I "YANKED," OR BY A DEXTEROUS "TWIST OF THE WRIST," I WAS ABLE TO BREAK THE WIRE.I "YANKED," OR BY A DEXTEROUS "TWIST OF THE WRIST," I WAS ABLE TO BREAK THE WIRE.
It was possible for me, as an expert telegrapher, to have drawn the ends of the wire together, and, by simply tapping them together, to have sent by this simple method a message of defiance to General Beauregard. I suspect that this story would be enlivened somewhat by such a trick, but it don't come in here. It was successfully playedafterwardwhile I was on Stoneman's raid to Richmond's outskirts; but the truth is, that I was too badly scared to think of such a thing at this time. The accident, if I may so term it, served me a good turn in one or two ways; first, it destroyed communication for the time, and it brought about a valuable means to the end of assisting my escape, but it was not a safe place to loiter.
It occurred to me that I might be able to pass the bridge, and thus get over the stream safely, by assuming the role of a telegraph line repairman, carrying some loose wire. The wires were being frequently broken by the rough pounding of the poles by mule drivers, and repairmen were no doubt often being sent out to fix up the breaks. In this capacity I knew I would be looked upon as belonging to a sort of privileged class, as they now are, riding free on the rear end of the railway trains, while we all know a telephone man will walk right through the best and biggest house to get on to the roof to fix a break, as if he had an inborn right to go anywhere he chose.
Breaking from one of the hanging ends of the wire a long piece, I coiled it in shape that linemen carry, and putting it over my neck, I started boldly down the track. I had no climbers, but I was able to personate an amateur repairman who had been suddenly pressed into the service, on account of a great emergency, who must travel rapidly as possible in search of a broken wire.
My story passed me safely over the bridge and past the guards stationed at several points on the track. I traveled rapidly in the direction farthest from the break. By the same bold trick I was able to get through several camps that were close by the tracks.
There were no trains running on that part of the road at that time, or I should have, probably, been tempted to boldly stop an engine and get on; as I had often seen linemen on the Pennsylvania Railroad thus picked up from the road by accommodating engineers. I knew, of course, that the trick would not last long; that themoment the wires had separated the operators would know of some sort of a break out on their line, and would at once take the necessary steps to test for the location of the accident; and, of course, men would be sent out as speedily as possible to repair the damage. I ran the additional risk, too, of meeting with some of thosebona fidelinemen, who would question my authority.
In the manner in which I have tried to describe, the greater part of this eventful day was spent, until along about an hour before sundown, when I came to a road crossing the railway. I now seemed to have gotten through, or beyond, Manassas, in the rear of the Rebel Army, toward Richmond, as there were no further guards at the crossings. I discovered, by encouraging a trackman in a short talk, that the road crossing the tracks led off in a direct course to Falmouth and Fredericksburg and Richmond. After a little further inquiry as to a suitable house at which to apply for something to eat, I left the track, taking the dusty summer road "on to Richmond."
I felt, as I walked along this narrow road, which was seemingly cut through a thicket of small saplings, so common in that country, that I had escaped, and was safe once more. My belief was, that I had not only eluded pursuit but that I had put those whom I knew would be sent to find me on the wrong scent.
I was tired,verytired, and as I had eaten nothing at all since the hasty breakfast at the bushwhacker's house, when I didn't have appetite enough to swallow a mouthful, I was, of course, hungry. I hadn't a cent of money, either, and what could I do but beg, and this Iwould not do. Again my good angel came to my relief by suggesting a ruse, to further aid my escape and, at the same time, perhaps, create a sympathy for myself.
I had, in assuming the character of a lineman, thrown away my coat, in order to relieve myself of the burden of carrying it along in the hot sun, and to further carry out the impression that I was a workingman without a coat.
I had walked so much and so rapidly that my left foot had become swollen, so that I was obliged to go along at a limping gait. I took advantage of this accident to further add to the change in my appearance, by assuming a lameness that apparently obliged me to depend upon the use of two sticks to hobble along.
I had been obliged to take off my tight left shoe, and aroundthe swollen foot I tenderly tied the greater portion of my shirt, which I had, of course, first torn off the narrative end. In this shape, walking between two sticks, with my foot tied up as if it had recently gone through a surgical operation, I jogged along down the sandy, dusty road which was leading toward Fredericksburg and Richmond.
Along in the evening I ran into a clearing, at the far end of which was nestled a little old-fashioned house. It was one of those country farmhouses where the roof extends down beyond the house and forms a lower shed or porch roof, which runs along, both at the back and the front, the whole length of the house.
Opening on to the roof were two dormer windows of the old-fashioned kind, that we don't often see nowadays.
I marched boldly—if limpingly—through the picket gate, up the straight path in front of the house door, and, assuming to be suffering dreadfully from my "wound," I asked the old man—another old bushwhacker—for a drink of water. He didn't fly around with any great alacrity to wait on the "poor soldier,"—that isn't the style of hospitality for poor whites in Virginia—but the old cuss did order a colored boy to bring some water.
"Right away; do you hyar?"
I was just dying for a chance to operate on the old fellow's sympathy, with a view to "accepting his hospitality" for the night, or to the extent of a supper, at least, but I had come up to his door a poor wounded soldier on foot, and the second-class Virginia gentleman has no use for a poor man, even if he should be a wounded Rebel soldier, who had come all the way from Texas to defend his home, etc., etc.
If I had ridden up to his house as a blatant Rebel officer, on horseback, everything his house contained would have been officiously placed at my disposal without a word of question.
As it was, the old rascal began to ask questions, and was so disagreeable, too, in his manner, that a young man, who had come up from the barn, and who I judged to be his son, found it necessary to answer for me, and in a way that put the old man down.
