We, who were at Knoxville, read of the recapture of Andrews with the most poignant regret, though we knew not yet that he had received the sentence of death. Of Wollam we heard nothing.
We were well supplied with papers here, as there were plenty of Union people who ministered to our wants. One day we received a paper containing an account of theexecution of Andrews. It was awful news to us. We had been engaged, just before, in all kinds of games and story-telling, for we were always merry, and never suffered ourselves to indulge in gloomy forebodings. But when this news came, all noise and merriment were hushed, and we passed a whole day in the most heartfelt mourning. We all loved our leader, and would willingly have engaged in the most desperate enterprise to save his life; but, alas! he was gone, and there was no chance even for that vengeance for which our souls thirsted.
Before we had been long at Knoxville, we were notified to prepare for trial. We requested that we should all be tried at once, as our cases were precisely alike. When this was not granted, we next asked that one might be tried, and his sentence be the sentence of the whole party. But this too, was refused, with the reply that they knew their own business best. We were forced to accept this decision, though we could not imagine why it was that they should thus insist on trying but one at a time. The only reason that I can yet conjecture for this proceeding is, that it would have looked too absurd to arraign twenty-one, or even twelve men, all in a body, and from one brigade, as spies.
They allowed us the privilege of counsel, and we employed two good Union men, Colonels Baxter and Temple, who volunteered their services. We were each to pay them one hundred and fifty dollars, and as fast as we were tried, to give our notes for that amount.
The charges and specifications of William Campbell were first handed in. He was a citizen, but claimed to be a soldier, and we endorsed his position. The charge against all who were brought to trial was for "lurking in and around Confederate camps as spies, for the purpose of obtaining information." Not a word was said of taking the cars, or of anything we really did do.
Our plan of defence has been partly indicated before. It was to tell just who we were, and what we had done, with the exceptions of the pranks we had played on the rebel citizens coming down, and to claim that we were United States soldiers, detailed on a military expedition without our consent, and therefore entitled to the protection accorded to regular prisoners of war. This was put into words, and read on the trial as the acknowledgement of the party while pleading "not guilty" to the charge. The only evidence they had was of the men who pursued us on the train, and also of those who afterward arrested us; but of course none of these knew anything of our lurking around the camps.
George D. Wilson related a ludicrous incident that occurred when he was on trial, and which fitly illustrates the desire they had to convict us. It was of a young lieutenant belonging to the court-martial, who requested to be sworn, saying that he could tell of at least one place we had passed the Confederate guards. On his request being complied with, he testified that we crossed their picket-line at the ferry, on the evening of our first arrival at Chattanooga. Immediately the president of the court arose, and said that he commanded the guard that day, andno guard was placed at the ferry. The whole court was instantly in a roar of laughter, and the confusion of our would-be convictor may be better imagined than described.
Our lawyers were delighted with the course we took, and said that it had deranged all the plans of the prosecution, and that they had not a particle of evidence against us; that if we were convicted now, it would be through mere prejudice and perjury on the part of the court.
As the trial of different ones proceeded, we had still greater encouragement from the court itself. Members called on us, and told us to keep in good heart, as there was no evidence before them to convict any one. This cheered us somewhat, but there was still one thing which I did not like, and which looked as if something was wrong. The court would not let our boys be present to hear the pleading of counsel on either side, though they urgently requested it. They could neither hear what our lawyers had to say for them, nor what the Judge Advocate urged against them. This seemed still stranger, because Andrews had not been debarred this privilege. But they used our soldiers with even less show of justice than had been accorded to him.
After three or four had been tried, one of our lawyers visited the prison, and read to us the plea which he said he had read to the court. It was an able paper. I still remember its principal features. He contended that our being dressed in citizens' clothes was nothing more than what the Confederate government had expressly authorized, and that it was done by all the guerillas in the service of the Confederacy, whenever it was for their interest. And he cited the instance of General Morgan having dressed his men in Federal uniform, and passed them off as belonging to the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, by which means he succeeded in reaching a railroad and damaging it. Also that our government had captured some of these very men, and treated them as prisoners of war. This instance was mentioned to show that our being dressed in citizens' clothes did not take from us the right to be treated as United States soldiers. The plea went on further to state that we had told the object of our expedition; that it was a purely military one, for the destruction of communications, and as such, entirely lawful according to the rules of war. What reply the Judge Advocate made to this, we never had the means of ascertaining.
The trials proceeded rapidly. One man was taken out each day, and in about an hour returned. The table in the court room was covered with bottles, newspapers, and novels, and the court passed its time during trial in discussing these. This was very well if the trial was, as they said, a mere matter of formality; but if it was a trial in earnest, on which depended issues of life or death, it was most heartless conduct.
At last the number of seven was reached, and they would probably have proceeded in trying others, had not General Mitchel, who was continually troubling them, now advanced, and shelled Chattanooga from the opposite side of the Tennessee river. This at once broke up the court-martial, and sent the officers in hot haste to their regiments to resist his progress. Soon after, General Morgan advanced through Cumberland Gap, and threatened Knoxville, which also rendered it necessary to remove us.
They came in with ropes and began to tie us. We did not at first understand this, and some supposed we were to be taken out for execution; but we soon became convinced that it was only a change of place. They arranged us for transportation by first binding our hands together; then, fixing our arms securely in the loops of long ropes, tied them firmly to our sides, after which we were coupled two and two. Ropes were used in fastening us instead of irons as before, because they had borrowed the latter for some Union prisoners, who had just been sent to Richmond; therefore we had to be content with a most liberal allowance of cotton rope. While they were thus arranging our manacles, I had a most amusing passage-at-words with the adjutant who was superintending the 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 around roared with laughter, and the adjutant, reddening to the eyes, turned away, muttering that he believed I was the engineer myself!
