CUMBERLAND GAP—THIS WAS ENOUGH FOR ME.CUMBERLAND GAP—THIS WAS ENOUGH FOR ME.
This accounted for the Captain's curious questions the day I left him. I saw it all. I got up on my feet suddenly and buckled on my armor, as it were, and prepared to fly. It was getting a little late in the evening for a walk out alone in that country, but I had considerable of a motive behind me, and something of an inducement in front. Indeed, I felt, for the time being, that I could almost fly as a bird, so eager was I to get there. In starting off so suddenly, I neglected to properly take my bearings, so plunged down, recklessly, over the rocks and through the bushes, onlyknowing that I was going in the general direction which led me the furthest away from the Rebel camps that I had left up on top of the hill. I kept going, going blindly, I thought straight ahead, but making little progress. I wasn't the least bit tired then. While sitting down to read that letter I had rested wonderfully in a short time. It was only when I climbed down off the big hill or mountain, and had plunged, like a scared deer, into the dense growth of woods, that was at the foot of the mountain, that I was stopped, almost abruptly by the sudden appearance of darkness, which seemed to have dropped around me like a curtain. The curtain wasn't pinned with a star, because I couldn't see the evening star on the horizon on account of the trees, that were as thick here as the blackberry bushes had been up on top of the mountain.
I could only see the sky by looking straight up. I don't know that I looked up either; in fact, I don't believe I did. My recollection is that I was only concerned about where to put my feet, and, as a consequence, I was obliged to look down pretty much all the time pretty sharply. I should have appreciated just then, more than anything else, "A lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path."
It took me a little while to "get used to it," as they say when one plunges suddenly into darkness.
I have read very nice poetry about the "pathless groves," and the "pleasure in the pathless woods where none intrude," and all that sort or thing about the grandeur, and majesty, and silence of the woods at night, but I did not relish this dreadful silence and majesty that night, and, to tell the truth, I've never learned to appreciate the same grandeur since.
I like well enough to be in the woods at night, if I am one of a camp at any army corps headquarters, and 25,000 soldiers are looking out for the Rebels that may be prowling through the majestic woods, but, alone, I don't like it a bit.
I was alone in a deep, dark wood, somewhere between the outposts of the two armies, in the neighborhood of Cumberland Gap.
Everything around me had become obscured by the thick darkness, that one can almost feel on a dark night. I kept going, as I supposed, straight ahead, clambering over fallen logs, stretching out my hands before me as I stepped cautiously ahead to guardagainst a too sudden contact with the trunks of trees, stumbling over exposed roots, or becoming entangled in undergrowth.
This was the tiresome, dreadfully tiresome and discouraging path that I trod that night, for hour after hour, in my efforts to get home.
Almost exhausted, I began to grow impatient at not meeting with any encouraging outlook. I felt that I had had enough of this and was entitled to a change. I was sure that I had traveled over sufficient ground to have brought me, at least, a couple of miles nearer the Union lines. But I did not then take into consideration the fact that I had been going blindly, and had been merely stumbling and crawling around in a circle, as I have heard all persons do who become lost in the woods.
I realized with a shudder of horror that I was lost—lost, and lost forever—in that dark wood nearest the enemy; because I knew very well, from the observations of the country that I had made from the mountain top, that I should have come out on to the road that led on toward the Union line of pickets long before, if I had kept the course that I had so carefully laid out before dark. What did I do? I sat down on a big log and cried like a big baby; and that's what you would have done.
I wasn't so badly scared as I was demoralized, tired out, and discouraged.
After I had sat long enough to have somewhat recovered myself, I remembered all that I had ever read or heard of persons who were lost in the woods. I recalled that when only a boy, in my mountain home, I had connected myself voluntarily with a party of kind-hearted mountaineers who had joined in a body to search those mountain fastnesses for two little children of six and eight years old, who had strayed from their home a day or so previously, and were lost in the woods. My two days and nights' experience in that searching party became of great service to me now.
I first attempted to ascertain in the darkness, by feeling with my hands, which side of the trunks of the standing trees the moss was growing on. I knew that if I could establish for a certainty this fact, from several of the trees, I would, from this circumstance, have been able to locate the points of the compass, but it failed me, because of the utter darkness of the night and the absence of such a triflingthing as a match, with which to make a glimmer of light in that overpowering gloom. Matches are cheap enough, but, if I had had the money then, I would have been willing to have given as much cash for the little stick of wood, with a light on the end of it, as would have bought all the logs contained in that forest of lumber.
There was another sign that has never failed the lost and the distressed, from wherever looked up to, when the sky was not clouded—the North Star.
While a lad at school I had been taught how to find this, the only true and fixed star, and that night, while lost and in such dire distress in that dark woods, along side of the enemy, who had, by this time, surely learned of my escape, I looked up through scalding tears for the dipper and the pointer, and through the leafy branches of a high, old oak tree, the bright, twinkling, constant and true little North star was looking down brightly upon me as I sat there on the old log. What a bright, beautiful, hopeful little emblem it was to me then, and how often have I recalled this night, when I look up still and find it always the same friend.
I felt as much relief at the discovery of the North star as if I had found a lost trail in the sky. I felt that somehow I should be able, from this fact, to come out all right, though I was sorely puzzled to discover that, in appearance, the star seemed to be almost over the top of the mountain that I was so anxious to get away from. I did not then understand, as I since learned, that the range of mountains is nearly North and South.