Being thus encouraged by the son, the old lady took a hand in behalf of the "poor soldier," and endeavored in a kind, motherly way to make me more comfortable. I had told them that I hadbeen slightly wounded in the foot, but the wound did not properly heal, and I had been tired and sick lying about the hospital camp, and had determined on my own account to get out to the country some place, for a day or two. I was particular to impress on the mind of the sour old man, that I was not a beggar—that I'd pay for all I got, etc. Now, I didn't have a cent of money, and if that old man had demanded a settlement after supper, I should have been sadly left; but I was going to stay all night, and return to campfor a passthe next day. The old man had said that they all had their orders from the army officers not to entertainanysoldiers who couldn't produce passes. To this I replied that, "I had thoughtlessly overlooked the matter, but could easily fixthatthe next morning, when I'd return."
We had agoodsupper; the old lady's sympathies were aroused, and she set out her little delicacies for the
"Poor Texas boy, who was so far from home."
I was just hungry enough to have eaten everything they had prepared for the whole family; but, as I was on my good behavior, you know, by a mighty effort and struggle with the inner man I was able to postpone my appetite. There was only the old man, his wife, and the big lubberly son, and a colored mammy in the house. They were evidently "poor white trash," but they owned one slave, so old that she was like a broken-down horse or cow—very cheap.
I heard the old man talking earnestly to the son, and I imagined, of course, that the conversation was about myself—at such a time one's fears are aroused by every little incident.
"Trifles light as air, become proofs as strong as Holy Writ."
"Oh, no; you're mistaken, Father! Why, the poor fellow can't walk."
"But," replied the gruff voice of the old man, "he don't know where his regiment is."
Without further words the young fellow walked off. When the old man came back to the porch, where I had been sitting telling the old lady a sorrowful tale about my home, etc., he began:
"Where did you say you got your wound?"
"Why, it was a trifling hurt on the instep; it only became troublesome because I couldn't keep from using my foot."
Then the old lady chipped in with:
"Shall I send Mammy to help you bathe it with warm water, before you go to bed?"
I declined this with profuse thanks, and begged that they would not trouble themselves about it; it was a mere trifle.
After some more questions from the old man, which I was able to parry, I was ready for bed, glad enough to get away from him, and determined to clear out as soon as possible. They put me into a room which was in the attic, which extended across the width of the house; from this room there were windows opening on to the roof before described (two dormer windows), one in front and the other directly opposite, opening onto the roof of the porch. Before getting ready to lie down, I took a good look at the surroundings from both of these windows. I had become so accustomed to this, going to bed in the enemy's country, not knowing the condition in which I should find myself when I'd waken, that it became a sort of a habit with me to take my bearings, that I might be able to escape in case of fire.
I didn't "dress" my wound exactly, or undress myself for bed; in fact, there was nothing that I could strip off but the trousers, one shoe and a hat. With these all on, I lay down on top of the old-fashioned, cord bedstead, and, as described by some of the smart sayings that we used for texts in our copy-books at school—"Consider each night how you have spent the past day, and resolve to do better the next." Its awfully easy to get up these texts, but it's sometimes a little bit troublesome to apply the same thing to every-day life. I "resolved" easily enough to do better the following day—if I could. I wanted to get out of that country very badly, because I knew, as before stated, that the whole Rebel Army at Manassas would be on guard for spies at once.
My one hope was to get to Richmond and escape by some other route. While "resolving" further in my mind how to get along down that road in the morning, without this old man getting after me for my supper and lodging bill, I almost fell asleep. I was so tired that I could scarcely keep awake, yet I was afraid to trust myself in sleep.
The folks in the house had all been in bed some time; the lights were out, and everything became ominously quiet. My quick ear detected horses neighing and tramping, and an occasional voice in the night air reached my ear; but, as the sound seemed to die away so soon, I began to think myself mistaken, and was about to surrender myself to sleep, when aroused again by what was unmistakably horses galloping along the road. I quickly, but painfully, jumped up from the bed, and stole quietly over to the front window just in time to see a troop of horsemen come up. They were about to ride rapidly past when one of the fellows in the rear file called out: "Here's a house."
There was the jangling that always follows a sudden halt of cavalry, especially when following each other closely on a dark night. Some voices, in the nature of interrogations from an officer to his command, and a halt was made some little distance down the road past the house.
Two of the men wheeled and rode toward the front of the house, and, after looking about the grounds, talking in a tone of voice that did not admit of my getting distinctly the purport of the remarks, they both galloped back together to the command, which they had left standing in the road. I breathed freer, hoping they had decided to let us alone.
It would never do for that old man to have a chance to explain, in his way, my presence in the house. I felt devoutly thankful for the lucky escape I had again made, and had about concluded in my own mind to clear out silently, without the Virginia formality of saying good-by to my host, when I saw, with horror, that the whole troop had turned about and were walking their horses slowly back toward the house. I stood by the front dormer window of the old house, and you may imagine how eagerly I watched their every movement.
The officer in command halted his troop and, calling a trooper by name, said:
"Sergeant, you go up to the house and ask if they have seen any strangers along this road."
That was enough for me. I left that window as suddenly as if a gun had been pointed at me, and ran across the little room to the back window; it was open, the night being so warm, the sash held up by the customary window-stick. I got myself through thewindow with celerity and was about to let myself slide down the roof slowly to the eaves, so that I might catch on there and allow myself to further gently drop down on to one of the supporting posts, where I could slide down to the ground. Stretching myself out in a feeling way on the roof, still holding on to the window sill, almost afraid to let go, when down came the window-sash striking me across the wrist so suddenly and severely that I involuntary let go my hold and, of course, slid down the roof feet foremost like a sled on an iced track, landing kerslop over the side on to the ground. In my sudden descent I had caught hold of a lot of Virginia creepers that were trained up to the side of the back porch and had pulled them down with me, and lay for an instant all tangled up in them.