When everything was in readiness, we bade an adieu to the capital of down-trodden East Tennessee. Oh! what bitter memories cluster around that old gloomy building. It has been one of the principal instruments in crushing the life and loyalty out of the hearts of a brave, but unfortunate people. May the day soon come when the suffering of East Tennessee will be richly repaid on the heads of its guilty authors!
While we remained here, our fare was of the most scanty character. We received it only twice a day, and then in homeopathic doses. We continually suffered with hunger while we were well. I, myself, became quite sick during our imprisonment here, and continued so for most of the summer. Several others were in the same condition. This was rather an advantage, for when sick we did not so much mind the scantiness of our diet.
A number of Tennesseeans were removed with us. Among them was Captain Fry and Mr. Pierce. In conversation with the former, I learned the full particulars of his history, some incidents of which I had heard before leaving our camp. He had raised a company of his neighbors, and running the gauntlet of guarded roads, succeeded in reaching our army in Kentucky. Here he was elected captain, and remained for some time. After a while, the general in command wished him to go into Tennessee, and there destroy the bridges on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad; then to raise the loyal citizens of that vicinity, and hold the country till our forces could arrive. He refused to go, until assured of support from McClellan himself, who was at that time (the fall of 1861) in command of the whole United States army, and who promised that a column should advance as soon as Fry succeeded. With this assurance, he departed on his perilous mission. He aroused the Union men in both Virginia and Tennessee, burned the bridges, and thus for a time destroyed the most important rebel line of communication; and, with a force of fifteen hundred men, held the entire country embraced in his operations, and even seriously threatened Knoxville itself. Now was the time for our forces to have struck the decisive blow, and not only have redeemed East Tennessee from its chains, but also severed the rebellion in halves! It was perfectly practicable. A large body lay near Camp Dick Robinson, with only a trifling force in front to impede its progress. But in the meantime, McClellanhad changed his plans, and without warning Fry, left him and his brave companions to their fate. The struggle was a brief one; the secessionists, thus left to themselves, concentrated an overwhelming force against him. Several skirmishes were fought, and finally the Union force was compelled to disperse. Some of them succeeded in reaching our lines in Kentucky. Others were caught, and several of these were hung without a trial! Such were some of the murders that first rendered General Leadbetter notorious!
One of these cases is almost too horrible for belief. I would hesitate to record it, were I not assured of its truth by the testimony of eyewitnesses separated by hundreds of miles. It was of a man named named Whan, who, on being arrested, acknowledged that he helped to burn the bridges, but refused to describe his companions. For this, he was put into a barrel driven full of small, sharp-pointed nails, and rolled down a steep hill—then taken out, all bleeding, and hung! This was on Saturday and he, with his companions, was allowed to hang till Monday night, when some of his friends, at the risk of their own lives, came and took them down! Should we compromise with such fiends in human shape, and purchase their fellowship again, or give them the puishment that injured humanity demands?
Fry passed the whole winter in the wild mountains with which Tennessee abounds, and in the spring he again gathered his neighbors together, a regiment strong, and tried to reach the Union lines. Near the border, he was attacked by a superior rebel force, and after a severe contest, his band was dispersed, himself wounded and taken prisoner. This was on the 5th of March, and he remained in solitary confinement until he joined us on the 13th of June. He was an uneducated man, but possessed of great natural ability, and the most undaunted courage, with a heart as tender and sympathetic as a child's.
We took no rations along, and were obliged tostarve through, as we now had no guerillas along to buy us pies. On the way, the populace taunted us with Andrews' death, and charitably hoped that we might soon meet the same fate. But some of the officers talked with us in a friendly spirit, assuring us that we would not be hurt. This produced some impression, and taken in connection with what had been told us by members of the court-martial, and others at Knoxville, made us quite hopeful.
When we neared the Atlanta city jail, which was to be our abode for many weary months, a crowd gathered as usual, and a man who called himself mayor of the city began to insult Captain Fry, telling him that he knew him to be a rascal in his own country, and that he hoped soon to 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!
This prison was smaller than that at Knoxville, but was still a large edifice. The lower story was occupied by the jailor and his family. The upper contained four rooms, of which we, with Captain Fry, occupied one. The Tennesseeans were put into another, just across the entry from us. Our comrades, who had been left at Chattanooga, were in another; and the last one, which was on the same side as ours, was frequently occupied by negroes who had been in search of the North Star.
For some time here, our rations were comparatively good and abundant. But after awhile, the task of feeding us was taken from the jailor, who had at first assumed it, and then our fare became worse than it ever had been before. The jailor himself was a kind man, and rather 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 hired to watch him. The constant vigilance of this antiquated scoundrel, with the superintendence of the officers of the guard, who were always at hand, prevented the jailor from befriending us as much as his heart dictated.
Here we remained for a week in quietness and hope, thinking the worst of our trials were past. Little did we foresee how fearful a storm was soon to burst over us.
One day while we were very merry, amusing ourselves with games and stories, we saw a squadron of cavalry approaching. This did not at first excite any attention, for it was a common thing to see bodies of horsemen in the streets; but soon we observed them halt at our gate, and surround the prison. What could this mean?