"I passed a miserable night,So full of ugly sights, of ghastly thoughts,That, as I am a Christian, faithful man,I would not spend another such a night,Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days."
"I passed a miserable night,So full of ugly sights, of ghastly thoughts,That, as I am a Christian, faithful man,I would not spend another such a night,Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days."
This quotation expresses in the familiar lines my experience more satisfactorily than I could attempt in a column a description of this one night of holy terror. It's bad enough to be lost under any circumstances, but at night, between two lines in a deep, dark forest, with the certainty of an ignominious death pursuing me as a phantom, almost mocking me through the screeching, hooting owls, whose diabolical laughter at my distress, in having failed to reachthe goal that was in sight before dark were audible above the tree-tops.
As I have so often said before, there is only one way to properly understand the feelings under such conditions, and that is, "put yourself in his place." This can only be done, and that but feebly, in the imagination now, because there probably never will be just such another "dark path to glory" in that part of the country.
If I could only have kept moving in any direction, it would have been something of a relief, but I couldn't stir without stumbling over old roots of fallen trees. I didn't mind that so much, but everything was so awfully quiet and solemn that it seemed as if, every step I made, my feet would crash into the little twigs that made so much noise that I became startled every time, lest my every movement would be heard for miles distant.
So the only thing for me to do was to sit down on an old rotten log, that I had at last stumbled on, and wait for more light. The wild, scared thoughts and weird, horrible sounds that went through my head while I sat on that log in that dark woods that long, long night, can never be described. There were owls, bats, and other solemn birds of the night, sitting on the adjacent trees, hooting in chorus, and flying past a crazy-looking, wild boy of the woods, sitting like a knot on a log, wild-eyed, and with frantic gestures that would become a person with an attack of mania, who attempts blindly to protect and defend himself from imaginary enemies that would fly uncomfortably close.
I didn't see any big game. I didn't want to see any. I was not hunting; but I imagined there was a whole menagerie of such things around me. We hear a great deal about the silence and the majestic grandeur of the forest, but that's all poetry. There are more noises—and the most horrible noises—when alone, to be heard in a deep wood on a still, quiet night than ever I heard in the streets of any city at midnight.
It was these sounds that stirred the blood in my veins and kept the cold chills running down my back, so that I sat there and shook like one with an attack of ague.
When I could stand it no longer, and found it impossible to move in either direction, I climbed a tree. In getting up a pretty good-sized tree, I felt that I was out of the world and away fromthe danger of crawling and creeping things, though the owls became more curious and inquisitive than ever. That wood was full of owls. I was more afraid of them that night than of panthers—or Rebels either.
Once up in the tree, I was kept busily employed with the necessity for constantly changing my position. I couldn't get "fixed" comfortably on any limb or crotch in that old tree, and I verily believe that I "adapted myself" to every position that it afforded.
From my elevated position in the top branch of the tree I could look out through the tops of adjoining trees. It was before the season for the leaves to be thick in that section.
In one direction, I discovered what I had at first taken for a heavy cloud on the horizon were the outlines of the mountain. There were no signs, from my outlook, of the house and road I had seen last before coming into the woods. There was nothing whatever to serve as a guide, except the little North star. I could only wait for daylight, which must soon come. It seemed as if I had been ages in the woods. I looked eagerly for the breaking of the gray dawn, but I had been straining my eyes in the wrong direction, expecting in my dazed condition to see the first glimmer come from the western horizon. It was when I looked back of me, with a sigh of discouragement, that I first beheld the light of a coming dawn.
"Night's candles were burnt out,And jocund day stood tiptoeOn the misty mountain top."
"Night's candles were burnt out,And jocund day stood tiptoeOn the misty mountain top."
In a moment I became renewed with the old life and fire of those boyish days. Only stopping long enough to get a good view of the surrounding hills or mountains, I was able to discover that the Gap, from whence I came, was, apparently, closer than when I had first taken to the woods in the early twilight.
If I didn't know exactly where to go to find the Union pickets, I saw quite plainly wherenotto go, and knowing that I'd not make any mistake in getting further away from the Gap, I crawled hastily out of the tree, and in another moment was hopping along through the woods, which were yet quite dark down on the ground.
The uneasy night birds had flown. I heard a chicken crow,though it may have been a mile distant. I steered as clear of that signal of the proximity of a house as a sailor does of a fog-horn. As the light began to break through the tops of the trees, I was able to make better headway. The big mountain, that had cast a shadow over the world of woods all that night, loomed up grandly in the gray dawn; the Gap stood out as clearly defined in its profile as if it had been cut out by a chisel. There was nothing stirring anywhere but me; all the noises had apparently gone to sleep, and I, recognizing by former experience that the early morning is the safest time to travel in an enemy's lines, was making the best use I could of the "limited time at my disposal" before the Rebel officers would wake up and start their scouts out after me.
Without meeting with any obstructions, except the fallen logs and bushes, I must have traveled a mile, when I suddenly emerged from the woods on to a path, or mountain road, which led in the same direction I wished to go. I cautiously followed this until it led into another, a larger and apparently a more generally used wagon road, which I knew must be the main road leading up to the Gap from Kentucky. This, I knew, if followed up, would bring me into the Union lines. But it would also be likely to be used by any Rebel cavalrymen or scouts who might be sent out from the Gap.
