A party with bloodhounds now came over from the mainland in search of him. He was soon observed, but broke away from them, and ran around the lower end of the island, wading in the shallow water, and in this way threw the hounds off his track; then he plunged into a dense thicket, with which the island was covered, and again ascended a tree. There, for a long time, he remained securely concealed, while his pursuers searched the whole island, being frequently under the very tree whose high foliage effectually screened him from the sight of dogs and men. At last they abandoned the search in despair, concluding that he had, by some means, left the island, and slowly took their departure to the shore to concert new plans of search. Two little boys, who came along merely for curiosity, were all that still lingered behind.

At length, in their childish prattle, one of them said he saw a great bunch on a tree. The other looked—shifted his position—looked again, and exclaimed that it was a man! This alarmed them both, and they called aloud, announcing the discovery to their friends on shore. The latter instantly returned, and Andrews, seeing himself observed, dropped from the tree, ran to the lower end of the island, took a small log, with a limb for a paddle, and shoved into the stream, hoping to reach the opposite shore before he could be overtaken. But there was another party with a skiff, lower down the river, who saw him, and rowed out to meet him. Thus enclosed, there was no hope, and he surrendered.

He was in a most wretched condition, having eaten nothing since he left the jail. His feet were all cut and bleeding from running over the sharp stones, and his back and shoulders were parched and blistered from exposure, unprotected, to the rays of the sun. He said he felt so miserable that the thought of the certain death, to which he then resigned himself, had no further terror for him.

He was brought back to Chattanooga, where a blacksmith welded a pair of heavy clevises on his ankles, and connected them with a chain only about eighteen inches in length. He had then but few more days to live, and his confinement was most rigid. They prepared a scaffold for him at Chattanooga, but the indications of an advance by Mitchel, induced them to change the death scene to Atlanta. All the way down to that place he was taunted with his approaching doom by the mobs who surrounded every station. Our eight comrades accompanied him to Atlanta, but parted as soon as they arrived—they going to prison, and he to the place of execution. He was compelled to walk, all ironed as he was, and the clanking of his chains no doubt made sweet music in the ears of these human bloodhounds.

He displayed great firmness when led to the place of execution, and mounted the scaffold without a tremor. When swung off, the rope by which he was suspended, stretched so that his feet came to the ground, but, nothing disconcerted, these wretches dug the earth away from under him and completed the murder! Thus died a good and brave man, at the early age of thirty-three, by the hands of rebels, for the crime of loving and trying to serve his country! He was engaged to be married to a young lady of his own adopted State the same month in which he suffered death on the scaffold!

It is now time to return to Wollam, whom we left outside of the jail-fence, trying to get away from Chattanooga.

He ran down to the river side, and seeing no way of crossing himself, hit on the brilliant ruse of making them believe that he was across. To this end he threw off his coat and vest, dropping them on the bank of the river, and then, after walking a few rods in the water to elude the hounds, quietly slipped back, and hid in a dense thicket of canes and rushes. He heard his pursuers on the bank above him, and all around, talking of their various plans. At last they found the clothes, and at once concluded that he had taken to the river. Then they took the bloodhounds over to the other side, and searched for the place of his exit from the water. The dogs could not find that, as might be expected, and then, after a due time spent in consultation, they concluded that he was drowned, and departing much comforted, searched no more for him.

After spending a day of most anxious suspense, the approach of night gave him an opportunity of leaving his hiding-place. He now cautiously made his way down the river on the Chattanooga side. At length he found a canoe, in which he rowed at night, and when morning came, he would sink it, and hide in the bushes; then in the evening raise it, and again pursue his way. Twice he passed the extempore gun-boat Mitchel had made, but feared it was some secession craft, and therefore crept cautiously by in the shadow of the shore, without being discovered. At last he thought he was beyond the danger of probable capture, and went boldly forward in the day time.

This was a fatal mistake. A band of cavalry, who were camped almost within our lines, saw him, and procuring a boat, came out to meet him. He was unable to escape, and thus the poor fellow was captured on the very brink of safety. He at first tried to persuade them that he was a Confederate, but, unfortunately, a Lieutenant Edwards, who had assisted in capturing him the first time, happened to be present, and at once recognized him. He was soon after taken to Atlanta, where the rest of the party then were.



CHAPTER X.

Sorrow for Andrews—Prepare for Trial—Charges and Specifications—Plan of Defence—Incidents of Trial—Encouragement—Not Allowed to Hear Pleading—Lawyers' Plea—Seven Tried—Mitchel Dissolves the Court—Tied Again—A Saucy Reply—Advantage of Sickness—Fry Deceived—Revolting Inhumanity—Fry's Capture—Starve to Atlanta—Taunts of the Mob—Atlanta Prison—A Kind Jailor.

We, who were at Knoxville, read of the recapture of Andrews with the most poignant regret, though we knew not yet that he had received the sentence of death. Of Wollam we heard nothing.

We were well supplied with papers here, as there were plenty of Union people who ministered to our wants. One day we received a paper containing an account of the execution of Andrews. It was awful news to us. We had been engaged, just before, in all kinds of games and story-telling, for we were always merry, and never suffered ourselves to indulge in gloomy forebodings. But when this news came, all noise and merriment were hushed, and we passed a whole day in the most heartfelt mourning. We all loved our leader, and would willingly have engaged in the most desperate enterprise to save his life; but, alas! he was gone, and there was no chance even for that vengeance for which our souls thirsted.

Before we had been long at Knoxville, we were notified to prepare for trial. We requested that we should all be tried at once, as our cases were precisely alike. When this was not granted, we next asked that one might be tried, and his sentence be the sentence of the whole party. But this too, was refused, with the reply that they knew their own business best. We were forced to accept this decision, though we could not imagine why it was that they should thus insist on trying but one at a time. The only reason that I can yet conjecture for this proceeding is, that it would have looked too absurd to arraign twenty-one, or even twelve men, all in a body, and from one brigade, as spies.

They allowed us the privilege of counsel, and we employed two good Union men, Colonels Baxter and Temple, who volunteered their services. We were each to pay them one hundred and fifty dollars, and as fast as we were tried, to give our notes for that amount.