A moment after, the clink of the officers' swords was heard as they ascended the stairway, and we knew that something unusual was about to take place. They paused at our door, threw it open, called the names of our seven companions, and took them out to the room opposite, putting the Tennesseeans in with us. One of our boys, named Robinson, was sick of a fever, and had to be raised to his feet, and supported out of the room.
With throbbing hearts we asked one another the meaning of these strange proceedings. Some supposed they were to receive their acquittal; others, still more sanguine, believed they were taken out of the room to be paroled, preparatory to an exchange.
I was sick, too, but rose to my feet, oppressed with a nameless fear. A half crazy Kentuckian, who was with the Tennesseeans, 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.
A moment after, the door opened, and George D. Wilson entered, his step firm and his form erect, but his countenance pale as death. Some one asked a solution of the dreadful mystery, in a whisper, for his face silenced every one.
"We are to be executed immediately," was the awful reply, whispered with thrilling distinctness. The others came in all tied, ready for the scaffold. Then came the farewells—farewells with no hope of meeting again in this world! It was a moment that seemed an age of measureless sorrow.
Our comrades were brave; they were soldiers, and had often looked death in the face on the battle-field. They were ready, if need be, to die for their country; but to die on thescaffold—to die as murderers die—seemed almost too hard for human nature to bear.
Then, too, the prospect of a future world, into which they were thus to be hurled without a moment's preparation, was black and appalling. Most of them had been careless, and had no hope beyond the grave. Wilson was a professed infidel, and many a time had argued the truth of the Christian religion with me for a half day at a time; but in this awful hour he said to me:
"Pittenger, I believe you are right, now! Oh! try to be better prepared when you come to die than I am." Then, laying his hand on my head with a muttered "God bless you," we parted.
Shadrack was profane and reckless, but good-hearted and 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 Jesus."
When asked by some of us in tears to think of heaven, he answered, still in tones of thrilling calmness, "I'll try! I'll try! But IknowI amnotprepared."
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.
Scott was 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.
Ross was the firmest of all. His eyes beamed with unnatural light, and there was not a tremor in his voice as he said, "Tell them at home, if any of you escape, that I died for my country, and did not regret it."
All this transpired in a moment, and even then the Marshal and other officers standing by him in the door, exclaimed:
"Hurry up there! come on! we can't wait!"
In this manner my poor comrades were hurried off. Robinson, who was too sick to walk, was dragged away with them. They asked leave to bid farewell to our other boys, who were confined in the adjoining room, but it was sternly refused!
Thus we parted. We saw the death cart containing our comrades drive off, surrounded by cavalry. In about an hour it came backempty. The tragedy was complete!
Later in the evening, the Provost-Marshal came to the prison, and, in reply to our 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 were always willing to talk with us in the absence of the officers, full particulars of the seven-fold murder.
When our companions were mounted on the scaffold, Wilson asked permission to say a few words, which was granted—probably in the hope of hearing some confession which would justify them in the murder they were about to commit. But this was not his intention. It was a strange stand—a dying speech to a desperate audience, and under the most terrible circumstances.
But he was equal to the occasion. Unterrified by the near approach of death, he spoke his mind freely. He told them that "they were all in the wrong; that he had no hard feelings toward 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 was condemned as a spy, yet he was none, and they well knew it. He was only a soldier in the performance of the duty 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 saying that they would yet live to regret the part they had taken in this rebellion, and would see the time when the old Union would be restored, and the flag of our country wave over the very ground occupied by his scaffold."
This made a deep impression on the minds of those who listened, and I often afterward heard it spoken of in terms of the highest admiration. When he ceased, the signal was given, and the traps fell![4]
Five only remained dangling in the air; for two of the seven, Campbell and Slavens, being very heavy men, broke the ropes, and fell to the ground insensible. In a short time they recovered, and asked for a drink of water, which was given them. Then they requested an hour to pray before entering the future world which lay so near and dark before them. This last petition was indignantly refused, and as soon as the ropes could be adjusted, they were compelled to re-ascend the scaffold, and were again turned off!
The whole proceeding, from beginning to end, was marked by the most revolting haste. They seemed to wish, by thus affording no time to prepare for death, to murder soul and body both. Even the worst criminals in our country are allowed some weeks to ask for God's mercy, before they are thrust into his presence; but our poor boys, whose only crime was loving and trying to serve their country, were not allowed one moment! Could the barbarity of fiends go further?
That afternoon was one of deepest gloom for those who remained. We knew not how soon we might be compelled to follow in the same path, and drink the same bitter cup our comrades drank. Once during the trial we had offered to accept the award of the court in one of the cases as the sentence of all, since we could not see the slightest reason for leaving some and taking others. At that time, however, we believed that all would be acquitted. Now every hope had vanished.
But even without the addition of fear for ourselves, the parting from our loved friends, whose voices were still ringing in our ears, while they themselves had passed beyond the gates of death into the unknown land of shadows, was enough to rend the stoutest heart. There were tears then from eyes that shrank before no danger.
But I could not shed a tear. A cloud of burning heat rushed to my head that seemed to scorch through every vein. For hours I scarcely knew where I was, or the loss I had sustained. Every glance around the room, which revealed the vacant places of our friends, would bring our sorrow freshly on us again. Thus the afternoon passed away in grief too deep for words. Slowly and silently the moments wore on, and no one ventured to whisper of hope.