Not having any means of defense with me, in case I should be confronted by an armed scout, I would simply have been at his mercy and been led back to the Gap, like a sheep with a rope about its neck. On this account, I was obliged to keep myself under cover of the woods, but, fearing to trust myself again in the deep woods too far, I scouted along the edge as near the road as I dared, keeping the open road in view all the time.
In this way I moved along slowly enough, watching eagerly up and down the road for some signs of a picket in blue in one direction and a scout in gray in the other.
Soldiers seemed to be awfully scarce out there that morning. I thought I'd never get out of the woods, or find relief from the long strain on my nerves, my legs, and my stomach. Not seeing anything in either direction for so long, I at last, to help myself along faster and with less difficulty, boldly came out to the road, and, with one good, long look behind me, started to walk ahead at a double-quick gait.
I had not gone far when, stopping to listen, as was my habit on such occasions, I was startled to hear what I supposed were horses' feet behind me. In a moment I was in the woods at the side of the road, where my long jumps made such a noise in the dry undergrowth that I had to stop and lie down.
I saw two gray coats coming up the road together, both of them on foot. Dropping myself to the ground as suddenly as if shot, just where I stood, I lay for a few seconds in a tremor of fright, the only sound audible being my heart wildly beating.
As the two men passed by me on the road, they were talking in a hurried way between themselves, and my presence was not discovered. I lifted my head far enough to look after them when they passed. I saw that they were none other than two men from our own Rebel company of Maryland Artillery; but, worst of all, one of the two was Lanyard, my old Richmond mate and chum; the other was a fat, young German, who had been a baker in Richmond.
The first thought in my mind was that these two fellows had been sent out on the road after me. Any person would have so surmised under like circumstances, and, like myself, would have been terror-stricken at the thought of being so close to them. It was not comforting, either, to know that they were now not only on my path, but they were ahead of me.
What to do under the suddenly-changed condition of things was only a momentary puzzle. I argued to myself that they could not go very far ahead on that road without running into the Union pickets, and that, if they were not captured by them, they would soon be coming back over that path. In either case, I should avoid the road, and endeavor once again to get through to the Union lines through the woods only, while the daylight lasted.
The thought that perhaps our forces had fallen back some distance, or that they might have wholly abandoned that part of the country, was not comforting. While I did not at first understand why Lanyard, of all others, should be the person detailed to intercept me, I began to imagine that his notion was that I had innocently strayed off and been lost, and that his purpose was only to aid me in a friendly way, in my return to the Rebel camp.
While walking through the wood, some such thoughts as I have tried to describe were crowding each other through my now frenzied brain, when the current was suddenly changed by hearing the wild barking of dogs ahead, in the direction my pursuers had taken on the road.
If there is one thing more than any other that a scout detests, while he is quietly pursuing his business, it's a barking dog.
Crawling carefully toward the sound, I could see some smoke above the trees, and a little beyond, on the opposite side of the road, a house. That was enough for me. I wanted some breakfast terribly just then, but I had no use for any more houses. What I wanted to see was a camp of soldiers with their tents and the Stars and Stripes floating over them.
It took a long time to flank that insignificant little old house, and made my legs very tired, but I succeeded in accomplishing the task at last, and had the satisfaction of lookingbackat it from a hill-top on the road, some distance inside, or beyond it.
I saw then what surprised me no little. In the road and all about the front of the house that I had passed, were quite a crowd of men and some horses tied to the fences alongside. The men seemed to be armed, and they wore blue clothes. I wasn't exactly sure of this from the distance. I remembered my mistake in Virginia in trusting too much to the blue clothes, and determined that this time I should be sure the wearer of the blue was a Union soldier and not a disguised Rebel.
I hoped sincerely and prayed that I had passed a Union outpost, and was at last within the United States. That they had not seen me was evident, from the indifferent and careless manner of the men. I judged, too, that the dogs had announced the approach of Lanyard and the baker to the house, and that they were both detained there.
I trudged ahead, hugging the road closely, meeting with no one in that lonely country, until so tired out and exhausted, after my night and now half of the day, that I was forced to sit down by the roadside to rest. I don't think I went to sleep, but must have dozed off, so completely exhausted had I become. I dreamed of my capture, the tramp of horses' feet, and heard the angry voices, which I had imagined belonged to a gang of Rebels, who were dragging my helpless body to a good place for a hanging.
In this nightmare in the broad daylight I was as helpless as iftied hand and foot, and could not utter a word, but blindly submitted to their brutal treatment, because too weak to resist. Aroused by the approaching sound of persons' voices, before I could get to my feet two horsemen in blue, armed with carbines, their sabers rattling, were almost up to me. In front of the two cavalrymen walking along, not like captured prisoners, but gayly laughing and talking with the mounted men, were my two comrades in arms—Lanyard and the baker.
I lay perfectly stunned. I dare not, I could not, move for an instant, when they quickly came almost abreast of me, and I jumped up so suddenly as to scare the nearest horse, so that it shied against its companion.
I spoke first, with the desperation of an outlaw challenging a helpless traveler: "Are you Union or Confederate?"
