time and place upon the presumption that pursuit could not be made by an engine short of Kingston, some thirty miles above, or from this place; and by cutting down the telegraph wires as they proceeded the adventurers could calculate on at least three or four hours the start of any pursuit it was reasonable to expect. This was a legitimate conclusion, and but for the will, energy, and quick good judgment of Mr. Fuller and Mr. Cain, and Mr. Anthony Murphy, the intelligent and practical foreman of the wood department of the State Road shop, who accidentally went on the train from this place that morning, their calculations would have worked out as originally contemplated, and the results would have been obtained long ere this reaches the eyes of our readers,—the most terrible to us of any we can conceive as possible, and unequalled by anything attempted or conceived since this war commenced.
"Now for the chase!"
[The account, which fills a whole page of the paper, is omitted, as it differs in no essential particular from that given in the foregoing pages. In concluding, the editor gives his estimate of the purpose and magnitude of the expedition.]
"We do not know what Governor Brown will do in this case, or what is his custom in such matters, but, if such a thing is admissible, we insist on Fuller and Murphy being promoted to the highest honors on the road,—if not by actually giving them the highest position, at least let them be promoted bybrevet. Certainly their indomitable energy and quick correct judgment and decision in the many difficult contingencies connected with this unheard-of emergency has saved all the railroad bridges above Ringgold from being burned; the most daring scheme that this revolution has developed has been thwarted, and the tremendous results, which, if successful, can scarcely be imagined, much less described, have been averted. Had they succeeded in burning the bridges, the enemy at Huntsville would have occupied Chattanooga before Sunday night. Yesterday they would have been in Knoxville, and thus had possession of all East Tennessee. Our forces at Knoxville, Greenville, and Cumberland Gap would ere this have been in the hands of the enemy. Lynchburg, Virginia, would have been moved upon at once. This would have given them possession of the valley of Virginia, and Stonewall Jackson would have been attacked in the rear. They would have had possession of the railroad leading to Charlottesville and Orange Court-House, as well as the South Side Railroad leading to Petersburg and Richmond. They might have been able to unite with McClellan's forces and attack Joe Johnston's army front and flank. It is not by any means improbable that our army in Virginia would have been defeated, captured, or driven out of the State this week.
"Then reinforcements from all the eastern and southeastern portion of the country would have been cut off from Beauregard. The enemy have Huntsville now, and with all these designs accomplished his army would have been effectually flanked. The mind and heart shrink back appalled at the bare contemplation of the awful consequences which would have followed the success of this one act. When Fuller, Murphy, and Cain started from Big Shantyon foot to catch that fugitive engine, they were involuntarily laughed at by the crowd, serious as the matter was,—and to most observers it was indeed most ludicrous; butthat foot-race saved us, and prevented the consummation of all these tremendous consequences.
"We doubt if the victory of Manassas or Corinth were worth as much to us as the frustration of this grandcoup d'état. It is not by any means certain that the annihilation of Beauregard's whole army at Corinth would be so fatal a blow to us as would have been the burning of the bridges at that time and by these men.
"When we learned by a private telegraph dispatch a few days ago that the Yankees had taken Huntsville, we attached no great importance to it. We regarded it merely as a dashing foray of a small party to destroy property, tear up the road, etc.,à laMorgan. When an additional telegram announced the force there to be from seventeen to twenty thousand, we were inclined to doubt it,—though coming from a perfectly upright and honorable gentleman, who would not be likely to seize upon a wild report to send here to his friends. The coming to that point with a large force, where they would be flanked on either side by our army, we regarded as a most stupid and unmilitary act. We now understand it all. They were to move upon Chattanooga and Knoxville as soon as the bridges were burnt, and press on into Virginia as far as possible, and take all our forces in that State in the rear. It was all the deepest-laid scheme, and on the grandest scale, thatever emanated from the brains of any number of Yankees combined. It was one, also, that was entirely practicable for almost any day for the last year. There were but two miscalculations in the whole programme: they did not expect men to start out afoot to pursue them, and they did not expect these pursuers on foot to find Major Cooper's old 'Yonah' standing there already fired up. Their calculations on every other point were dead certainties.
"This would have eclipsed anything Captain Morgan ever attempted. To think of a parcel of Federal soldiers—officers and privates—coming down into the heart of the Confederate States,—for they were here in Atlanta and at Marietta (some of them got on the train at Marietta that morning, and others were at Big Shanty); of playing such a serious game on the State road, which is under the control of our prompt, energetic, and sagacious governor, known as such all over America; to seize the passenger train on his road, right at Camp McDonald, where he has a number of Georgia regiments encamped, and run off with it; to burn the bridges on the same road, and go safely through to the Federal lines,—all this would have been a feather in the cap of the man or men who executed it."