At last some voice suggested that we should seek relief in prayer. The very idea seemed to convey consolation, and was eagerly accepted. Soon we knelt around the bare walls of our strange sanctuary, and with bleeding hearts drew near the throne of God. Captain Fry first led us, and mingled sobs with strong supplications. Then each followed in his turn, with but one or two exceptions, and even these were kneeling with the rest. As the twilight deepened, our devotional exercises grew more solemn. In the lonely shadow of coming night, with eternity thus open tangibly before us, and standing on its very brink, we prayed with a fervor that those who dwell in safety can scarcely conceive. We besought our Father only that we might be prepared for the fate that was inevitable, and that as he had led us through great trials, he would be our Comforter, and sustain us still. Who will say that such prayer was not effectual! It was heard in heaven. Even there, in that prison, surrounded by an armed guard, amid the gloom of coming danger, the peace of God, like a dove bearing the olive branch, descended into every broken and believing heart. It was a holy hour, and if the angels above ever bend from their bright mansions to comfort human sorrow, I do believe that they were then hovering near. From that hour I date the birth of an immortal hope, and I believe that many of my companions also, on looking back, will realize that they passed from death to life in that dreary prison-room!
From this time forward, we had religious exercises each morning and evening, and they were a blessed consolation to us—sustaining our hearts when every earthly avenue of hope had closed. Frequently we startled the guards who were around us, by the hymns we sang, for now the character of our songs was changed, and our thoughts and aspirations began to point upward. It is a delicate matter to speak of one's own religious experience, but in the hope of doing good, I will venture. At first my hopes were not bright. For days and weeks an impenetrable cloud seemed to rest over me, and to vail heaven from my view; sometimes for a moment it would give way, and show light and peace beyond, then close up, thick, and dark, and lowering, as ever. But at last the day gradually arose, and I was enabled to rejoice in hopes the world can neither give nor take away.
But these were long and weary days. Our room was of greater size than that in Chattanooga, and had larger windows, yet the heat was fearfully oppressive. Our other boys were put in the room with us, which made fifteen in all. One of them, named Wood, was very sick. He had been prostrated with the fever for nearly a month, and at this time his life was despaired of. This was not thought to be any great misfortune to him by the others, who administered consolation in a style worthy of the best of Job's friends. They reasoned, "Now, if you get well, you will only be hung. You had better try to die yourself, and thus you will outwit them." Wood, however, did not relish the counsel, and getting contrary, he recovered, "just for spite," as he often declared. He yet lives to laugh over the advice that his despairing associates gave him.
We had friends in the waiters of the prison, though their faces were black. They assisted us by every means in their power. It was not long till they found that there was nothing we desired so much as to read the news; and they taxed their ingenuity to gratify us. They would wait till the jailor or some of the guard had finished reading a paper, and laid it down, and then slyly purloin it. When meal time came, it would be put into the bottom of the pan in which our food was brought, and thus handed in to us. The paper had to be returned in the same way, to avoid suspicion.[5]The guards and officers would talk with us, and always finding us possessed of a knowledge of the events of the war, at least as far as the Southern papers gave it, came at last to think we had an instinctive idea of news—something like what the bee has of geometrical forms! They never suspected the negroes, though for several months it was only through their instrumentality that we could obtain any definite information of what was going on in the world without.
Having found the negroes thus intelligent and useful, far beyond what I had supposed possible, I questioned them about other matters. They were better informed than I had given them credit for, and knew enough to disbelieve all the stories rebels told. When the whites were not present, they laughed at the grand victories the papers were publishing every day, but rather leaned to the opposite extreme, and gave them less credit than was their due, for they would believe that the Federal troops were always victorious. Even after McClellan's repulse before Richmond, they continued, for weeks, to assure us that he had the town, and had beaten the rebels in every engagement!
They imagined that all the Northern troops were chivalrous soldiers, fighting for the universal rights of man, and, of course, they esteemed it a high privilege to contribute to the comfort of such noble men. Some of them had imbibed the idea, which is common with the poor whites of the South, that Lincoln is a negro or a mulatto; but most of them placed so little credit in the assertions of their masters, that they disbelieved this story also. But they never wavered in their belief that the Union troops would conquer, and that the result of the victory would be their freedom. I had extensive opportunities for observing them, as the room next to us was appropriated to the safe-keeping of negroes, and I never yet saw one who did not cherish an ardent desire for freedom, and wish and long for the time when the triumph of the national forces would place the coveted boon within his grasp.
One morning our jailor came to our room, and asked us if we knew John Wollam. We hesitated to answer, as we could not fathom the motives of the inquiry. But even while we deliberated among ourselves, John came up, and ended our doubts by greeting us heartily. He had been parted from us some three weeks, and in that time had suffered most incredible hardships in the manner I have narrated before. He joined us in our prayer-meeting with much good will. Now all the survivors of our party were together again.
There is one Georgia minister I will always remember with gratitude, not that he was a Union man, for I have no evidence that he was, but because of his generosity to us. He was a Methodist clergyman in Atlanta, by the name of McDonnell. He came to visit us at the suggestion of our old jailor, who, seeing us engaged in religious exercises, naturally supposed we would like to talk with a preacher. We received him kindly, and an interesting conversation took place. Some of the boys were slightly offended by his first prayer, in which he petitioned that our lives might be spared, if consistent with theinterests of the Confederacy. We did not very well like the condition, but said nothing, and were afterward rewarded for our complacency. At my request, he loaned us a few books, and when these were read through, gave us still others, until we had read nearly his entire library. Those only who know what a terrible weariness it is to pass time without any definite employment, and with no means of relieving the hours that hang so heavily on their hands, or of diverting their thoughts from the one never-ending round, can form any idea of the great boon that a few good books bestowed on us.