Before he could answer my question, which had been put as pointedly as if demanding money or life, Lanyard, with a shout of pleased surprise, came over to me, saying:
"Bully for us! We are all right, my old chum," and, turning to the cavalryman, who seemed to be getting ready for a combat or a conspiracy, he said:
"This is my old chum that I was telling about," then turning to me, for I was not yet fully satisfied in my own mind—"Why, in h—, didn't you tell me, so that we could come together?"
Then, after seeing that I was indeed O. K. at last, and, sure enough, under the guard of the troopers of the United States Army, I was ready for an Indian dance, even though I was so tired that my legs would scarcely carry me along.
The youngest of the troopers was a handsome boy of about nineteen or twenty, who informed me that he was a Kentuckian, and one of the company of Kentucky Cavalryman in the Union Army.
I hope this young chap and his companion are living yet somewhere in the beautiful blue-grass region of Kentucky, and that they may see this book, and will be kind enough to give me their present address.
"ARE YOU UNION OR CONFEDERATE?""ARE YOU UNION OR CONFEDERATE?"
I knew by that particular instinct, born of a soldier's daily experience of months among his own kind, that the two Cavalrymen I had seen coming up the road toward me were not from the army I had just left, or I should have kept quiet. Probably it was because I remembered, at the first glance of them, that I had not seen any such looking troopers in the Rebel Army, either about the Gap or in the interior country beyond, through which I had so recently traveled miles on horseback.
After some "mutual explanations and introductions," with a general hand-shaking all around, wherein it was laughingly agreed among them that my Jack Shepard manner of jumping out of a bush to demand satisfaction was a good joke—on my part—as they supposed it, I "fell in" with Lanyard and Baker, and we marched on ahead of the two cavalrymen toward the Union camp. Though I was tired and well-nigh exhausted, I walked ahead so briskly and stepped out so joyously that I was almost keeping the horses on a trot to keep up with us. This fact elicited from the older of the Kentucky cavalrymen an observation to his comrade that comprised about all the words that I remember to have heard him speak while in his company:
"My h—, don't that fellow travel!"
I am not prepared to say whether the renewed motive power was supplied through a fear of the Rebels coming after us in force, or a wild desire to get to a place where the blue soldiers were to be seen in greater numbers.
As we walked along together, Lanyard gave me a minute and funny account of the manner in which my disappearance was accounted for by my late companions in arms at the Gap.
"Well, by G—! I never thought you were a real Yankee. Why didn't you say something to me before? I was your best friend always, you sucker." Then, with a loud laugh and a slap on mytired back that nearly knocked me off my feet, he made a break for the little, fat Dutch baker.
"Say, Baker, ain't you just playing off as a Dutchman? Come now; let's hear you talk plain United States. You are in a free country."
The baker had suddenly dodged to the other side of the road when the hilarious Lanyard readied his ponderous claws toward him, and only grinned back, in broad Dutch, his reply to the suggestion. After a little more of this sort of sky-larking, as he called it, he cooled down sufficiently to talk in a more rational way, but kept on using, by way of emphasis, as Parson Brownlow would say, "Good mouth-filling oaths, that would blister a sailor's lips."
"Why, blank it—I only shipped with this gang of pirates until we could reach some civilized port where I could get ashore amongst white people."
Lanyard was opposed to "d——d niggers," and had somehow become full of the contrary notion, that the South was fighting to retain the colored population, and the North wished to free them, merely that they could be sent, as he said, "back to Africa, where they belong."
"You were not missed from camp last night until it was time to turn in; the duffer that was on watch up on the volcano back there reported to his partner, who took his place, that you had said you were sick, and had gone down to the house below to get a hot supper, so he told him not to shoot at you when you came in to roost.
"Our old chum, the Colonel, you know, he got excited because you didn't show up, so he had to turn us out to go down to the old house to fetch you in. I told him it was no use; that you would be too drunk to walk up the hill; but he made me take a mate out of our mess, and started us out after you. We couldn't get by the watchman. We told the blasted fool that we had to go down the hill to find you, but he kept fooling with his gun, and swore he'd sink us if we tried to run out of port.
"Pretty soon the racket and loud talk brought an officer and a whole gang of fellows on to us, and we were taken into the guard-house. We had to stay there half the night before any of our fellows came to help us out; then the Colonel and Elkton figuredaround and, by a lot of talking, they were allowed to take us back to our shanty to finish the rest of the night.
"Now I wanted to get out of that country and go to New York, terrible bad, but, by G—, I never would have thought of going down into that wood to find a path to New York. I was just going to wait until the Yankees came up to fight us, and then I was going right out to join them in spite of h—; but I wanted to see them first. Well, while we were in the guard-house that night, and our Lieutenant was talking with the other officer about getting us out, I heard them say something about your 'being in the Yankee camp before we started after you.' This set me thinking about your being there and me left in the Rebel guard-house.
"On the way back to our shanty, I asked the Lieutenant if he thought you were captured by the Yanks, and he said:
"Oh, no! he's got lost, and will turn up all right when it gets daylight."
"But the Lieutenant was in a damn bad humor about your going off, and kept talking to the Sergeant about it being "queer" that you should come up from Knoxville and go straight out into that country alone. The Colonel was satisfied that you were lost, but the Lieutenant said the officers up at the guard-house were sure you had gone straight to the Yankee Camp, as they were out on the road only a mile and you must have been among them before night.