The following extract from the "History of the Civil War in America," by the Comte de Paris (vol. ii. pp. 187, 188), is suggestive and characteristic, though erroneous in many particulars. The numbers of those who escaped and of those who perished are reversed, and the cause assigned for the failure of the expedition is purely imaginary; but the local coloring is exquisite:
"Among the expeditions undertaken by Mitchel's soldiers at this period, we must mention one which, despite its tragic termination, shows what a small band of daring men could attempt in America; it will give an idea of the peculiar kind of warfare which served as an interlude to the regular campaigns of large armies. An individual named Andrews, employed in the secret service of Buell, and twenty-two soldiers selected by him, went to Chattanooga under different disguises, and thence to Marietta, in Georgia, which had been assigned them as a place of rendezvous, and which was situated in the very centre of the enemy's country. Once assembled, they got on board a train of cars loaded with Confederate troops and ammunition. During the trip this train stopped, as usual, near a lonely tavern close to the track; everybody got out, and both engineer and fireman went quietly to breakfast. Andrews took advantage of their absence to jump upon the locomotive, which was detached by his men, with three cars, from the rest of the train; they started off at full speed, leaving their fellow-travellers in a state of stupefaction. At the stations where they stopped they quietlyanswered that they were carrying powder to Beauregard's army. Presently they began the work of destruction which they had projected; they cut the telegraph wires, tore up the rails behind them, and proceeded to fire the bridges which they reached on their way to Chattanooga. They hoped to arrive at that city before the news of their expedition had spread abroad, to pass rapidly through it, and join Mitchel at Huntsville. But it was necessary to avoid the trains running in the opposite direction. One of these trains, which they had just passed on the way, after exchanging the most satisfactory explanations, reached an embankment, where Andrews had torn up the rails and made every preparation to throw the cars off the track. The conductor discovered the trap in time, and backed his engine instantly, in order to overtake those who laid it. At his approach the Federals made off in great haste, throwing out of the cars everything that could embarrass their flight. They at first got a little ahead, and the few occupants of log huts lying contiguous to the railway track looked on without understanding this strange pursuit. But, being short of fuel, they soon began to lose ground; they could not stop long enough to tear up rails; they tried in vain to keep up the fire of their engine; they were about to be overtaken; their oil had given out; the axle-boxes were melted by the friction. The game was lost; they stopped the engine and rushed into the woods, where they hoped to conceal themselves. Meanwhile, the telegraph had everywhere announced their presence, and the entire population started in pursuit. A regular hunt was organized in these vast forests, and Andrews was captured with all his men. The majority of them were shut up in narrow iron cages and publicly exhibited at Knoxville, to intimidate the Union men, after which fifteen of them were hung; the remaining eight were spared, and had the good fortune to survive and relate their strange adventures."
Nearly twenty years after the events narrated in the preceding pages the writer passed over the same ground again. Many of the prisons in which he had been confined were no more. In some cases even their sites had been so changed by the altering and grading of streets as to be undiscoverable. But the railroad from Chattanooga to Atlanta continued to be one of the most important in the whole South, and the memory of the captured train and the stirring events connected with it had become a cherished local tradition. The principal pursuers were also found, some of them being still in the employ of the same railroad, and others located in Atlanta. From these former enemies nothing but kindness was experienced. The very locomotive which had been captured was repaired and continued in use, the writer having the pleasure of once more riding over the road on a train drawn by it. The same stations were passed. Many of the smaller towns were externally almost unchanged. Yet everywhere there was a new atmosphere. War and slavery had vanished, and the enterprises of peace were in the ascendant. Chattanooga and Atlanta displayed wonderful improvement, having become like Northern towns in the rush of their business and the character of their population,—the latter city, however, to a less degree than the former.
But a still deeper and more melancholy interest was felt in seeking for the bodies of those who had perished so tragically in Atlanta while rebellion was still in theplenitude of its power. Of the grave of Andrews, himself, no trace could be found. Many old citizens could point out the spot where his scaffold had been erected, and near which he had been buried. But that portion of the town had been entirely burnt by Sherman, and when rebuilt the streets had been raised to a higher level and rearranged, so that the precise location of the grave is probably forever lost.
The scaffold of the seven soldiers was erected in a little wood directly east of the Atlanta city cemetery, about an acre of ground being cleared for that purpose. On this spot, which is now included within the bounds of the cemetery, the terrible tragedy took place. The heart of the writer was almost overwhelmed as he stood there on a peaceful Sabbath afternoon and brought back in recollection that hour of horror! When the work of death was completed the bodies were placed side by side in a wide trench at the foot of the scaffold and covered over. So profound was the impression made by their heroism that the place of burial could not be forgotten, and was often visited by sympathizing friends even during the continuance of the war. But this rude grave is now empty, and for a time the writer could not ascertain what disposition had been made of its contents. An old man formerly connected with the cemetery at length supplied the information that the bodies had been removed, not to the Federal cemetery at Marietta, as had been first conjectured, but to the more distant and larger one at Chattanooga. Here, in probably the most beautiful of all the National cemeteries, the graves were found. In Section H, placed in the open space about the centre, which is usually assigned to commissioned officers, the seven heroes have obtained a final resting-place. There is a headstone, with name and rank, at each grave, and the seven are arranged in the form of a semicircle. This part of the cemetery overlooks a long stretch of the Georgia State Railroad, the great prize they struggled to seize for their countryand thus lost their lives. From this spot the frequent trains are distinctly visible. Watched by the mountains and undisturbed by the passing tide of human activity, they rest here as peacefully as if death had stolen upon them in the midst of friends at home instead of rushing down amid the gloom and horror of that memorable Atlanta scaffold.