The charges and specifications of William Campbell were first handed in. He was a citizen, but claimed to be a soldier, and we endorsed his position. The charge against all who were brought to trial was for "lurking in and around Confederate camps as spies, for the purpose of obtaining information." Not a word was said of taking the cars, or of anything we really did do.

Our plan of defence has been partly indicated before. It was to tell just who we were, and what we had done, with the exceptions of the pranks we had played on the rebel citizens coming down, and to claim that we were United States soldiers, detailed on a military expedition without our consent, and therefore entitled to the protection accorded to regular prisoners of war. This was put into words, and read on the trial as the acknowledgement of the party while pleading "not guilty" to the charge. The only evidence they had was of the men who pursued us on the train, and also of those who afterward arrested us; but of course none of these knew anything of our lurking around the camps.

George D. Wilson related a ludicrous incident that occurred when he was on trial, and which fitly illustrates the desire they had to convict us. It was of a young lieutenant belonging to the court-martial, who requested to be sworn, saying that he could tell of at least one place we had passed the Confederate guards. On his request being complied with, he testified that we crossed their picket-line at the ferry, on the evening of our first arrival at Chattanooga. Immediately the president of the court arose, and said that he commanded the guard that day, and no guard was placed at the ferry. The whole court was instantly in a roar of laughter, and the confusion of our would-be convictor may be better imagined than described.

Our lawyers were delighted with the course we took, and said that it had deranged all the plans of the prosecution, and that they had not a particle of evidence against us; that if we were convicted now, it would be through mere prejudice and perjury on the part of the court.

As the trial of different ones proceeded, we had still greater encouragement from the court itself. Members called on us, and told us to keep in good heart, as there was no evidence before them to convict any one. This cheered us somewhat, but there was still one thing which I did not like, and which looked as if something was wrong. The court would not let our boys be present to hear the pleading of counsel on either side, though they urgently requested it. They could neither hear what our lawyers had to say for them, nor what the Judge Advocate urged against them. This seemed still stranger, because Andrews had not been debarred this privilege. But they used our soldiers with even less show of justice than had been accorded to him.

After three or four had been tried, one of our lawyers visited the prison, and read to us the plea which he said he had read to the court. It was an able paper. I still remember its principal features. He contended that our being dressed in citizens' clothes was nothing more than what the Confederate government had expressly authorized, and that it was done by all the guerillas in the service of the Confederacy, whenever it was for their interest. And he cited the instance of General Morgan having dressed his men in Federal uniform, and passed them off as belonging to the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, by which means he succeeded in reaching a railroad and damaging it. Also that our government had captured some of these very men, and treated them as prisoners of war. This instance was mentioned to show that our being dressed in citizens' clothes did not take from us the right to be treated as United States soldiers. The plea went on further to state that we had told the object of our expedition; that it was a purely military one, for the destruction of communications, and as such, entirely lawful according to the rules of war. What reply the Judge Advocate made to this, we never had the means of ascertaining.

The trials proceeded rapidly. One man was taken out each day, and in about an hour returned. The table in the court room was covered with bottles, newspapers, and novels, and the court passed its time during trial in discussing these. This was very well if the trial was, as they said, a mere matter of formality; but if it was a trial in earnest, on which depended issues of life or death, it was most heartless conduct.

At last the number of seven was reached, and they would probably have proceeded in trying others, had not General Mitchel, who was continually troubling them, now advanced, and shelled Chattanooga from the opposite side of the Tennessee river. This at once broke up the court-martial, and sent the officers in hot haste to their regiments to resist his progress. Soon after, General Morgan advanced through Cumberland Gap, and threatened Knoxville, which also rendered it necessary to remove us.

They came in with ropes and began to tie us. We did not at first understand this, and some supposed we were to be taken out for execution; but we soon became convinced that it was only a change of place. They arranged us for transportation by first binding our hands together; then, fixing our arms securely in the loops of long ropes, tied them firmly to our sides, after which we were coupled two and two. Ropes were used in fastening us instead of irons as before, because they had borrowed the latter for some Union prisoners, who had just been sent to Richmond; therefore we had to be content with a most liberal allowance of cotton rope. While they were thus arranging our manacles, I had a most amusing passage-at-words with the adjutant who was superintending the operation. I said to him as politely as I could:

"I suppose, sir, our destination is not known?"

"It is not known to you at any rate, sir," was the gruff rejoinder.

This was noticed by the whole party, and I felt rather beaten; but a moment later came my chance for revenge. He turned again to me, and said, in a dictatorial manner:

"Who was it that run your engine through?"

I bowed and returned in the blandest tone, "That is not known to you at any rate, Sir."

All around roared with laughter, and the adjutant, reddening to the eyes, turned away, muttering that he believed I was the engineer myself!

When everything was in readiness, we bade an adieu to the capital of down-trodden East Tennessee. Oh! what bitter memories cluster around that old gloomy building. It has been one of the principal instruments in crushing the life and loyalty out of the hearts of a brave, but unfortunate people. May the day soon come when the suffering of East Tennessee will be richly repaid on the heads of its guilty authors!

While we remained here, our fare was of the most scanty character. We received it only twice a day, and then in homeopathic doses. We continually suffered with hunger while we were well. I, myself, became quite sick during our imprisonment here, and continued so for most of the summer. Several others were in the same condition. This was rather an advantage, for when sick we did not so much mind the scantiness of our diet.