Our provision here became worse and less, until it very nearly reached the starvation point. For some months, the only food we received was a very short allowance of corn-bread, baked with all the bran in it, and without salt, with a little pork, mostly spoiled! Frequently the pork would be completely covered with maggots, and disgusting as it was, hunger compelled us to eat it! Even then, there was not enough of this miserable fare to satisfy our appetites! What would those who spend their time in denouncing our government as the only enemy, and sympathize with "our mistaken Southern brethren," who have been alienated by the misconduct of the loyal States, say, if these "brethren" had subjected them to the same treatment. Their sympathies would hardly have survived the trial.
Dreary as the days were here, yet we did not surrender ourselves to gloomy forebodings and vain lamentings over our misfortunes. Although the fate of our companions seemed suspended over our heads by a single hair, yet we shunned despondency, and labored to provide such amusements as would relieve us of the heavy tedium of our prison-life.
On that terrible day of execution, we threw away our cards, which before had been played almost day and night, and resolved to engage no more in that game. But the necessity of doing something prompted us to search for new pastimes. We carved a checker-board on the floor, and it was occupied from morning till evening by eager players. We all became very expert in checkers. To provide a more intellectual amusement, we also formed a debating society, and spent hour after hour in discussing quaint questions of every kind. Many were the long-winded speeches that were made, for time was no object; and if no one was convinced of a new position, we still had the consolation of knowing that there was no lost labor, where the labor itself was a pleasure.
In order to enjoy to the fullest extent the books we had so fortunately procured, we appointed regular reading hours—two in the forenoon, and the same in the afternoon. During this time, no one was allowed even to whisper. Some of our boys were a little wild and restless at times, and would break the rules; but generally our order was excellent. We gained much useful knowledge during these hours of intellectual employment in our novel school.
But all our efforts to pleasantly while away those terribly long summer days were in vain. The tediousness, and oppressiveness, and vain longing for action, would press down on us closer and closer. Brown, who was one of the most restless of mortals, would amuse himself, as long as he could endure it, at the pastimes we had devised, then suddenly cease playing, and commence pacing the floor like a caged bear; when this, too, grew unendurable, he would stop at the door, and say, in the most piteous tones (of course meant only for us to hear) "O! kind sir, please let me out!" The feeling he expressed was shared by all. Never before could I realize the full value of liberty, and the horror of confinement. Even in the prisons where we had hitherto been, the novelty of our situation, the frequency of our removals, and the bustle and excitement of the trial, prevented the blank monotony of imprisonment from settling down on us as it did here, when the first few weeks had rolled by, and no intimations of our fate reached us. It was like the stillness and the death that brood over the Dead Sea.
We would sit at the windows, in the sultry noon, and look out through the bars, at the free birds as they flew past, seemingly so merry and full of joyous life, and foolishly wish that we, too, were birds, that we might fly away, and be at peace.
At long intervals, two of us would be permitted to go down into the yard, to do our washing. One day it came my turn; it was then three months since I had stepped out of my room, and the unobscured vision of open air and sky made it seem like another world. I remember looking up at the snowy clouds, my eyes almost dazzled by the unusual light, and wondering, as I gazed on their beautiful and changing forms, whether beyond them lay a world of rest, in which were neither wars nor prisons. And with the thought came the fear that if I was once more permitted to mingle as a free man, away from the immediate pressure of danger, with the busy throng of life, I would forget my prison-made vows, and thus lose my claim to a world of never-fading light. Such a sense of weakness and helplessness came over me, that it was with a feeling almost of relief that I returned once more to my dark and narrow room, where the contrast between freedom and bondage was less palpably forced on my view.
All this time we hardly permitted ourselves to indulge a hope of ever getting home again. The friends we once knew in happier days, seemed separated from us by an impassable gulf; and when our minds would call up before us the scenes and loved ones of home, it was like treading on forbidden ground. But when the miseries of the day were passed, and we were wrapped in that sweet slumber that ever visits the weary alike in prison and palace, there was no longer any restraint, and we were once more at home—once more in the enjoyment of love and freedom.
Often have I seen in dreams the streets and buildings of my own town rise before me, and have felt a thrilling pleasure in contemplating them, as I wended my way towards the sacred precincts for ever hallowed by affection. But the waking from these incursions into the realms of paradise was sad beyond measure, and the cold, bare walls of prison never looked half so dreary, as when seen in contrast with the visions which had just been dispersed by the morning light.
An anecdote here will fitly illustrate the affection and exaggerated reverence we felt for what we, to the great annoyance of the guards and citizens, insisted on calling "God's country." I had been reading one of Bascom's sermons, from a book which the minister had loaned us, on "The Joys of Heaven." All listened to his magnificent description with the greatest of interest, and when it was finished, some one started the query as to whether they would rather be in heaven, safe from all harm, or in Cincinnati. After a debate which was conducted with great animation on both sides, the majority concluded, no doubt honestly, that they would rather be in Cincinnati—for a while, at least!
In order to keep thoroughly posted, we opened communications to every room in the prison. Those on the other side of the entry, we reached by means of a small stick, attached to a string, and thrown under the door. There was a chimney came up between our room and the other on the same side of the entry; each of our stove-pipes led into this chimney at points directly opposite, and by taking off the pipes, we could talk through, but there was danger of being overheard. To obviate this, we split a long lath off the side of our room, in such a way as to be able to take it down and put it up at pleasure. This we used for passing notes backward and forward through this concealed passage, and it became very useful when we afterward contemplated an escape.