"The Lieutenant talked to them as if it might be so, because you had been having a row with the Captain again, and it was hard to tell what you had been doing last. That is about the way they kept talking about you.
"I began to think, if the Yankees were only a mile off, that I would like to go and see them, and not wait for them to come up and see us. So that night, after we got back to our quarters, I told the Lieutenant I would start out at daybreak and hunt you up, my notion being that you had left for good and I wanted to join you. The duffer that was with me swore he would not go along with me down the hill, if the Yankees were only a mile off. At this the Dutchy wakened up from his sleep and bravely volunteered to go along with me." Then Lanyard with a contemptuous look, turned to Baker and said: "Say, Dutchy, you blasted rascal, you played me for a marine, didn't you?" But getting only another broad smilefrom Baker for a reply, he continued talking, much to the amusement of our Guard of Cavalrymen, his tongue and jaw keeping pace with our quick steps.
"Well, to make a long story short, I laid awake all the balance of the night in thinking it over. I got our old chum to fix up a plan with the officers to allow me to go out to hunt you up; and just as soon as I could bundle up a little, we made the break, and came straight down the road to that house. They told us you had not been there that night. After taking my bearings, we grabbed the anchor, set full sail, and ran out the road until these chaps hailed us back at the house there.
"Dutchy kept right along side of me; he wasn't a bit afraid of the Yankees, he said, and wanted to go ahead." Then with a look of assumed disgust at the baker for having so shrewdly deceived him by pretending bravery in meeting Yankees, while his intention all the time was simply to conceal his real motive, which had been to escape, his tongue ran on with an amusing soliloquy, and, partly addressing himself to the cavalryman about 'the deceitful, lying, treacherous marines he—the guileless, innocent sailor boy—had been compelled to associate with for so long a time against his inclination.'
This cavalry was part of an outpost who were stationed at this point on the road nearest the rebels, as is the usual custom; they were some miles in advance of the infantry or the headquarters, of the camp. We learned from our Guard that their principal duty consisted in receiving and escorting to headquarters the scores of Unionist refugees, who were constantly coming into their lines day and night, in an exhausted condition, through the passes of these mountains. Most of these Unionists were promptly enlisted into the Tennessee regiments, then in camp with the Union army. By this means was solved a difficult problem for the officers, as to their maintenance, when driven away from their homes. (The Government was supposed to guarantee protection to them in their homes.) Under this head, or in this classification, we were placed by the Union officer with whom we first came in contact.
Some time ago, in looking over a volume of the published War Records, by a mere accident I turned to a page referring to some operations about Cumberland Gap, and, because of its familiarity tome, I took the time to hunt up, as nearly as I could, some of the official records bearing on the time of my escape. On a certain page, which I could give herein, is an official report of the general officer in command of the Union forces, announcing the arrival of "three men" who had escaped from the Rebel army that date, and who had given him valuable information of the plans and the forces of the Rebels in his front.
As I have previously stated, I have no memory for dates, but my impression is that our information, at that time, was of service to General Grant, who was then operating in the West, in this, that I had satisfied the general officer, from my account of the location of the Rebel troops, their guns and earthworks in the Gap, that it could not be captured by assault, by any reasonable force in front. In the words of Longfellow, adapted to the occasion:
"Try not the Pass, the young man said."
And they didn't. The force that had been idly lying out there, where provisions and ammunition had to be hauled for miles upon miles over the miserable Kentucky roads, soon after changed their base, and were placed where they could do the most good.
It was late in the afternoon when we reached the camp of the Union forces. I was tired—very tired, and most awfully hungry, too, when we got in sight of a real camp of soldiers, which was, in those days, laid out in regular form according to the books, in rows upon rows of tents in the woods; a neat clean parade ground, from the center of which rose a tall staff, on the very pinnacle of which was flying—old glory—the Stars and Stripes.
There are moments in every soldier's life time that will never be effaced from the memory, and this was one that, in my heart to-day, is as bright and happy as it was twenty-five years ago. I can not describe my feelings; I will not attempt it. Those who have tried to read my experiences for the months preceding will understand, but only feebly, how heartfelt was my gratitude in that supreme moment of my life. It was as if I had escaped an ignoble death, but, generally, my heart was filled with unselfish pride and pleasure at seeing floating up there, above the army, the flag that for months upon months I had heard decried until sometimes I begun to thinkthat there was no one to defend it but me, and I was all alone among enemies, and must grin and bear the daily abuse in silence. I don't believe I spoke a word to anybody for an hour.
Near the flag were a few large tents standing by themselves, which were pointed out to us as the headquarters, where we were to be conducted as soon as we had washed off some of the dirt and dust. In front of these headquarter tents were seated three officers comfortably smoking pipes and chatting together pleasantly.
We were transferred to an infantry guard, being still held as prisoners. After giving us plenty of time to put ourselves in as good shape as we could, and being kindly tendered all the aid they could give us, we were put between files of neatly uniformed soldiers. When I made some remark to one of them about going to unnecessary trouble about us, as we were only too glad to get there, and weren't going to leave them, he explained with a laugh, as he fixed his bayonet to the gun: "That's all right; we know that; but the 'old man' would kill us if we should march you fellows up there in anything but the regular military style."