A number of Tennesseeans were removed with us. Among them was Captain Fry and Mr. Pierce. In conversation with the former, I learned the full particulars of his history, some incidents of which I had heard before leaving our camp. He had raised a company of his neighbors, and running the gauntlet of guarded roads, succeeded in reaching our army in Kentucky. Here he was elected captain, and remained for some time. After a while, the general in command wished him to go into Tennessee, and there destroy the bridges on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad; then to raise the loyal citizens of that vicinity, and hold the country till our forces could arrive. He refused to go, until assured of support from McClellan himself, who was at that time (the fall of 1861) in command of the whole United States army, and who promised that a column should advance as soon as Fry succeeded. With this assurance, he departed on his perilous mission. He aroused the Union men in both Virginia and Tennessee, burned the bridges, and thus for a time destroyed the most important rebel line of communication; and, with a force of fifteen hundred men, held the entire country embraced in his operations, and even seriously threatened Knoxville itself. Now was the time for our forces to have struck the decisive blow, and not only have redeemed East Tennessee from its chains, but also severed the rebellion in halves! It was perfectly practicable. A large body lay near Camp Dick Robinson, with only a trifling force in front to impede its progress. But in the meantime, McClellan had changed his plans, and without warning Fry, left him and his brave companions to their fate. The struggle was a brief one; the secessionists, thus left to themselves, concentrated an overwhelming force against him. Several skirmishes were fought, and finally the Union force was compelled to disperse. Some of them succeeded in reaching our lines in Kentucky. Others were caught, and several of these were hung without a trial! Such were some of the murders that first rendered General Leadbetter notorious!

One of these cases is almost too horrible for belief. I would hesitate to record it, were I not assured of its truth by the testimony of eyewitnesses separated by hundreds of miles. It was of a man named named Whan, who, on being arrested, acknowledged that he helped to burn the bridges, but refused to describe his companions. For this, he was put into a barrel driven full of small, sharp-pointed nails, and rolled down a steep hill—then taken out, all bleeding, and hung! This was on Saturday and he, with his companions, was allowed to hang till Monday night, when some of his friends, at the risk of their own lives, came and took them down! Should we compromise with such fiends in human shape, and purchase their fellowship again, or give them the puishment that injured humanity demands?

Fry passed the whole winter in the wild mountains with which Tennessee abounds, and in the spring he again gathered his neighbors together, a regiment strong, and tried to reach the Union lines. Near the border, he was attacked by a superior rebel force, and after a severe contest, his band was dispersed, himself wounded and taken prisoner. This was on the 5th of March, and he remained in solitary confinement until he joined us on the 13th of June. He was an uneducated man, but possessed of great natural ability, and the most undaunted courage, with a heart as tender and sympathetic as a child's.

We took no rations along, and were obliged to starve through, as we now had no guerillas along to buy us pies. On the way, the populace taunted us with Andrews' death, and charitably hoped that we might soon meet the same fate. But some of the officers talked with us in a friendly spirit, assuring us that we would not be hurt. This produced some impression, and taken in connection with what had been told us by members of the court-martial, and others at Knoxville, made us quite hopeful.

When we neared the Atlanta city jail, which was to be our abode for many weary months, a crowd gathered as usual, and a man who called himself mayor of the city began to insult Captain Fry, telling him that he knew him to be a rascal in his own country, and that he hoped soon to have the pleasure of hanging him. Then turning to us, he boasted that he had put the rope around Andrews' neck, and was waiting and anxious to do the same for us!

This prison was smaller than that at Knoxville, but was still a large edifice. The lower story was occupied by the jailor and his family. The upper contained four rooms, of which we, with Captain Fry, occupied one. The Tennesseeans were put into another, just across the entry from us. Our comrades, who had been left at Chattanooga, were in another; and the last one, which was on the same side as ours, was frequently occupied by negroes who had been in search of the North Star.

For some time here, our rations were comparatively good and abundant. But after awhile, the task of feeding us was taken from the jailor, who had at first assumed it, and then our fare became worse than it ever had been before. The jailor himself was a kind man, and rather of Union sentiments. He showed us all the favor in his power, and, indeed, became so much suspected, that an odious old man named Thoer was hired to watch him. The constant vigilance of this antiquated scoundrel, with the superintendence of the officers of the guard, who were always at hand, prevented the jailor from befriending us as much as his heart dictated.

Here we remained for a week in quietness and hope, thinking the worst of our trials were past. Little did we foresee how fearful a storm was soon to burst over us.



CHAPTER XI.

Cavalry Approach—Seven Removed from the Room—Suspense—Sentence of Death—Heart-rending Separation—Death and the Future—Not Prepared—Inhuman Haste—The Tragedy—Speech on the Scaffold—Breaking Ropes—Enemies Affected—Gloom of Survivors—Prayer.

One day while we were very merry, amusing ourselves with games and stories, we saw a squadron of cavalry approaching. This did not at first excite any attention, for it was a common thing to see bodies of horsemen in the streets; but soon we observed them halt at our gate, and surround the prison. What could this mean?

A moment after, the clink of the officers' swords was heard as they ascended the stairway, and we knew that something unusual was about to take place. They paused at our door, threw it open, called the names of our seven companions, and took them out to the room opposite, putting the Tennesseeans in with us. One of our boys, named Robinson, was sick of a fever, and had to be raised to his feet, and supported out of the room.

With throbbing hearts we asked one another the meaning of these strange proceedings. Some supposed they were to receive their acquittal; others, still more sanguine, believed they were taken out of the room to be paroled, preparatory to an exchange.

I was sick, too, but rose to my feet, oppressed with a nameless fear. A half crazy Kentuckian, who was with the Tennesseeans, came to me and wanted to play a game of cards. I struck the greasy pack out of his hands, and bade him leave me.

A moment after, the door opened, and George D. Wilson entered, his step firm and his form erect, but his countenance pale as death. Some one asked a solution of the dreadful mystery, in a whisper, for his face silenced every one.

"We are to be executed immediately," was the awful reply, whispered with thrilling distinctness. The others came in all tied, ready for the scaffold. Then came the farewells—farewells with no hope of meeting again in this world! It was a moment that seemed an age of measureless sorrow.

Our comrades were brave; they were soldiers, and had often looked death in the face on the battle-field. They were ready, if need be, to die for their country; but to die on the scaffold—to die as murderers die—seemed almost too hard for human nature to bear.

Then, too, the prospect of a future world, into which they were thus to be hurled without a moment's preparation, was black and appalling. Most of them had been careless, and had no hope beyond the grave. Wilson was a professed infidel, and many a time had argued the truth of the Christian religion with me for a half day at a time; but in this awful hour he said to me:

"Pittenger, I believe you are right, now! Oh! try to be better prepared when you come to die than I am." Then, laying his hand on my head with a muttered "God bless you," we parted.