One morning the guard brought up some prisoners, and as soon as they had retired, we resorted to our usual method of telegraphing, to ascertain their character. To our great surprise and pleasure, we found that two of them were from the Tenth Wisconsin, a regiment in our own brigade. They told us that we had long since been given up for dead,[6]and that our comrades were vowing vengeance for our murder. They were quite surprised to find so many of us still alive. The other two were regulars, who had been captured on the coast of Florida. These soldiers remained with us till we were taken to Richmond. From them we gained a complete detail of the movements of our army since we had left it.
One of the hardest things we had to endure was the rejoicing that accompanied McClellan's flight from Richmond. Before this occurrence, the secessionists were down-spirited and despairing; but afterward they were jubilant. About the last of May, a prominent officer said to me: "Any other officer of yours but McClellan, would now take Richmond, for we have not men enough at present to offer successful resistance; buthewill fortify each step of his way, and lay grand plans, and thus delay until we can raise men enough by the conscript law to defeat him." I did not then think that his prediction would be verified, and hoped that McClellan would show that he was not delaying for nothing; but when I heard of the precipitate retreat to Harrison's Landing, I was ready to confess that the Confederate officer had been more penetrating in his views than myself. From this moment, the tide of victory seemed to set to the southward side, with a still deeper and stronger flow, till the next spring, when it returned again.
I can preserve no order of time in relating the events of these tedious mouths, which slowly rolled away their ponderous length. It was almost a perfect isolation from the world, with little hope of ever again mingling in its busy throng. As each month closed, we were startled by the thought we were still alive—that the bolt had not yet descended—and we surmised and wondered how much longer it could be delayed. At last a small ray of hope began to arise—very feeble at first—based on the long and incomprehensible reprieve we were enjoying. As week after week glided tediously away, marked only by the monotony which is more wearying to heart and frame than the most severe anguish, this hope grew stronger; yet still so little assured that the most trifling circumstance, such as strengthening the guard, or a visit from the officers, was sufficient to blast the hopes we were beginning so fondly to cherish.
I saw many instances of the iron rule with which the Southern Union men are kept in subjection. The strictest espionage was maintained through every order of society. The spies of the government would pretend to be Union men, and thus worm themselves into loyal societies; and when they had learned the names of the members, would denounce them to the government. It was not necessary to be particular about truth, as the suspicion of guilt, in their mode of procedure, was just as good as its positive evidence. One day seventy men and twelve women were arrested, and sent in irons to Richmond! Many other instances of this remorseless tyranny will be given hereafter.
Most of our boys were tobacco-chewers, and were driven to numberless expedients to obtain that which some of them declared they valued more than their daily food. There were several articles of which the rebels had not seen fit to rob us, such as handkerchiefs and a few vests; These were now sold to the surrounding guards. Andrews had given Hawkins a very large, fine coat, and as there seemed to be no prospect of taking it home, he sold it to the jailor, and invested the proceeds in tobacco, apples, &c., which he generously divided among his comrades.
I wanted books more than anything else, and sold my vest and a pocket-book the rebels had left when they took what was in it, and bought three books—all gems—"Paradise Lost," "Pilgrim's Progress," and "Pollock's Course of Time." These I nearly committed to memory. It was a profitable employment, while I am sure it very much lightened and shortened these interminable days.
We frequently talked and plotted about making our escape. All agreed, that if they should proceed to try us, we should make one desperate effort for life; for we had learned by sad experience, that they did not take the trouble of going to the formality of a trial unless they were fully resolved to hang the accused. But as time rolled on, and the dreaded preparations for trial were not made, the imprisonment became daily more unendurable. The food was of a poorer quality, and more scanty at that. It was, therefore, proposed that we should make a bold strike for freedom. The question was a serious one. On the one hand was the bright prize of liberty—of which none ever knew the value better than we,—shining ahead as the sure reward of success. But on the other hand was the danger of failure. We were in the very center of the Confederacy, and the nearest point where we could reach our lines was two hundred miles distant. This journey had to be made through the enemy's country, and by traveling at night, with no guide but the stars, which the envious clouds might conceal from us for many successive nights, as they had done before. Then there was the probability that those who were retaken would be mercilessly dealt with, if not instantly put to death.
It was a grave question. And then the great heat of the days, added to our enfeebled condition, caused by the close confinement, and the meagre character of our diet, as well as the actual sickness of some of our party, including myself, induced me to believe that the attempt should at least be postponed. Still, day by day, we discussed the subject. It afforded us an inexhaustible theme for conversation, and had this further advantage that all the knowledge possessed by the party collectively was communicated to each one. Besides, the plans were laid by which to avoid pursuit, and all possible information respecting the country obtained from the guards and negroes, and then we felt quite prepared for the issue when it should come.
At last we received a piece of intelligence which made us resolve to hesitate no longer. Colonel Lee, Provost-Marshal, came to our room one morning, and after talking some time, told us that he had just received a letter from the Secretary of War, asking whyallthe party had not been executed. He had answered that he did not know, but referred him to the court-martial which had tried our comrades at Knoxville. This court had dispersed long before, and I feel hopeful that many of the perjured villains have fallen beneath the avenging bullets of Union soldiers! So the Secretary could not have obtained much information from them. A few days after, we received still further and more alarming information.
One of the regular soldiers in the adjoining room overheard the officer of the guard telling the jailor that Colonel Lee had received another letter from the Secretary, ordering our immediate execution. This was duly telegraphed to us through the stove-pipe, and at once put an end to all our deliberations. The time had come for us to save ourselves or perish.