So, after putting us in about the shape that the recruit occupies at his muster into the G. A. R., a sprightly young officer of the guard, with sash and sword, gave the order to forward, and we were marched across the parade ground toward headquarters.
As we passed almost under the flag, I looked up, and, without a thought that anyone would see me, I involuntarily took off my old rebel hat. Our appearance was, of course, attracting very general attention in the camp, and, I presume, some of them witnessed the humble salute to the old flag, which was the more marked as I wore the gray clothes of a rebel and a traitor to the flag.
To my surprise, the "old man," as the General was called, was quite an ordinary-looking little gentleman. It was General Carter, of East Tennessee. As I have since been advised, he had been a naval officer in the United States Naval Service for some years before the war.
The Guard, after properly presenting us, were dismissed; we were pleasantly invited to take seats on a log, and for an hour I did most of the talking, but that Union officer only gathered from me my East Tennessee experience, which was of immediate use to him; hewas told nothing whatever of my former relations with Washington and the Secretary of War.
There was a young fellow on the staff of the General who exerted himself in a very pleasant, easy way to make us comfortable. To him I was particularly indebted for some personal favors, that I have never had an opportunity of repaying, except at this late date to publicly acknowledge my obligation.
There was not a dollar of any kind of money between the three of us, so we had need of friends then. In this camp I first saw a greenback, which was presented to me by this young officer.
After the General was satisfied that he had pumped us all dry of information, he gave the necessary orders for our entertainment.
We were taken in charge by a couple of jolly fellows of an Indiana regiment, one of whom had been a river man, and had some acquaintance with that section of the Ohio river, the headwaters of which I had started out from with Andy Johnson's train some months before. The "boys" gave us a hearty supper ofcoffee—real coffee.
It is sufficient to say here that the boys of that Indiana regiment were clever fellows; they treated us bang-up, as our fellows always did when a poor, hungry devil in gray strayed in to take supper with them.
There were one or two exceptions, as there always is in every company, who run around to do the scavenger work. I was tired—I believe I have said so once before—and, as soon as possible, after the grub had been swallowed, I hunted a place to stretch myself out for a rest. I felt safe enough, and knew then that, for the first night in months, I could lie down to sleep in perfect security, not dreading or fearing what the next day would bring forth.
One of those curs, that was always hanging around to make themselves noticed, seemed to have taken offense at what he supposed was an intentional slight or failure to recognize his importance; he was, I think, a First Sergeant of a company—one of those fellows who have a grievance against everybody because he wasn't the Colonel. I don't really remember what I could have said or done to have brought upon my defenseless head his vengeance; but it's my impression now that, in his positive, disagreeable way, he had been boastfully referring to the Rebel soldiers in their front asbeing of no consequence—you all know how some fools talk about the enemy. It's barely possible that I had resented his estimate of the ability of the Rebels I had just left. I had been among them a good while, and knew something of their character, and it was a weakness with me to attempt to defend them at such a time; but I reckon I was as big a fool as this fellow himself, and talked too much in an honest, candid way about the earnestness and patriotic zeal and enthusiasm, as well as the undoubted courage of the Rebel soldiers.
I reckon that I was so tired that I was cross-grained at the persistence of the fellow urging himself upon me. I was wakened from a sound sleep by a Corporal with an armed guard, who said he had orders to put me in the guard-house. Hardly realizing my position, in my dazed condition, I mechanically followed the Corporal out into the cool, night air, which had the effect of awakening me fully to the changed conditions in my circumstances.
It seemed so like a dream that I could scarcely realize that I was being escorted to a guard-house. The Corporal kindly intimated to me that there were fears that I would get away. I could get no further satisfaction from him or the guard, except that the matter would be explained in the morning.
The fact that a Sentinel stood near me with a loaded musket did not at all interfere with my slumber; it rather had the effect of inducing more sound sleep, as I felt a certain personal security from the Rebels as long as I was honored with a private protector of my own—while I slept. In the morning a good breakfast was sent me. Lanyard called, but was not permitted to speak to me, and walked off swearing to himself. After guard-mounting, I was conducted to the General's tent, where I met the young staff officer, who, in the most brotherly manner, said:
"Mr. ——, the General was disposed to give you special consideration, because it seems that he had been impressed by your manner and your voluntary salute to our colors yesterday, that you were a born loyalist; but he is informed by Captain —— and some member of Company —, Indiana, that you were detected in giving expression to the most traitorous sentiments, and you declared your belief of the ultimate success of the Rebels, which, you know, is not the way you talked to us yesterday."