Shadrack was profane and reckless, but good-hearted and merry. Now, turning to us with a voice, the forced calmness of which was more affecting than a wail of agony, he said:

"Boys, I am not prepared to meet Jesus."

When asked by some of us in tears to think of heaven, he answered, still in tones of thrilling calmness, "I'll try! I'll try! But I know I am not prepared."

Slavens, who was a man of immense strength and iron resolution, turned to his friend Buffum, and could only articulate, "Wife—children—tell"—when utterance failed.

Scott was married only three days before he came to the army, and the thought of his young and sorrowing wife nearly drove him to despair. He could only clasp his hands in silent agony.

Ross was the firmest of all. His eyes beamed with unnatural light, and there was not a tremor in his voice as he said, "Tell them at home, if any of you escape, that I died for my country, and did not regret it."

All this transpired in a moment, and even then the Marshal and other officers standing by him in the door, exclaimed:

"Hurry up there! come on! we can't wait!"

In this manner my poor comrades were hurried off. Robinson, who was too sick to walk, was dragged away with them. They asked leave to bid farewell to our other boys, who were confined in the adjoining room, but it was sternly refused!

Thus we parted. We saw the death cart containing our comrades drive off, surrounded by cavalry. In about an hour it came back empty. The tragedy was complete!

Later in the evening, the Provost-Marshal came to the prison, and, in reply to our questions, informed us that our friends "Had met their fate as brave men should die everywhere."

The next day we obtained from the guards, who were always willing to talk with us in the absence of the officers, full particulars of the seven-fold murder.

When our companions were mounted on the scaffold, Wilson asked permission to say a few words, which was granted—probably in the hope of hearing some confession which would justify them in the murder they were about to commit. But this was not his intention. It was a strange stand—a dying speech to a desperate audience, and under the most terrible circumstances.

But he was equal to the occasion. Unterrified by the near approach of death, he spoke his mind freely. He told them that "they were all in the wrong; that he had no hard feelings toward the Southern people for what they were about to do, because they had been duped by their leaders, and induced by them to engage in the work of rebellion. He also said, that though he was condemned as a spy, yet he was none, and they well knew it. He was only a soldier in the performance of the duty he had been detailed to do; that he did not regret to die for his country, but only regretted the manner of his death. He concluded by saying that they would yet live to regret the part they had taken in this rebellion, and would see the time when the old Union would be restored, and the flag of our country wave over the very ground occupied by his scaffold."

This made a deep impression on the minds of those who listened, and I often afterward heard it spoken of in terms of the highest admiration. When he ceased, the signal was given, and the traps fell![4]

[4] A refugee from the State of Georgia, now in this city, who witnessed the execution, but, from peculiar circumstances, does not make his name public, corroborates this statement, and adds, that these brave men were surrounded by three or four hundred guerillas and partisan rangers, as they called themselves, who disputed for the honor of being the executioners. The matter was settled by the party taking a vote, when twelve were selected as the favored ones. The rebel soldiers who perpetrated this outrageous murder, spent the rest of the day in spreeing and jollification, many of them writing to their friends at home an account of the pleasure they felt in assisting in the hanging of "seven blue-bellies," as they termed the Union soldiers.—Note from a Pamphlet entitled "Ohio Boys in Dixie," published in New York in April, 1863.

Five only remained dangling in the air; for two of the seven, Campbell and Slavens, being very heavy men, broke the ropes, and fell to the ground insensible. In a short time they recovered, and asked for a drink of water, which was given them. Then they requested an hour to pray before entering the future world which lay so near and dark before them. This last petition was indignantly refused, and as soon as the ropes could be adjusted, they were compelled to re-ascend the scaffold, and were again turned off!

The whole proceeding, from beginning to end, was marked by the most revolting haste. They seemed to wish, by thus affording no time to prepare for death, to murder soul and body both. Even the worst criminals in our country are allowed some weeks to ask for God's mercy, before they are thrust into his presence; but our poor boys, whose only crime was loving and trying to serve their country, were not allowed one moment! Could the barbarity of fiends go further?

That afternoon was one of deepest gloom for those who remained. We knew not how soon we might be compelled to follow in the same path, and drink the same bitter cup our comrades drank. Once during the trial we had offered to accept the award of the court in one of the cases as the sentence of all, since we could not see the slightest reason for leaving some and taking others. At that time, however, we believed that all would be acquitted. Now every hope had vanished.

But even without the addition of fear for ourselves, the parting from our loved friends, whose voices were still ringing in our ears, while they themselves had passed beyond the gates of death into the unknown land of shadows, was enough to rend the stoutest heart. There were tears then from eyes that shrank before no danger.

But I could not shed a tear. A cloud of burning heat rushed to my head that seemed to scorch through every vein. For hours I scarcely knew where I was, or the loss I had sustained. Every glance around the room, which revealed the vacant places of our friends, would bring our sorrow freshly on us again. Thus the afternoon passed away in grief too deep for words. Slowly and silently the moments wore on, and no one ventured to whisper of hope.

At last some voice suggested that we should seek relief in prayer. The very idea seemed to convey consolation, and was eagerly accepted. Soon we knelt around the bare walls of our strange sanctuary, and with bleeding hearts drew near the throne of God. Captain Fry first led us, and mingled sobs with strong supplications. Then each followed in his turn, with but one or two exceptions, and even these were kneeling with the rest. As the twilight deepened, our devotional exercises grew more solemn. In the lonely shadow of coming night, with eternity thus open tangibly before us, and standing on its very brink, we prayed with a fervor that those who dwell in safety can scarcely conceive. We besought our Father only that we might be prepared for the fate that was inevitable, and that as he had led us through great trials, he would be our Comforter, and sustain us still. Who will say that such prayer was not effectual! It was heard in heaven. Even there, in that prison, surrounded by an armed guard, amid the gloom of coming danger, the peace of God, like a dove bearing the olive branch, descended into every broken and believing heart. It was a holy hour, and if the angels above ever bend from their bright mansions to comfort human sorrow, I do believe that they were then hovering near. From that hour I date the birth of an immortal hope, and I believe that many of my companions also, on looking back, will realize that they passed from death to life in that dreary prison-room!