LANDING KERSLOP OVER THE SIDE ONTO THE GROUNDLANDING KERSLOP OVER THE SIDE ONTO THE GROUND
If there is anything that will startle a man or a woman it is the sudden fall of a window-sash, because, in most cases, it makes such an infernal noise and does so little damage; but, in this case, luckily for me, perhaps, my poor hand was made to answer the purpose of a buffer and deadened the sound of the falling sash, otherwise it might have fallen, as sashes always do, and the noise have attracted the notice of the cavalrymen, who were on the road at the other side of the house. My quick shute from the up-stairs of the little old house to the ground was softened a little by the mass of vines that I had carried down with me.
The house only stood between me and a troop of pursuing cavalrymen. Quickly realizing my precarious predicament, I gathered myself up, and, for a poor wounded crippled Texan with two canes, I made most elegant time, considering the darkness, straight back to the barnyard into the wood beyond. What happened at the house I never learned, as I did not stop to hear another word spoken.
When I heard the officer in command of the cavalry party give instructions to his Sergeant to inquire "if any strangers had been seen about there," I jumped to the conclusion that it was a detachment of Rebel cavalry that had been sent after me. It may have been that this party had received general instructions only—to look out for all strangers traveling over the roads; but I knew full well that the old man would make such a reply to any inquiries as would excite their suspicion and put me to the dangerous test of an examination.
In sliding off the back-porch roof so suddenly, I had further injured my already tired and swollen foot; but I seemed to forget all about it for the time, and ran off as lively as if I were just out of bed after a refreshing sleep.
I believe that they did not discover the "presence" of an enemy for some time after I had gotten off, or until the old man had been roused from his sleep; and I imagined, after a parley with him, the officer would accompany him to my room in the garret for the purpose of interviewing their guest.
What they thought when they found the bed empty, and nothing left of the poor Texas cripple but his two improvised crutches, I must leave to imagination.
I ran through the darkness wildly, recklessly, as fast as I could, scarcely knowing whither I was going, only feeling that each jump or step led me further from the cavalrymen. The night was quite dark. My course led me across a plowed field to a fence over which I climbed quickly, and plunged into a thicket or wood of small pine trees.
Once into this cover, I plodded along slowly, being obliged topick my steps. It was blind traveling, and I avoided running into the briar bushes that are so plentiful in that part of Virginia. Through this thicket, every step, to my frightened wits, seemed sure to betray my presence by the breaking or snapping of the twigs and bushes.
I didn't know where it would lead me, but I could not for the life of me keep still a single moment. I felt impelled by some unseen power to keep going on, on—how long I dodged and scratched through the bushes and briars can not be told. I only remember that every few steps I would be obliged to halt, having run my face against some low, thorny limb of the heavy growth of saplings, that would almost bring the tears to my eyes from the smart pains inflicted. I carried my hat in my hand, as I always do when I'm hard-pressed, and my long hair, like that of Absalom, gave me a great deal of additional trouble.
I was soon beyond sight or sound of the cavalrymen, whom I had left in the road. I desired to keep near the roads leading toward Fredericksburg. I assumed that, in pursuing, these men would naturally imagine I had taken the back track to reach the railroad.
I sometimes almost despaired of getting far enough away from the house to prevent capture before daylight would come. When I'd stop for a few moments to untangle myself from the bushes, or to feel my way over a fallen tree, I'd imagine that the curious noises that every one hears in the stillness of the night in the woods were the echoes of the pursuing Rebels.
I feared above all things else that they would procure from some of the neighboring houses some dogs—bloodhounds, perhaps—that would be used to track me through the thicket. In this way a most miserable night passed.
Though I say it, who should not, I had less fear of the Rebels in arms than of the dogs. In all my adventures in their camps, I had preserved secretly, next to my body, the little Colt's five-shooter revolver. I knew how to use it. There were the five loads yet in it, that I had put in before leaving Pennsylvania, and I had resolved that four of them would be used against either Rebels or bloodhounds and the fifth would relieve me from further pursuit.
I admit freely that I was frightened; indeed, I was scared half todeath, and would have given the world and all that was in it, if it were mine, to have gotten out of the miserable scrape in which I had voluntarily placed myself. Under such conditions even a frightened boy will become desperate.
I had deliberately determined to sell my life as dearly as possible, and, if they had not killed me, I should most certainly have done the business for myself rather than take any further chances in their hands. This is the way I was feeling while resting for a few moments on an old log.
A picture of myself would show a smooth-faced youngster sitting "like a knot on a log," dressed in three-fourths of a shirt, a pair of torn trousers, one shoe and a half, bare-headed, long tangled hair, and I imagine an expression of countenance that would closely resemble the "Wild Boy of the Woods." I had torn off the greater part of my shirt to bandage a sore foot the evening previously.
When a person is hunted down he can accomplish some wonderful feats in quick traveling, even if the difficulties to be overcome are distressingly innumerable.
I had forgotten all about the sore foot, on which I had limped to the house the night before. My wrist, on which the window sash had fallen, was most painful and threatened to give me trouble. Though I had been on a terrible jaunt for twenty-four hours previously, I did not at that time feel tired, sleepy, or even hungry.
There was the one idea in my head—to make all the speed possible, and increase the distance between myself and Manassas. I had come upon a peculiarly sickening smell, that made me a little sick at the stomach, when all of a sudden I was startled, and my blood chilled, by a rustling noise in front of me; glancing ahead, in a terror of fright, I saw gleaming through the darkness something that I thought and believed might be the glaring eyes of a bloodhound. That dread was in my mind, but in the next instant the eyes had disappeared; with a rushing, rustling noise, the object, whatever it was that owned the terrible eyes, ran off through the woods.