My manner and the expression of my face must have satisfied the young officer at once. Really, I was too much taken aback to speak for a moment, but, when my tongue did get loosened, it gave expression to such violent language that the young officer laughed heartily at my earnestness. I denied most positively the use of any such words, and demanded the authority. The officer simply said:
"Well! The General said you were nobody's fool, and I didn't think you would have talked that way in our camp;" then, turning to an orderly, he directed him to bring to headquarters a certain person, whose name I am sorry I am unable to give. It was the blatant First Sergeant who had forced himself upon me. When face to face with him, in the presence of the General and several other persons, I was able to so completely demolish his statements that his discomfiture was enjoyed by everybody around the camp. I was indignant, and I talked badly. I was apt to be that way then, and my tongue and gestures toward myvis-a-viscreated so much amusement I was allowed to indulge myself to the fullest extent. It was a mistake of mine. The Sergeant went away humiliated and full of revengeful intent. I was released from arrest and joined Lanyard in the camp. The affair had created something of a breeze, as every soldier in camp had heard of the arrest. While in a tent, surrounded by a crowd of boys who were congratulating me, an officer with a drawn sword rushed into the crowd and in an instant put the point of his sword against my breast, with a wild oath, as he grabbed for my throat, declaring he would kill me if I did not retract every word I said to the General about his First Sergeant.
IN AN INSTANT HE PUT THE POINT OF HIS SWORD AGAINST MY BREAST.IN AN INSTANT HE PUT THE POINT OF HIS SWORD AGAINST MY BREAST.
I have said that, in cases of sudden and dangerous emergency, I was always able to be cool, while I get terribly rattled in anticipation of imaginary danger. So it was that, in this case, I was the only cool one in the crowd. Looking straight in the Captain's eye, and wholly disregarding his sword, I said to him, calmly: "I am unarmed and a prisoner."
At this, one of the men present, though only an enlisted man, attempted to interfere in my behalf, which only seemed to further enrage the officer, who turned from me to glare at the common soldier.
In the mean time some one had run over to headquarters and told the General and staff that I had been killed by this officer. In a moment the young staff officer made his appearance on the scene, and my life was again saved. The explanation was, that the Indiana Captain was a brother-in-law of the First Sergeant whom I had discomfited. I was politely requested to accompany the young staff officer to the General's tent where the matter was explained.
I have seen military men awfully mad, but it was the first time I ever beheld a General get so angry that he turned as white as a dead man; why, he couldn't speak at all, but simply walked off; and those who had not seen his face would have been led to imagine that he was simply indifferent. I was invited to sit down near the headquarters' tent. In a very few moments—less than it takes to tell it here—that Indiana Captain's sword was taken from him, he was in arrest, in disgrace for having been guilty of one of the most cowardly unofficer-like acts that can be charged to a soldier—that of assaulting a defenseless prisoner.
That afternoon, the Colonel of the Indiana regiment spent a couple of hours with the General, in attempting to palliate the Captain's offense, but it was no use. I could not hear what they said, but could see that the little General kept shaking his head constantly in a savage negative, that indicated his feelings.
This affair created such a stir in the camp that it was thought best to send us away at once. So, that evening, all three of us were marched under the same style of guard with fixed bayonets to the camp of an Ohio regiment, located about a mile distant.
In due time we reached Lexington. Here the officer transferred us to the charge of the sick soldiers. It so happened that, just before reaching the town of Lexington, we had all stopped for a noon rest at a point near which was a fine, old-fashioned mansion house, belonging to a large farm. The house, as is the style of that country, was well supplied with verandas and porches. In the rear was quite a little village of whitewashed log-cabins, which I recognized as the negro quarters. The stone spring-house was in a little ravine convenient to the barn, where we all went to get a drink of cool water. While seated around on the big, flat stones, enjoying the cool, refreshing water, an old gentleman, tall and patriarchal-looking, walked toward us, and, in his courteous manner, introduced himself to the rough-looking crowd that had taken possession of his spring-house, as "the farmer who lived here," pointing back to his house, and politely asked if we required anything more to make us comfortable. For one, I felt abashed and uncomfortable, but Lanyard spoke up and suggested that: "We would like to try a little of the Kentucky whisky that we heard so much about."
"Certainly, certainly, sir;" and turning to a grinning colored "boy," who was quite a gray old rat, he directed him to "fetch the brown jug down."
This kindly reception of the sailor's suggestion served to make the old gentleman exceedingly popular with the whole crowd. The colored man was anxious to be agreeable also, and, with quite a frisky manner for one of his age, he soon trotted back with a big jug and two tin cups.
"Wait on the gentlemen," was the brief order. The old darky smiled all over when he saw the alacrity with which the boys crowded toward the jug. I had never allowed myself to drink, and when my turn came the old gentleman seemed to be offended at my declining it, as if it were the quality of the whisky that I was objecting to; he explained:
"You need not be afraid of that, my boy, it's pure; the rye was grown right over in that field, sir; I had it made myself, sir; it's for my own family use, sir."
To satisfy him I took hold of a tin cup and allowed the boy to pour out a spoonful or two, intending to fill it up with water.
"No use in that, sir; it don't need any water, sir."
I gulped it down like a dose of medicine, and put a tin cup full of water on top of it. It was the first time I had ever seen whisky drank from a tin, but I saw lots of it come from the tin canteens soon after.
The effect on Lanyard was to make him talkative and somewhat confidential with the genial old host. I didn't hear what was said, but when we had separated, or the jug had been emptied, Lanyard took me to one side and muttered in my ear, in a half-drunken way, in great confidence that: "I've told the old man that you and I were Confederate prisoners, and gave him a hint that we would be glad to get a lunch." Then grabbing me by the arm, I was dragged up to the house and made to sit down on the veranda with him.I wasn't drunk—that's a fact—I could see peeping through the window shades several pairs of bright eyes.