CHAPTER XII.

Religious Experience—Contraband Assistance—Intelligence of Negroes—Love of Freedom—Wollam's Recapture—A Friendly Preacher—Obtain Books—Disgusting Diet—Plays—Debates—Reading Hours—Envy the Birds—Dreams of Home—Telegraphing—Friends from our Army—Hope Deferred—Union Society—Difficulties of Tobacco-chewers—Precious Books.

From this time forward, we had religious exercises each morning and evening, and they were a blessed consolation to us—sustaining our hearts when every earthly avenue of hope had closed. Frequently we startled the guards who were around us, by the hymns we sang, for now the character of our songs was changed, and our thoughts and aspirations began to point upward. It is a delicate matter to speak of one's own religious experience, but in the hope of doing good, I will venture. At first my hopes were not bright. For days and weeks an impenetrable cloud seemed to rest over me, and to vail heaven from my view; sometimes for a moment it would give way, and show light and peace beyond, then close up, thick, and dark, and lowering, as ever. But at last the day gradually arose, and I was enabled to rejoice in hopes the world can neither give nor take away.

But these were long and weary days. Our room was of greater size than that in Chattanooga, and had larger windows, yet the heat was fearfully oppressive. Our other boys were put in the room with us, which made fifteen in all. One of them, named Wood, was very sick. He had been prostrated with the fever for nearly a month, and at this time his life was despaired of. This was not thought to be any great misfortune to him by the others, who administered consolation in a style worthy of the best of Job's friends. They reasoned, "Now, if you get well, you will only be hung. You had better try to die yourself, and thus you will outwit them." Wood, however, did not relish the counsel, and getting contrary, he recovered, "just for spite," as he often declared. He yet lives to laugh over the advice that his despairing associates gave him.

We had friends in the waiters of the prison, though their faces were black. They assisted us by every means in their power. It was not long till they found that there was nothing we desired so much as to read the news; and they taxed their ingenuity to gratify us. They would wait till the jailor or some of the guard had finished reading a paper, and laid it down, and then slyly purloin it. When meal time came, it would be put into the bottom of the pan in which our food was brought, and thus handed in to us. The paper had to be returned in the same way, to avoid suspicion.[5] The guards and officers would talk with us, and always finding us possessed of a knowledge of the events of the war, at least as far as the Southern papers gave it, came at last to think we had an instinctive idea of news—something like what the bee has of geometrical forms! They never suspected the negroes, though for several months it was only through their instrumentality that we could obtain any definite information of what was going on in the world without.

[5] In one of these papers I noticed a description of two Federal officers who had escaped from Macon, Georgia. It was Captain Geer, with whom I have lectured in several places since my return, and his comrade, Lieutenant Collins. Their adventures are recorded in a book called "Beyond the Lines."

Having found the negroes thus intelligent and useful, far beyond what I had supposed possible, I questioned them about other matters. They were better informed than I had given them credit for, and knew enough to disbelieve all the stories rebels told. When the whites were not present, they laughed at the grand victories the papers were publishing every day, but rather leaned to the opposite extreme, and gave them less credit than was their due, for they would believe that the Federal troops were always victorious. Even after McClellan's repulse before Richmond, they continued, for weeks, to assure us that he had the town, and had beaten the rebels in every engagement!

They imagined that all the Northern troops were chivalrous soldiers, fighting for the universal rights of man, and, of course, they esteemed it a high privilege to contribute to the comfort of such noble men. Some of them had imbibed the idea, which is common with the poor whites of the South, that Lincoln is a negro or a mulatto; but most of them placed so little credit in the assertions of their masters, that they disbelieved this story also. But they never wavered in their belief that the Union troops would conquer, and that the result of the victory would be their freedom. I had extensive opportunities for observing them, as the room next to us was appropriated to the safe-keeping of negroes, and I never yet saw one who did not cherish an ardent desire for freedom, and wish and long for the time when the triumph of the national forces would place the coveted boon within his grasp.

One morning our jailor came to our room, and asked us if we knew John Wollam. We hesitated to answer, as we could not fathom the motives of the inquiry. But even while we deliberated among ourselves, John came up, and ended our doubts by greeting us heartily. He had been parted from us some three weeks, and in that time had suffered most incredible hardships in the manner I have narrated before. He joined us in our prayer-meeting with much good will. Now all the survivors of our party were together again.

There is one Georgia minister I will always remember with gratitude, not that he was a Union man, for I have no evidence that he was, but because of his generosity to us. He was a Methodist clergyman in Atlanta, by the name of McDonnell. He came to visit us at the suggestion of our old jailor, who, seeing us engaged in religious exercises, naturally supposed we would like to talk with a preacher. We received him kindly, and an interesting conversation took place. Some of the boys were slightly offended by his first prayer, in which he petitioned that our lives might be spared, if consistent with the interests of the Confederacy. We did not very well like the condition, but said nothing, and were afterward rewarded for our complacency. At my request, he loaned us a few books, and when these were read through, gave us still others, until we had read nearly his entire library. Those only who know what a terrible weariness it is to pass time without any definite employment, and with no means of relieving the hours that hang so heavily on their hands, or of diverting their thoughts from the one never-ending round, can form any idea of the great boon that a few good books bestowed on us.

Our provision here became worse and less, until it very nearly reached the starvation point. For some months, the only food we received was a very short allowance of corn-bread, baked with all the bran in it, and without salt, with a little pork, mostly spoiled! Frequently the pork would be completely covered with maggots, and disgusting as it was, hunger compelled us to eat it! Even then, there was not enough of this miserable fare to satisfy our appetites! What would those who spend their time in denouncing our government as the only enemy, and sympathize with "our mistaken Southern brethren," who have been alienated by the misconduct of the loyal States, say, if these "brethren" had subjected them to the same treatment. Their sympathies would hardly have survived the trial.

Dreary as the days were here, yet we did not surrender ourselves to gloomy forebodings and vain lamentings over our misfortunes. Although the fate of our companions seemed suspended over our heads by a single hair, yet we shunned despondency, and labored to provide such amusements as would relieve us of the heavy tedium of our prison-life.