For the moment I was so stunned that I could scarcely move forward or backward; but, on second thought, realizing it was probably some wolfish dog that I had surprised while feeding upon the carcass of a dead sheep, I gathered courage to move ahead. As itwas in my path, I was obliged to approach it, despite the sickening odor which was everywhere around. In a hot, sultry August night it was like—well, old soldiers can imagine what it was like. Desirous of avoiding the stench as much as possible, I was climbing over a log rather than walk too close to where I supposed the eyes had been; hurrying along, holding my breath, with one hand to my nose, what was my horror to find that I had stepped from the top of the log right down on to the decaying body of—a man!O, horror of horrors! I can not write of it. I've never even told the story to my best friends. It has been too dreadful to contemplate; but the naked, disgusting facts are, that I stepped down on to the soft object—my foot slipped, as it would from a rotten, slimy substance, throwing me partly down, as I had one hand on my nose, and, in my efforts to recover myself, plunged both my hands into the soft, decaying flesh of the head, causing the hair to peel off the scalp.
I HAD STEPPED ON TO THE DECAYING BODY OF—A MAN.I HAD STEPPED ON TO THE DECAYING BODY OF—A MAN.
What did I do? What would you have done? I was, for that moment in my life, as wild as ever lunatic could be; and can not remember further than that I ran straight ahead toward the road, which I had been so careful to avoid, and, after reaching it, I scaled the fence, like a scared dog, at two bounds, and ran—oh dear me—I didn't care what I should meet after that. My steps were long and quick, and it was not until I was completely exhausted that I stopped for a rest. I rubbed my hands in the dusty road; I polished the shoe in the dust of the road that had slipped off the slimy bones, but the smell wouldnotout; it seemed to penetrate everything; and I became deathly sick from the exhaustion. The experience of that hour had so turned my head and stomach that I was as weak and helpless as a child. In this condition I lay down in a fence-corner, not able to hold my head up another moment. Perhaps I fainted, but I claim never to have fainted.
I know that the dreadful object was a half-buried man. I know this, because some of his hair was in the sleeve of my shirt the next day. I don't feel like writing anything more about it, and will dismiss it with the theory which I subsequently entertained: that it was most likely the unburied body of a wounded Rebel, or, perhaps, an escaped Union prisoner who, like myself, after the recent battle of Manassas, had concealed himself in the thicket, and while in that condition he had probably taken sick, and being unableto procure any assistance, or to make his presence known, had died this lonely and unhappy death; and the wolves and dogs only had found his resting place—the log his only tombstone.
I lay curled up in the fence-corner for an hour or so. I imaginedeverything. Dear me! I might fill a book with the thoughts that whirled through my excited, feverish brain that dreadful night. I felt that this would be my fate. Every stick of wood became a snake, and they soon became so numerous that I was surrounded by them on all sides. The trees were a mass of living, laughing, bowing giants, who were there to laugh at my misery; and the noises—well, all know how a little frog can scare a big man when it darts into the puddle of water with a thug, especially if it's at night and he alone. I've often been scared by the suddenness of their jump, but that one night in particular it seemed as if all the wild animals in creation had gathered about that country, attracted by the smell from the distant battlefield of Manassas.
There were plenty of unburied and half-buried bodies all over the country about Manassas—the very air was laden with the odor from decaying horses, mules, etc. One can imagine far better than I can describe the sensations of an over-sensitive youth as he lay in a fence-corner of Virginia, forced to inhale the odor and obliged to hear all the dreadful noises that came out of the dark woods, and add to this the certain knowledge that, if I should become prostrated, then all hope of any relief for me from this veritable hell in Virginia would disappear.
As I lay there to add further to my cup of misery, I heard coming along the road, the tramp and gallop of horses. Lying on the ground one can hear the horses' feet a long way off, and I suffered in anticipation just so much the more. I imagined these were the same cavalrymen I had left at the house. This new danger served to rouse me partially, and raising my head a little, I got my trusty little Colt out of its concealment, and was ready for the end.
In truth I did not then care, and had become so perfectly desperate that I was ready and indeed almost anxious to be out of my misery.
They approached rapidly. I raised myself to a sitting posture, placed my back against the fence, cocked the pistol, and waited fortheir appearance. They trotted up, talking gaily among themselves and without seeing me, as their horses shied past. That was not very wonderful, because I was so close to the fence as to become covered by the shadow; the night was still too dark for objects to be seen at a short distance, especially from a rapidly-trotting horse.
The passing of this cavalry detachment before me, as I sat in the fence-corner, served to arouse my drooping spirits somewhat. The dust which they had raised had scarcely settled, and the sound of their horses' hoofs were yet to be heard, when I became imbued with a new strength and hope, realizing that there was yet some hope for my escaping.
I knew that it would be safe enough to follow along the road in the wake of that troop of cavalrymen; and the fact that there were no infantry pickets further along this road, was evident from the fact of the cavalry being out on this scout.
I stepped out into the road with renewed energy, glad enough to be moving to any place that would take me from the sight and smell of such scenes.
I don't know how long I walked. I remember very well that I found it necessary to stop every little while to rest. I was becoming so weak that I could scarcely hold my head up, and every time I'd sit down I'd involuntarily drop helplessly, and soon find myself going off to sleep on the roadside, being lulled to obliviousness by the queer, unearthly sounds from the wood—the effect being pretty much the same that I once experienced when taking laughing gas in a dentist's shop.
I roused myself often, each step with a greater effort, and had the daylight been delayed but a little longer I should have been obliged to succumb. The appearance of the gray dawn in the East seemed to me as a sign or token of encouragement, and from its appearance I took fresh courage and kept moving, as if impelled by an unseen power "on to Richmond."