I realized at a glance that it was our gray clothes that was the attraction, and that the appearance of tworealConfederates on that porch was creating something of a sensation among the lady occupants of that "Old Kentucky Home."
In order to gratify my vanity, and to see the ladies, as well as a desire to have some fun, I helped to keep up this delusion. Lanyard's object was something good to eat.
Lest there should be some misunderstanding on the part of our officer and his companions as to our motives, I quietly gave them the cue, and I admit now, with a sense of mortification, that we shamefully imposed ourselves on the kind people of that home as Confederates, and, through this means, we were so hospitably entertained that the officer in command was induced to prolong his camp in that grove all night.
Several of us were furnished with an elegant supper of chicken and corn cakes, while the officer and myself were agreeably entertained by the ladies in the parlor during the long evening.
There were, also, a couple of mules going back home on sick furlough. These were tied on behind the wagon that was in front of ours, being towed along in this way like a pair of solemn prisoners of war.
One of these mules was bigger than the other, but the little one had the larger head and longer ears of the two, which gave to it a peculiar, wise-looking expression of grave dignity. It was what would be called a roan. I remember that, in our joking way, we had lots of fun about its hide being about the color of the Rebel uniforms. I reckon our loud and coarse remarks about this mule must have hurt its feelings; at least, this is the only way in which I can account for its subsequent vindictive conduct toward me.
Those who have been in Kentucky—especially that part of Kentucky—will know something about the roads. At this season of the year they were simply awful—not so muddy, but just about as rough as big rocks, and the exposed roots of large trees could make them. The rains for ages back seemed to have washed out all the bottom of earth, and had left exposed on the surface a network or corduroy of roots, with the chinks filled in with stones. It wasn'tpleasant riding in an army wagon over these roads, and we earned our passage by walking. There was not sufficient room on that road beside the wagon for a foot path, so we had to follow in the rear of the wagons. In a long procession of wagons, mules, and soldiers, sandwitched one behind the other, I was walking slowly, one afternoon, with my head down, thinking over the happy escapes from the many dangers through which I had been almost miraculously preserved, and no doubt dreaming of the anticipated joys of a welcome home, which was soon to be realized, when all of a sudden I felt a quick rush of wind and dust thrown like a gust into my face; at the same time the rim of my hat was barely touched by the heels of that roan mule. The fellow who was beside me cried out something about "looking out," and dragged me back into the heads of the team following.
This is not an attempt to be funny, but is set down here as a most remarkable intervention of Providence—or my good angel—for my safety. That mule kicked back over a clear space as long as himself, and had correctly directed his heels right into my face; had I been two inches closer, the blow would have been received full on my forehead and must have fractured my skull with its force.
When we got into the town, or City of Lexington, about noon, one day, we found the town full of people. It was, I think, court week; anyway, the prisoner game was played on some of the citizens here also, by Lanyard. In this way we were well cared for.
It was night when we reached Cincinnati, where we were ferried over the Ohio river and placed on Ohio soil. Here I was, at last, free of all restraint, and permitted to do as I pleased. Lanyard was still full of the genuine Kentucky bourbon, and that night was lost to me forever.
I usually hunted up in those days, on reaching a city, a telegraph office, that I might announce to my folks at home, in this spirited way, that I had again returned to the earth for a brief visit to them. It was always a surprise to them to hear from me, after one of these secret-service trips; they never knew exactly where I was, of course, and could not make any calculations as to what point on the earth my balloon would land me next. It will be remembered that I had come upon them suddenly, after being widely advertised ashaving been hung by both the Rebels and our own officers at Fort Pickens, some time previously, from New York. This time it was from Cincinnati.
Being one of the boys—that is, a telegrapher—I usually had free access to the operating-rooms of the offices, where I frequently met with some of the fraternity with whom I was well acquainted—by wire. You know it is a fact that there are old acquaintances and even intimate friends amongst telegraphers, who have never met personally; their only method of knowing each other is through the mysterious and magnetic pulse of the electric wave over the wire.
In the operating room of the Cincinnati office, up on a dingy fourth floor, I found the night manager, a gentleman whom I had known familiarly by wire, though I had never seen him before. Introducing myself, I was at once made at home, and felt as if I had met the first friend since my return. After giving him a brief account of myself, I was courteously put in instant communication with some of my old associates in the neighboring city, with whom I was personally acquainted, and who had, by the way, heard of my mysterious disappearance and subsequent adventures. For the time being, all other business was laid to one side on that telegraph circuit and the entire system was turned over to me.
Remember, if you please, that I had not heard a single word from home for over eight months. I did not, of course, know that all were well. I almost dreaded to hear first that some one dear to me had died during my long absence. I had sent some communications through the blockade from Richmond, but this had been some time before I left East Tennessee.
Of course, no replies to these could be received by me. Now, if the reader will put himself in my own, or my father's place, each at the end of a wire five hundred miles long, and try to imagine, if he can, the agony of suspense and fear that hung over me at that hour, he will realize, in part, my feelings. My nerves were at such a tension that, figuratively speaking, they were strung out as long as that wire, that reached over miles of mountain and plain to my Pennsylvania home. With my own hand trembling on the telegraph key I sent my own message, as follows:
"To father: I am here safe; are all well at home?"