Quietly we sat down and arranged our plans. We were in an upper story, and several locked doors had to be opened before we could reach the ground. There were seven guards keeping watch over us, and a large force near by ready to rush to their assistance at the slightest notice. It was evident that our only chance of success lay in moving very quickly and silently. We could not leave at night, for then all the doors were closed, and we had no means of opening them. The best time was at supper, which was brought a little before sundown, and by starting then, we would soon have the cover of darkness to conceal our flight. The soldiers in the next room, and a deserter who was confined with them, agreed to go with us, if we would open their door. Only one of the Tennesseeans, named Barlow, would risk the trial, although they were anxious for the movement before it was seriously contemplated.
The plan on which we finally settled, was to seize the jailor when he came to take out the buckets in which our supper was brought, holding him so that he could make no noise, take the keys from him, and let Buffum unlock the doors and release the remaining prisoners. While this was being done, our other boys would divide into two squads, and, cautiously descending the stairway, pounce upon the guards, and take their guns from them; then, at a signal, we would all come down, and march, thus armed, on our homeward journey. We very nearly succeeded in our programme.
The second day after receiving the news, all our plans were completed. We had patched our clothes as best we could, and made cloth moccasins to protect our feet, for many of our shoes were altogether worn out. Now we only awaited the approach of the appointed hour. Slowly the sun rolled down the west; slowly the shadows lengthened in the east, till the gloomy shade of the jail had nearly reached the crest of the hill which usually marked our supper time. The eventful hour drew nigh. We bade one another a solemn farewell, for we knew not when we should meet again on earth, or how many of us might be cold and lifeless before the stars shone out. Captain Fry, who was tender-hearted as a child, wept at the parting. He had two coats, and, as he could not take both with him, he gave one to me. I needed it extremely, for I was very nearly destitute of clothing.
Everything was now in readiness. I had piled up the books of the minister, some of which we still retained, in the corner, and had written him a note thanking him for the use of them. We had on our coats, and had a few canes, and bottles, and pieces of lath, taken out of the wall, which were to be used in the fight down stairs, if necessary. Then came the supper. It was brought in by negroes, the jailor standing at the door. Our preparations for leaving were not noticed. We ate in silence, stowing part of the bread in our pockets for future emergencies. It so happened that the old watchman, whom everybody hated, was away. It was well for him, as he would have received little mercy.
After the jailor had given their food to the inmates of the other rooms, he came back to ours. We asked him to let Barlow come over and stay with us that night. He consented, and soon Barlow was with us. Now was the time for action.
It was a thrilling moment! On the action of the next few minutes hung the issues, probably, of life or death. I confess that for one moment the blood flowed to my heart with a sharp throb of pain. The others were pale, but determined. As for Captain Fry, who was to initiate the movement, and whom I had seen weeping a few minutes before—he was perfectly calm, and his face wore a pleasant smile. He stepped out of the door as if it was the most natural action in the world, and said, very quietly:
"A pleasant evening, Mr. Turner."
"Yes, rather pleasant," responded the latter, looking as if he could not understand what Fry was out there for.
"We feel like taking a little walk this evening," continued the captain.
The astonishment of the jailor now knew no bounds. "What! How!Where!" he exclaimed, in broken ejaculations.
Fry's countenance grew darker as he clasped the old man in his arms, and said:
"We have stayed as long as we can stand it, and we now are going to leave, and let out the other prisoners; so give up the keys, and make no noise, or it will be the worse for you!"
Turner tightened his grasp on the keys desperately, and exclaimed, "You can't do that!" then commenced in a loud tone, "Guar"—when my hand closed across his mouth and stifled the incipient call for help.
It was not our intention to hurt the old man, for he had been kind to us; but it was necessary to keep him quiet. He possessed great strength, and struggled very hard, managing to bite my finger; but we held him fast, and easily wrestled the keys from him. Buffum was soon at work on the locks of the doors.
Meantime, our companions had quietly descended the stairway, and burst out on the guards. There were seven of them, but they were so much taken by surprise as to be incapable of resistance. Our boys divided into two parties, one for the front and the other for the back door. The latter was completely successful, capturing the guard, and taking their guns from them without the least alarm being given.
The attack at the front door was made with equal skill and bravery, and the guards who stood near were at once secured. Unfortunately there were two in the yard gate, which happened to be open. As soon as these saw the charge made, they, without waiting to attempt resistance, ran through the gate, shrieking, "Help! murder!" in tones that aroused the whole neighborhood. There were troops near at hand, who instantly rushed to the rescue.
Our boys saw their peril, and knew that the part of our scheme which provided for a regular and quiet departure was defeated, and they endeavored to save themselves. They threw away the guns, which now would only hinder their flight, and scaled the wall, some ten feet in hight, and made for the woods, nearly a mile distant. It was a close chase. Several times they were fired on by the pursuing rebels, but fortunately not hit.
We, who were above, heard the noise, and were admonished by it to take our leave as soon as possible. Buffum had just succeeded in unlocking the door that kept in our other soldiers, who at once came out. The deserter confined with them, who was the most powerful and active of the whole party, also broke out, and passed by where Fry and myself still held the jailor, like a tiger on the leap. When he reached the yard, he found two soldiers before him, with their bayonets at a charge. Without a moment's hesitation, he seized them, cutting his hands severely, but dashing them aside with such violence as nearly to throw the rebels from their feet, and bounded on his way. His almost incredible swiftness soon placed him in advance of all the fugitives.