It is said the darkest part of the night is just before the dawn; so I have always found it; and it has been my observation, too, that the safest time to scout is just before or at dawn; then all animal nature seem to sleep or, at least, be off their guard, thinking, perhaps, everybody else like themselves are sleepy.
This was one reason why I was able to travel some distance after the Rebel cavalrymen in such apparent safety. I knew that, if they returned along this road, I should be able to discover their approach a long time before they could get up to me, and could get out of the way. I judged rightly, too, that they would be the only trouble I should have to overcome, as it was evidently their assignment to look after that particular section.
Why didn't I get ahead of them? I didn't have a horse, and it was safer to follow them than have them follow me. They would ask at every house if a stranger had passed. In this way they had caught up to me once. Now they will be told at each house ahead of me that no one had been along that way.
That's the way I was arguing the question in my own mind that morning. I moved along rather hopefully, not intending under any circumstances to approach a house or to allow myself to be seen by any one.
But I was tired, weak and so hungry; and the best resolutions can be broken down by the pleasant odor of good cookery from a farmhouse, especially when it's wafted out to a poor hungry devil on the road.
I had discovered about sunrise some blue wood-smoke curling up over the tops of a little growth of trees to the side of the road yet some distance ahead. Knowing that I dare not approach from the road, I crawled wearily over the fence, and rather reluctantly began my old tactics of flanking the place and advancing in the rear of it. When I got through the woods and came to the opening nearest the house, I found myself almost behind it.
The house was larger than any that I had seen the previous evening, and I gathered from the appearance of several little outbuildings, which I judged were "quarters" for the negroes, that the place belonged to a well-to-do Virginia slave-owner. There was no smoke coming from the large house; it was from one of the little buildings that I supposed was an out-kitchen. The proprietors, or white folks, were evidently still asleep. An old aunty was prowling about the wood-yard gathering up chips.
The pangs of hunger and thirst were driving me pretty nearly wild, and, being so dreadfully weak and exhausted, I felt that Imusthave something to eat; that only a cup of coffee would do mefor the rest of the day. But Imusthave something to eat to keep me alive. Desperate, and believing it to be the safest time to take the risk, I walked boldly out from my hiding place straight up to the quarters, determined to appeal to the old aunty, for a bite of something. She had gathered her apron full of chips and had gone back into the kitchen with them, so that I was able to follow her to the house unobserved, and was flattering myself that I had succeeded so well when all at once two dogs that I had not seen rushed savagely down the back yard toward me. I raised my two arms in a frightened way as they rushed on me; the foremost one sprang up, placing his feet on my breast and tried to reach my face or throat, but only succeeded in inserting his teeth in the fleshy part of the muscle of my left arm. As I had only the thin covering of the shirt, he tore this in a distressingly painful manner. I have the marks yet on that arm. The wound has been a painful one at many times during these twenty-five years; but the Pension Office regulations do not "compensate" for the bite of abloodhound, so I have not mentioned it outside my own family.
The old colored woman rushed out, followed by her old man, who grabbed the dog by his hind legs and threw him over; the two other dogs, attracted by the scent of the dead man on my shoes and trousers, could scarcely be driven away from me.
The old woman kindly took me into the kitchen and washed the bloody arm, and bound it up with a piece of turban which she tore off for the purpose. Without asking any questions, I was given a cup of good black coffee and some hoe-cakes, which I gulped down with a relish.
These poor, ignorant, black people knew instinctively that they were succoring a friend, and at a very great risk to themselves; and to relieve them of any fear for their own safety, should their conduct be discovered, I told them the old, old story about being lost on the road, etc.
The old man, who had been watching out of the doorway as I ate my breakfast at the hearth, observed, knowingly:
"The master's folks isn't out of bed yet, but I specs dem sogers will want dey hosses, so I'se gwine along to de barn to feed, Liza."
The hint was sufficient, and to my hurried inquiry:
"Are there any cavalrymen at the house?"
"Yes, 'deed; dahs a whole company sleepin' on de front poach over dar."
"How long have they been here?" said I, putting down my cup.
"Dey comes hyar most every night, and sleeps on dat poach tel they get over breakfast."
That was sufficient. I had lost all pain in my arm; my hunger had been satisfied with less than half a breakfast, and, hastily thanking the old aunty, I made an excuse about not wanting them to know I was out of camp, and left—the shortest cut for the woods.
I was up to my pursuers, and had left them asleep on the porch, awaiting their breakfast. This would give me an hour's start ahead of them, and I gathered renewed courage from the belief that they wouldreturnfrom that point.
As I have heretofore said, I am not a believer in Spiritualism, but I have always felt convinced in my own mind that the dog was sent by a higher power to prevent me going up to the house where were sleeping a half a dozen or more Rebel cavalrymen.
I struggled along through the dreary, desolate, pine woods, skirting the roads and avoiding houses, suffering with my wounded foot, wrist and arm; fortunately the houses were not many, which allowed of my using the road more freely. It was along about noon, I think, when I reached the top of the hill at the old town of Falmouth, which overlooks Fredericksburg and vicinity. Here was an obstruction in the shape of the Rappahannock river, which had to be crossed by a ferry into Fredericksburg. Of course, everybody who crossed there would be scrutinized closely, so that their identity could be traced.
It may be asked, why did I not attempt to reach the Potomac from this place at this time. I don't know exactly why, except, perhaps, that I felt I was being impelled by some mysterious power to go to Richmond.
The Potomac was only about ten or twelve miles distant, but it was also four or five miles in width, and the Rebels controlled all the means of communication across to Maryland. Richmond was forty miles distant, and a railroad ran there from Fredericksburg.