On that terrible day of execution, we threw away our cards, which before had been played almost day and night, and resolved to engage no more in that game. But the necessity of doing something prompted us to search for new pastimes. We carved a checker-board on the floor, and it was occupied from morning till evening by eager players. We all became very expert in checkers. To provide a more intellectual amusement, we also formed a debating society, and spent hour after hour in discussing quaint questions of every kind. Many were the long-winded speeches that were made, for time was no object; and if no one was convinced of a new position, we still had the consolation of knowing that there was no lost labor, where the labor itself was a pleasure.

In order to enjoy to the fullest extent the books we had so fortunately procured, we appointed regular reading hours—two in the forenoon, and the same in the afternoon. During this time, no one was allowed even to whisper. Some of our boys were a little wild and restless at times, and would break the rules; but generally our order was excellent. We gained much useful knowledge during these hours of intellectual employment in our novel school.

But all our efforts to pleasantly while away those terribly long summer days were in vain. The tediousness, and oppressiveness, and vain longing for action, would press down on us closer and closer. Brown, who was one of the most restless of mortals, would amuse himself, as long as he could endure it, at the pastimes we had devised, then suddenly cease playing, and commence pacing the floor like a caged bear; when this, too, grew unendurable, he would stop at the door, and say, in the most piteous tones (of course meant only for us to hear) "O! kind sir, please let me out!" The feeling he expressed was shared by all. Never before could I realize the full value of liberty, and the horror of confinement. Even in the prisons where we had hitherto been, the novelty of our situation, the frequency of our removals, and the bustle and excitement of the trial, prevented the blank monotony of imprisonment from settling down on us as it did here, when the first few weeks had rolled by, and no intimations of our fate reached us. It was like the stillness and the death that brood over the Dead Sea.

We would sit at the windows, in the sultry noon, and look out through the bars, at the free birds as they flew past, seemingly so merry and full of joyous life, and foolishly wish that we, too, were birds, that we might fly away, and be at peace.

At long intervals, two of us would be permitted to go down into the yard, to do our washing. One day it came my turn; it was then three months since I had stepped out of my room, and the unobscured vision of open air and sky made it seem like another world. I remember looking up at the snowy clouds, my eyes almost dazzled by the unusual light, and wondering, as I gazed on their beautiful and changing forms, whether beyond them lay a world of rest, in which were neither wars nor prisons. And with the thought came the fear that if I was once more permitted to mingle as a free man, away from the immediate pressure of danger, with the busy throng of life, I would forget my prison-made vows, and thus lose my claim to a world of never-fading light. Such a sense of weakness and helplessness came over me, that it was with a feeling almost of relief that I returned once more to my dark and narrow room, where the contrast between freedom and bondage was less palpably forced on my view.

All this time we hardly permitted ourselves to indulge a hope of ever getting home again. The friends we once knew in happier days, seemed separated from us by an impassable gulf; and when our minds would call up before us the scenes and loved ones of home, it was like treading on forbidden ground. But when the miseries of the day were passed, and we were wrapped in that sweet slumber that ever visits the weary alike in prison and palace, there was no longer any restraint, and we were once more at home—once more in the enjoyment of love and freedom.

Often have I seen in dreams the streets and buildings of my own town rise before me, and have felt a thrilling pleasure in contemplating them, as I wended my way towards the sacred precincts for ever hallowed by affection. But the waking from these incursions into the realms of paradise was sad beyond measure, and the cold, bare walls of prison never looked half so dreary, as when seen in contrast with the visions which had just been dispersed by the morning light.

An anecdote here will fitly illustrate the affection and exaggerated reverence we felt for what we, to the great annoyance of the guards and citizens, insisted on calling "God's country." I had been reading one of Bascom's sermons, from a book which the minister had loaned us, on "The Joys of Heaven." All listened to his magnificent description with the greatest of interest, and when it was finished, some one started the query as to whether they would rather be in heaven, safe from all harm, or in Cincinnati. After a debate which was conducted with great animation on both sides, the majority concluded, no doubt honestly, that they would rather be in Cincinnati—for a while, at least!

In order to keep thoroughly posted, we opened communications to every room in the prison. Those on the other side of the entry, we reached by means of a small stick, attached to a string, and thrown under the door. There was a chimney came up between our room and the other on the same side of the entry; each of our stove-pipes led into this chimney at points directly opposite, and by taking off the pipes, we could talk through, but there was danger of being overheard. To obviate this, we split a long lath off the side of our room, in such a way as to be able to take it down and put it up at pleasure. This we used for passing notes backward and forward through this concealed passage, and it became very useful when we afterward contemplated an escape.

One morning the guard brought up some prisoners, and as soon as they had retired, we resorted to our usual method of telegraphing, to ascertain their character. To our great surprise and pleasure, we found that two of them were from the Tenth Wisconsin, a regiment in our own brigade. They told us that we had long since been given up for dead,[6] and that our comrades were vowing vengeance for our murder. They were quite surprised to find so many of us still alive. The other two were regulars, who had been captured on the coast of Florida. These soldiers remained with us till we were taken to Richmond. From them we gained a complete detail of the movements of our army since we had left it.

[6] All our friends at home believed we were executed. My obituary notice was published in our county paper, and the Rev. Alexander Clark was invited to preach my funeral sermon, which providential circumstances alone prevented.

One of the hardest things we had to endure was the rejoicing that accompanied McClellan's flight from Richmond. Before this occurrence, the secessionists were down-spirited and despairing; but afterward they were jubilant. About the last of May, a prominent officer said to me: "Any other officer of yours but McClellan, would now take Richmond, for we have not men enough at present to offer successful resistance; but he will fortify each step of his way, and lay grand plans, and thus delay until we can raise men enough by the conscript law to defeat him." I did not then think that his prediction would be verified, and hoped that McClellan would show that he was not delaying for nothing; but when I heard of the precipitate retreat to Harrison's Landing, I was ready to confess that the Confederate officer had been more penetrating in his views than myself. From this moment, the tide of victory seemed to set to the southward side, with a still deeper and stronger flow, till the next spring, when it returned again.