Captain Fry and I started down stairs together. He was a little in advance, and at once saw there was no chance in the front yard, which was now filled with armed rebels, and darted to the back door. Here he scaled the wall just in time to get away, after a most desperate chase, being repeatedly fired upon by the guards, who were only a few feet from him, but, fortunately, was unharmed.
I did not so soon comprehend the state of affairs, (probably because I am near-sighted,) and rushed to the front yard. Here I saw two rebels who seemed perfectly distracted, and were throwing their guns wildly about and exclaiming: "What shall we do? O! what shall we do?" Not thinking them very dangerous, I darted past them, but was checked by a stream of less frightened guards pouring through the gate. Seeing then that there was no chance of escape in that direction, I turned and regained the jail. One man snapped his gun at me, but, fortunately, it did not go off. I instantly tried the back yard, and succeeded in getting to the top of the wall; but here I found that the rebels had again been too fast for me, and were around under the wall outside. Under these circumstances, I could do no better than surrender.
I was taken back to prison, and instead of going to my own room, went to that occupied by the prisoners of war, who had all been recaptured and put in again. Buffum, too, who had managed to get over the wall, was retaken and brought back. Parrott and Reddick were captured inside of the wall, and Mason and Bensinger the next day, making six of our party who were retaken.
From the window where I was, I had a good view of all the proceedings below. In a very short time, the whole force of the place, including a regiment of cavalry, was drawn up in front of the jail. I heard Colonel Lee, (the Provost-Marshal,) give his orders. He said: "Don't take one of the villains alive! Shoot them down, and let them lie in the woods for the birds and hogs to eat!" He also ordered pickets to be placed at the ferries of the Chattahoochie, along the railroad, and at all cross-roads. This arrangement pleased me, for these were the very places we had agreed to avoid, and I was sure none of the boys would be caught there. Our intention had been to travel in the night time, through the woods, and cross the rivers on logs, as far from the ferries as possible.
Eight escaped. Wood and Wilson traveled southward, and, after passing through a series of the most startling adventures, that recall the old Indian tales we have all listened to in the winter evenings, they succeeded in reaching the Gulf, where they were taken on board a United States ship, and brought around to Washington.
Porter and Wollam started westward. Their journey was a most perilous one. I will insert a short account which Porter has since furnished me.
"We started on the 16th of October, and reached the Federal lines on the 18th of November. During this time, we endured all the hardships imaginable. We traveled night and day, sleeping mostly in the woods, and subsisting on wild grapes, chestnuts, hickory-nuts, walnuts, and some few sweet potatoes. Occasionally, we got a little corn-bread from the poor class of whites and the negroes. It was miserable stuff. Several times we slipped into the fields where the negroes were at work, and stole the provisions they had brought out for their dinner. Once we were seven days without a bite of bread, and often went without for two or three days.
"We suffered much with cold, for our clothes were very poor. We slept but twice in houses during the whole journey. One night we traveled till we became chilled and weary; it was very late, and we were nearly frozen, when we fortunately discovereda nest of hogs. Immediately we routed them up, and, lying down in the warm retreat they had left, slept till morning!
"Many streams were in our way, which we were obliged to wade, or float across on logs. After twenty-two days of such privations, we reached the Tennessee river, twenty-seven miles below Bridgeport. Here we pressed a canoe into the service, and started down the river. We would run the canoe at night, and hide it and ourselves in the day time. When we arrived at the head of the Muscle Shoals, we were compelled to abandon our canoe on account of low water, and make a circuit of forty miles around. When we reached the foot of the Shoals, we procured a skiff, and continued our voyage until within twelve miles of Pittsburg Landing. Here we left the river, and striking across the country to Corinth, reached there in safety. Thus, after six months of suffering, we were once more under the glorious flag of the free."
These[7]will serve as specimens of what the brave boys endured in the truly herculean task of penetrating for hundreds of miles—in fact, from the very center of the Confederacy to its circumference—in different directions. It is an achievement I can not look upon without wonder, and in dangers to be encountered, and difficulties to be overcome, is at least equal to the proudest exploits of Park or Livingstone!
All night long the guards talked over their adventures. Generally they praised their own bravery to the skies, but occasionally one who had arrived since the affray, would suggest that it was not very much to their credit to let unarmed men snatch their guns from them; but these hinted slanders were always received with the contempt they deserved, and the work of self-glorifying went on! One wondered at the speed of the Yankees, who had been kept in prison so long; another accounted for it by saying that they had received so much practice in that line, in all the battles they had fought, that it was no wonder if they were fleet of foot. This sally was received with prodigious applause.
I heard some confused sounds of distress from the room of the Tennesseeans, and on inquiring what was the matter, learned that Barlow had broken his ankle. He had gone down into the yard with our party, but in jumping from the wall, had received this very serious injury. Here he was found by a guard, who at first threatened to shoot him; but on being persuaded not to do that, ordered him to get up and lead the way into the jail. Barlow tried to do so, but fell down again. Then this inhuman guard punched him with the bayonet, and made him crawl, in all the agony that pain could produce, back to his cell, and as he went, kept hurrying him along by the sharp admonition of the bayonet! When here, his companions asked for surgical aid for him, but the Confederate authorities refused it, saying that he had caused the injury himself, and that they rather preferred that it should kill him! Their wishes were gratified. For months he lingered on in the greatest pain, until, finally, the leg mortified, and terminated his life. He was quite a young man—only eighteen—and had just been married when he was arrested. Thus died, in darkness and dungeon, one other East Tennessee martyr!
All night long I lay in the hammock that one of the regulars had swung by the window, and listened to the boasting below.