Luckily for my purpose, a drove of horses, being steered by an old farmer and two colored men, made an appearance at the top ofthe hill leading into Falmouth. Seeing my chance, I asked one of the drivers to be allowed to ride an "empty" horse over the river. He consented, and in this way I rode down the hill, and we crossed the Rappahannock and entered Fredericksburg in August, 1861.
I had intended to stop at Fredericksburg and run the gauntlet of the railway trains into Richmond, but I found myself so comfortable, seated on the bare back of a horse, that I concluded to stay with the drove the balance of the day, so we passed right through the town and on down the main road to Richmond.
I felt reasonably safe from pursuit. Bloodhounds would not be able to track me that night, as they most certainly would when my presence at the colored shanty should become known.
The old uncle told me that the dog that bit me was a young bloodhound, and that the proprietor of the housekept a pack, and I suspected that the object of the officers in visiting him was to secure their use. But, in getting on a horse and crossing the river, I had eluded their scent, and felt safe enough from further danger in that direction. It was also fortunate for me that I was further able to disguise myself, by traveling the road in charge of a couple of colored men with a drove of horses that were being sent to Richmond for the army.
That evening, without further adventure or trouble, except that I began to suffer from my foot and arm, we reached an old-fashioned, out-of-the-way stopping place, called Hanover Court House, where the colored boys had been ordered to keep the horses over night.
They found entertainment in the quarters. I was received into the house as a wounded refugee soldieren routeto Richmond, and treated in first-class shape by the old landlord and his kind wife.
I had a new story for them that took real well.
I slept soundly in a nice bed between the clean, white sheets. I am sure that I felt devoutly thankful for the home-like, pleasant change in my surroundings from the two preceding nights.
The agreeable change in my surroundings that remains most grateful in my memory is, that the kind-hearted and motherly old landlady, seeing my wounded, bleeding arm, which had soiled the whole side of my already pretty dirty shirt, at once waddled off to fathom from the depths of some bureau drawer a nice, clean, whiteshirt, and with it across her arm she marched back to my room almost out of breath, because she was so stout, saying:
"My dear, you must take off that shirt, which seems to be soiled by your wound; here is some fresh linen that you will please use."
The old gentleman, who though not so rotund as his wife was fully as kind, approvingly observed: "Why, of course, mother, that's right;" addressing me courteously, "Is there anything else we can do to make you comfortable, sir?"
Thanking them profusely and perhaps tearfully, I asked only for a little warm water, before retiring, that I might bathe and dress my wounded arm—to which request the old lady called out:
"Chloe, have some warm water brought here at once—you hyar?" She "hyard." While I was yet telling these dear old people some of the most bare-faced lies about myself being a wounded refugee from Maryland, etc., Chloe waddled into the room with a bowl of water in one hand and a couple of towels across her black arm.
Her appearance interrupted for the time the flow of yarns, as both the old gentleman and lady excused themselves, first directing "Aunty" to help the "young gentleman to dress his wound."
Aunty stood up in front of me with both sleeves rolled up, as if ready for a fight, when I should strip off the old shirt, which was sticking closer than a brother to the sore spots. But Aunty very kindly helped me as tenderly as she could, and when my torn, inflamed arm was exposed she could not refrain from uttering a cry of sympathy, and wanted at once to go down to bring up the "Missus" to see it. I would not allow her to do that, and, with her aid, I washed as well as I could, and was about to pull the shirt on over it, when, without asking my consent, old Aunty marched out of the room, saying: "Ise gwine get Missus put sothin on dat arm," and disappeared. Very soon the old lady embarrassed me by walking boldly into the room; and, after a few motherly words of sympathy, she took hold of me, as if I were a half-naked baby, and turned me around for her inspection. Then giving a few words of direction to "Aunty" to bring certain articles, she took motherly control of me, and for the time I became as a child in herhands, and was put to bed after my wound had been carefully dressed and wrapped by her own kind hands.
The old gentleman made an appearance, too, with some medicine for the inner man, which I swallowed like an obedient child.
We had, previously, had some supper. I was, of course, profoundly thankful for their kind attention, but was at last ordered, in the same kindly way: "Don't talk another bit, but go to sleep!" and I did not require much inducement to court the drowsy goddess. That night no unpleasant dreams disturbed my heavy slumber. The ghost of the horrible, unburied soldier, on which I had stumbled the previous night, did not haunt me. I was dead to everything for the time, and slept as soundly as a child.
The sun was shining brightly through the windows of my bedroom, on a beautiful Sunday morning, in August, 1861, when I was roused from this refreshing slumber by the voice of the old "aunty"—
"Missus says you'd better have some toast and egg, and a cup of coffee, den you can sleep some moah."
There is nothing that will rouse a sleeper so quick as the invitation to breakfast, especially if the sleeper has not been over-fed and surfeited. Toast and egg is a weakness with me even now, and when I heard the delectable words, "toast, egg, and coffee," I was wide-awake in an instant. But when I attempted to turn myself, so that I could see who had spoken these magic words that suggested such an agreeable aroma, I found that I was so sore and so much bruised that the attempt to move started through my whole frame twitches of sharp pain. "Aunty," seeing that I was awake, came closer to my bed, and, in a kindly way, asked:
"How is you dis mornin'?"
In attempting again to move, I was forced to cry out with the pain which the exertion caused. Aunty bade me, "Jis you lie dar; I'll fetch your coffee!" And walked out leaving me alone; and for the few moments all my distress and trouble came upon me like a sudden cloud, as I realized upon waking that I was yet in the enemy's country, far enough from home, while between us was almost the insurmountable obstacle of the Rebel Army. I saw, too, that the heretofore unexpected danger of a spell of serious sickness was now liable to be added to my other troubles and difficulties. These gloomyforebodings were dispelled for the moment by a gentle knock at my door and the kindly appearance of the mother of the house, upon my invitation to come in, who, with a pleasant "Good-morning," walked up to my bed and placed her hand upon my forehead. Without asking a question, she said:
"Why, you are ever so much better than I expected to find you this morning."