I can preserve no order of time in relating the events of these tedious mouths, which slowly rolled away their ponderous length. It was almost a perfect isolation from the world, with little hope of ever again mingling in its busy throng. As each month closed, we were startled by the thought we were still alive—that the bolt had not yet descended—and we surmised and wondered how much longer it could be delayed. At last a small ray of hope began to arise—very feeble at first—based on the long and incomprehensible reprieve we were enjoying. As week after week glided tediously away, marked only by the monotony which is more wearying to heart and frame than the most severe anguish, this hope grew stronger; yet still so little assured that the most trifling circumstance, such as strengthening the guard, or a visit from the officers, was sufficient to blast the hopes we were beginning so fondly to cherish.

I saw many instances of the iron rule with which the Southern Union men are kept in subjection. The strictest espionage was maintained through every order of society. The spies of the government would pretend to be Union men, and thus worm themselves into loyal societies; and when they had learned the names of the members, would denounce them to the government. It was not necessary to be particular about truth, as the suspicion of guilt, in their mode of procedure, was just as good as its positive evidence. One day seventy men and twelve women were arrested, and sent in irons to Richmond! Many other instances of this remorseless tyranny will be given hereafter.

Most of our boys were tobacco-chewers, and were driven to numberless expedients to obtain that which some of them declared they valued more than their daily food. There were several articles of which the rebels had not seen fit to rob us, such as handkerchiefs and a few vests; These were now sold to the surrounding guards. Andrews had given Hawkins a very large, fine coat, and as there seemed to be no prospect of taking it home, he sold it to the jailor, and invested the proceeds in tobacco, apples, &c., which he generously divided among his comrades.

I wanted books more than anything else, and sold my vest and a pocket-book the rebels had left when they took what was in it, and bought three books—all gems—"Paradise Lost," "Pilgrim's Progress," and "Pollock's Course of Time." These I nearly committed to memory. It was a profitable employment, while I am sure it very much lightened and shortened these interminable days.



CHAPTER XIII.

Contemplated Escape—Startling Intelligence—Our Doom Pronounced from Richmond—Hesitate no Longer—Our Plan—All Ready—Supper—Farewell—Life or Death—Seize the Jailor—Guns Wrested from Guards—Alarm Given—Scaling the Wall—Guards Fire—Terrible Chase—Six Recaptured—Wood and Wilson Reach the Gulf—Dorsey's Narrative—Porter's Account—Boasting of the Guards—Barlow's Cruel Death.

We frequently talked and plotted about making our escape. All agreed, that if they should proceed to try us, we should make one desperate effort for life; for we had learned by sad experience, that they did not take the trouble of going to the formality of a trial unless they were fully resolved to hang the accused. But as time rolled on, and the dreaded preparations for trial were not made, the imprisonment became daily more unendurable. The food was of a poorer quality, and more scanty at that. It was, therefore, proposed that we should make a bold strike for freedom. The question was a serious one. On the one hand was the bright prize of liberty—of which none ever knew the value better than we,—shining ahead as the sure reward of success. But on the other hand was the danger of failure. We were in the very center of the Confederacy, and the nearest point where we could reach our lines was two hundred miles distant. This journey had to be made through the enemy's country, and by traveling at night, with no guide but the stars, which the envious clouds might conceal from us for many successive nights, as they had done before. Then there was the probability that those who were retaken would be mercilessly dealt with, if not instantly put to death.

It was a grave question. And then the great heat of the days, added to our enfeebled condition, caused by the close confinement, and the meagre character of our diet, as well as the actual sickness of some of our party, including myself, induced me to believe that the attempt should at least be postponed. Still, day by day, we discussed the subject. It afforded us an inexhaustible theme for conversation, and had this further advantage that all the knowledge possessed by the party collectively was communicated to each one. Besides, the plans were laid by which to avoid pursuit, and all possible information respecting the country obtained from the guards and negroes, and then we felt quite prepared for the issue when it should come.

At last we received a piece of intelligence which made us resolve to hesitate no longer. Colonel Lee, Provost-Marshal, came to our room one morning, and after talking some time, told us that he had just received a letter from the Secretary of War, asking why all the party had not been executed. He had answered that he did not know, but referred him to the court-martial which had tried our comrades at Knoxville. This court had dispersed long before, and I feel hopeful that many of the perjured villains have fallen beneath the avenging bullets of Union soldiers! So the Secretary could not have obtained much information from them. A few days after, we received still further and more alarming information.

One of the regular soldiers in the adjoining room overheard the officer of the guard telling the jailor that Colonel Lee had received another letter from the Secretary, ordering our immediate execution. This was duly telegraphed to us through the stove-pipe, and at once put an end to all our deliberations. The time had come for us to save ourselves or perish.

Quietly we sat down and arranged our plans. We were in an upper story, and several locked doors had to be opened before we could reach the ground. There were seven guards keeping watch over us, and a large force near by ready to rush to their assistance at the slightest notice. It was evident that our only chance of success lay in moving very quickly and silently. We could not leave at night, for then all the doors were closed, and we had no means of opening them. The best time was at supper, which was brought a little before sundown, and by starting then, we would soon have the cover of darkness to conceal our flight. The soldiers in the next room, and a deserter who was confined with them, agreed to go with us, if we would open their door. Only one of the Tennesseeans, named Barlow, would risk the trial, although they were anxious for the movement before it was seriously contemplated.

The plan on which we finally settled, was to seize the jailor when he came to take out the buckets in which our supper was brought, holding him so that he could make no noise, take the keys from him, and let Buffum unlock the doors and release the remaining prisoners. While this was being done, our other boys would divide into two squads, and, cautiously descending the stairway, pounce upon the guards, and take their guns from them; then, at a signal, we would all come down, and march, thus armed, on our homeward journey. We very nearly succeeded in our programme.