This was pleasant news for me to be sure, as I had not speculated at all on being sick. When with a few more kind words she left me, I heard the landlord say:
"Mother, don't be in a hurry; wait till I give the young gentleman his medicine, before he takes breakfast." When he came into my room a moment later—I was trying to bathe my face—with a cheery "Good-morning, sir; I hope you rested well, sir; just take this if you please, sir;" and I had to obey; "We will send over after the doctor to come and attend you, sir."
I became alarmed at this, fearing that their kindly feeling toward the distressed refugee would cause them to introduce to me some Confederate surgeon from the neighborhood, who might make a correct "diagnosis" of my case and expose me. I begged that he would not put himself to that trouble; that I should go right into Richmond and would soon be among plenty of friends who would take care of me, etc. He rather insisted that it was their privilege to care for me, and that they could not consent to my undertaking to travel to Richmond until I had sufficiently recuperated. I thanked him; but am afraid that I did not convince the old gentleman that it was not necessary. He left me with the understanding that it should be "As mother says about it."
But the circumstances rather dissipated my appetite for the breakfast, as I saw at once that it would be necessary for me to get away from them as soon as possible. A new trouble seemed to rise from the kind attention of this old couple. While I feared capture and detection on my account, I actually think that I dreaded most of all lest an exposure should happen while I was enjoying their hospitality. I could not think of having to confront these kind people, if I should be brought to bay, so it was that I made up my mind that I must leave their house the very first opportunity. I had not been questioned in the least particular except as to my comfort and health. These people were too cultured and refined to pry into my history before granting any aid; it was enough for them that I had stated that I was a Maryland refugee, who had been wounded and wasen routeto Richmond to find friends. They saw my crippled condition, and they gave me all the aid and comfort that was in their power.
Seeing an old-fashioned inkstand and quill on a small table in my room, I had the aunty draw it up close to my bed, from which I was to eat my breakfast. The drawer contained a supply of paper, and, taking advantage of the first favorable opportunity, I wrote, when alone, the form of a pass, such as I had seen in general use, and signed it in an official way with the name of a well-known Chief-of-Staff.
There was unfortunately no red ink with which I could further add to its apparent official character. Looking about the room in the hope of finding some, my eyes rested on the bandage on my still bleeding arm. In another moment the pen was cleaned of all the black ink stains. I gently dipped it into my own bandaged wound and drew enough blood on the pen to write across the face of the pass, in back-hand writing (to distinguish it from the other) the almost cabalistic words in those days:Approved, and signed it in red with my blood.
The red ink "took beautifully."
At the next visit of my host I took great pleasure in exhibiting to him my "papers." He glanced at it approvingly, and no doubt the red ink indorsement was sufficient. Not deigning to examine farther, he said: "I don't want to question the character of a gentleman in my own house, sir, especially the word of a soldier, by Gad, sir"—he laid it aside, as of no consequence. I had told the same old story of the refugee so often, had the character down so fine, that I almost believed it myself. Of course, there were variations to suit the different circumstances, but it was nearly always a Maryland boy far away from home. I could not possibly disguise my voice and dialect sufficiently to pass in the South for a Southerner. I had been living in the South long enough to have learned the peculiarity of its people, and knew very well that I could not overcome the difficulty. So it was necessary, even at great risk to myself sometimes, to continue to play the dual character of aMaryland refugee and an English boy from Texas. There were a great many young people constantly coming over the line from Maryland into the South, and most of these, after a few days "outing," corresponded very well with my appearance or condition in this, that they were "busted," having sacrificed all but their lives for the cause, and were now hankering for a chance to offer that on the Southern altar. This immigration helped to further my projects.
I had told my kind host and hostess a tearful story of my sufferings; how my coat, and all the money that was in the pockets had been stolen while I was sick, and that I was now going to Richmond to replenish my wardrobe, just as soon as I could meet some friends, or hear from my home. This had the desired effect. Of course, I did not beg, neither did my kind friends see it in that light; but, all the same, when the good people attended their country church that Sunday they somehow interested the whole congregation,and a collection was lifted in a Virginia church for the benefit of a Yankee Spy. When they returned from church they brought with them several neighbors to dinner, and soon after I was waited upon by the old gentleman and his pastor, who, in the most considerate manner possible, presented me with an envelope, which he said: "Would be of service in making me comfortable until I met with friends."
Now the Good Spirit of my Sainted Mother in heaven, who had so often taken care of her wondering boy, certainly sent that earthly angel to me again, while I was alone in the midst of enemies on the Sunday. There was nothing that I so much needed as money, as, with it, I could hope to find means of escaping by some other route back to my home, and I wouldstaythere, too. I was hardly allowed to thank the kind friends. After some further pleasant talk, which they indulged in to make me feel easy, I accepted their offer to the Rebel cause with the understanding that I should be able some day to repay it.
"Oh, no; some of our lady friends were anxious for an opportunity to show their devotion to the cause, and were pleased to be able to aid, above all things, a worthy refugee who is so far from home and sick."
Under the circumstances, what else could I do but take this advantage of the good people? With me it was a question of life and death; but I resolved in my heart, that if the time should ever come when our army entered that country, I should be on hand to plead for the protection of those who had unknowingly befriended a foe.
I began preparations to get away as soon as possible, by telling my kind people that it was necessary that I should "report" at once to certain officers in Richmond. I secured their consent to leave their care before I was able to travel.
It was agreed that I should be allowed to depart at once for Richmond, and, with as much feeling as if I were an only son being torn away from home to go to the war, I bade them all a hearty, thankful good-by, and walked slowly to the railroad station, which was some distance off, to get an evening train from Fredericksburg to Richmond.
The train came along in due time, and I got aboard with difficulty, because I was quite stiff and weak. Taking the first seat, in the rear of the car, I noticed at once, while being waited upon by the conductor, that there were in the forward part of the same car several officers in the Confederate gray uniform. This wasn't very reassuring, and rather unsettled my nerves, because, you see, I had, from my past few days' experience, imbibed a holy terror of anything in gray clothes. It was a Sunday, and, as they were probably off on a leave, they were engaged in their own pleasures and were not likely to disturb me. The conductor informed me, when I offered to pay my fare to Richmond, that he was required to report all soldiers traveling to a certain guard, and asked my name and regiment.
I assured him that I had a pass, and with that he walked off, and, in looking it up, I discovered that my blood approval had almost faded out.
I watched him, expecting that he would go straight to the Confederate officers; but he didn't, and I was greatly relieved to see him go out of the car, slam the door behind him, and disappear in the next car ahead. I began to wish that I had remained at the Hanover a little longer, and saw at once that the possession of the money had probably gotten me into a bad scrape, because without it I should have walked, even though every step was a pain. I reasoned correctly enough, however, that I should be safer in Richmond, in the midst of the crowded city, than alone among country people, who would soon become curious about my history, and I prayed that I might be allowed to pass in safety this new and unexpected danger of being reported by the conductor on arrival at Richmond.
While I was thinking over these uncomfortable prospects, the train was dashing along toward Richmond—only a short distance now—there was a whistle, and while the train perceptibly slackened I had time to decide that I better get off, and before the cars had stopped altogether I had slipped quietly out of the door and dropped myself down on the ties. I stood on the side of the track long enough to see a solitary passenger get aboard; the conductor jumped on, and the engine puffed off, leaving me standing alone on the track. I was again free—for how long I could not tell.
Still determined to take Richmond, I started on, wearily, to follow the train along the track, but being so weak and sore my progress was necessarily quite slow, but I persevered, and along about the time the evening lamps were being lit I walked into the outskirts of Richmond.
Feeling my way along, to avoid guards that might be stationed in the principal roads entering the city, I was soon on Main street, Richmond, and I walked with an assumed familiarity in search of a boarding-house. Finding a place that I thought would suit me, located on the south side of Main street, not far from the market, kept by a widow lady, I applied for lodging, proffering her the cash in advance. She accepted the cash and me without question, and being tired, weak and anxious to get to rest, I was at once shown to a room, and in a very few moments later I was in bed, and, with a feeling of security, was soon sound enough asleep in the Rebel Capital.
There were two beds in our room, as in most other cheap boarding-houses, and waking early in the morning, I was surprised to see on the chair alongside of one of them, the too familiar gray uniform of a Confederate officer. I didn't take breakfast with the Madame, but hurried out into the street, and, after a hasty meal in a restaurant, I hunted up a Jew clothing shop on the Main street, where I invested a good deal of the church contribution in a snug suit of clothes, a pair of soft gaiters for my sore feet, a new hat, etc.
The next step was to a barber's, where I had most of my hair taken off, and in their bath-room I donned my new clothes, and I flatter myself I walked out of that barber shop so completely disguised that my recent friends and enemies would not have known me. I was feeling just good enough to have called on Jeff Davis that morning, and believing that, as my visit would be short, itwas well enough to have a good time, I walked rather proudly up to a certain hotel office and astonished the young clerk by registering myself O. K. Wilmore, Baltimore, Maryland. I notified an attaché of the hotel that I had but recently arrived via the blockade, and desired a small room for a few days, until I could meet with a lot more fellows who were coming over, you know, and was courteously welcomed by the affable clerk. The room to which I was shown overlooked the park, the Confederate Capitol building, the Governor's mansion, etc., and there I remained an unwilling guest (after that day) for three long, lonesome weeks,sick in bed.
Maybe it was a fortunate circumstance for me that I was thus taken off my feet, as it served to effectually hide or exclude me from sight, and frustrated any efforts that might have been put forward for my capture. In the meantime the sensation that was, perhaps, caused by my escape had died out and I had been forgotten.
As it was, that night I was taken sick and the next morning I was unable to get out of my bed. The trouble was principally dysentery, such as was epidemic in the Rebel Army at Manassas, and had probably been caused by the bad water, or change of water, greatly aggravated in my case by the nights of terror I had undergone. While in my weak condition, perhaps, I had overloaded my suffering stomach too much the first day of my arrival in Richmond. I can testify here to the fact that there was plenty to eat in Richmond in 1861, and it was not so very much more expensive at that time than in Washington.
The hotel people of Richmond were a little dubious about refugee boarders from Baltimore, as I soon learned, and were inclined to be rather disposed to refer their sick guest to a hospital. Fortunately, I was able to prevent this by a prompt advance of a week's boarding from my church-collection fund, which fully satisfied the Virginia Yankee hotel-keeper. It happened, too, that there was some change due me from the amount I had passed to him, which, in the princely style I had assumed, I graciously told him to keep for a credit on the next week's account. I still had some money left, but not enough to pay another week's expenses at that hotel, but it was best to keep up a good appearance.
The colored boy's name who served me with meals and who attended to all my sick wants, I regret, I have forgotten. He wasindeed a good friend, and when my week was out and I was still so weak that it was impossible for me to move, he continued to serve me with three light meals a day in a room where I had been moved by him, which was located in a block of buildings which served as an annex to the crowded hotel.