The second day after receiving the news, all our plans were completed. We had patched our clothes as best we could, and made cloth moccasins to protect our feet, for many of our shoes were altogether worn out. Now we only awaited the approach of the appointed hour. Slowly the sun rolled down the west; slowly the shadows lengthened in the east, till the gloomy shade of the jail had nearly reached the crest of the hill which usually marked our supper time. The eventful hour drew nigh. We bade one another a solemn farewell, for we knew not when we should meet again on earth, or how many of us might be cold and lifeless before the stars shone out. Captain Fry, who was tender-hearted as a child, wept at the parting. He had two coats, and, as he could not take both with him, he gave one to me. I needed it extremely, for I was very nearly destitute of clothing.

Everything was now in readiness. I had piled up the books of the minister, some of which we still retained, in the corner, and had written him a note thanking him for the use of them. We had on our coats, and had a few canes, and bottles, and pieces of lath, taken out of the wall, which were to be used in the fight down stairs, if necessary. Then came the supper. It was brought in by negroes, the jailor standing at the door. Our preparations for leaving were not noticed. We ate in silence, stowing part of the bread in our pockets for future emergencies. It so happened that the old watchman, whom everybody hated, was away. It was well for him, as he would have received little mercy.

After the jailor had given their food to the inmates of the other rooms, he came back to ours. We asked him to let Barlow come over and stay with us that night. He consented, and soon Barlow was with us. Now was the time for action.

It was a thrilling moment! On the action of the next few minutes hung the issues, probably, of life or death. I confess that for one moment the blood flowed to my heart with a sharp throb of pain. The others were pale, but determined. As for Captain Fry, who was to initiate the movement, and whom I had seen weeping a few minutes before—he was perfectly calm, and his face wore a pleasant smile. He stepped out of the door as if it was the most natural action in the world, and said, very quietly:

"A pleasant evening, Mr. Turner."

"Yes, rather pleasant," responded the latter, looking as if he could not understand what Fry was out there for.

"We feel like taking a little walk this evening," continued the captain.

The astonishment of the jailor now knew no bounds. "What! How! WHERE!" he exclaimed, in broken ejaculations.

Fry's countenance grew darker as he clasped the old man in his arms, and said:

"We have stayed as long as we can stand it, and we now are going to leave, and let out the other prisoners; so give up the keys, and make no noise, or it will be the worse for you!"

Turner tightened his grasp on the keys desperately, and exclaimed, "You can't do that!" then commenced in a loud tone, "Guar"—when my hand closed across his mouth and stifled the incipient call for help.

It was not our intention to hurt the old man, for he had been kind to us; but it was necessary to keep him quiet. He possessed great strength, and struggled very hard, managing to bite my finger; but we held him fast, and easily wrestled the keys from him. Buffum was soon at work on the locks of the doors.

Meantime, our companions had quietly descended the stairway, and burst out on the guards. There were seven of them, but they were so much taken by surprise as to be incapable of resistance. Our boys divided into two parties, one for the front and the other for the back door. The latter was completely successful, capturing the guard, and taking their guns from them without the least alarm being given.

The attack at the front door was made with equal skill and bravery, and the guards who stood near were at once secured. Unfortunately there were two in the yard gate, which happened to be open. As soon as these saw the charge made, they, without waiting to attempt resistance, ran through the gate, shrieking, "Help! murder!" in tones that aroused the whole neighborhood. There were troops near at hand, who instantly rushed to the rescue.

Our boys saw their peril, and knew that the part of our scheme which provided for a regular and quiet departure was defeated, and they endeavored to save themselves. They threw away the guns, which now would only hinder their flight, and scaled the wall, some ten feet in hight, and made for the woods, nearly a mile distant. It was a close chase. Several times they were fired on by the pursuing rebels, but fortunately not hit.

We, who were above, heard the noise, and were admonished by it to take our leave as soon as possible. Buffum had just succeeded in unlocking the door that kept in our other soldiers, who at once came out. The deserter confined with them, who was the most powerful and active of the whole party, also broke out, and passed by where Fry and myself still held the jailor, like a tiger on the leap. When he reached the yard, he found two soldiers before him, with their bayonets at a charge. Without a moment's hesitation, he seized them, cutting his hands severely, but dashing them aside with such violence as nearly to throw the rebels from their feet, and bounded on his way. His almost incredible swiftness soon placed him in advance of all the fugitives.

Captain Fry and I started down stairs together. He was a little in advance, and at once saw there was no chance in the front yard, which was now filled with armed rebels, and darted to the back door. Here he scaled the wall just in time to get away, after a most desperate chase, being repeatedly fired upon by the guards, who were only a few feet from him, but, fortunately, was unharmed.

I did not so soon comprehend the state of affairs, (probably because I am near-sighted,) and rushed to the front yard. Here I saw two rebels who seemed perfectly distracted, and were throwing their guns wildly about and exclaiming: "What shall we do? O! what shall we do?" Not thinking them very dangerous, I darted past them, but was checked by a stream of less frightened guards pouring through the gate. Seeing then that there was no chance of escape in that direction, I turned and regained the jail. One man snapped his gun at me, but, fortunately, it did not go off. I instantly tried the back yard, and succeeded in getting to the top of the wall; but here I found that the rebels had again been too fast for me, and were around under the wall outside. Under these circumstances, I could do no better than surrender.

I was taken back to prison, and instead of going to my own room, went to that occupied by the prisoners of war, who had all been recaptured and put in again. Buffum, too, who had managed to get over the wall, was retaken and brought back. Parrott and Reddick were captured inside of the wall, and Mason and Bensinger the next day, making six of our party who were retaken.

From the window where I was, I had a good view of all the proceedings below. In a very short time, the whole force of the place, including a regiment of cavalry, was drawn up in front of the jail. I heard Colonel Lee, (the Provost-Marshal,) give his orders. He said: "Don't take one of the villains alive! Shoot them down, and let them lie in the woods for the birds and hogs to eat!" He also ordered pickets to be placed at the ferries of the Chattahoochie, along the railroad, and at all cross-roads. This arrangement pleased me, for these were the very places we had agreed to avoid, and I was sure none of the boys would be caught there. Our intention had been to travel in the night time, through the woods, and cross the rivers on logs, as far from the ferries as possible.

Eight escaped. Wood and Wilson traveled southward, and, after passing through a series of the most startling adventures, that recall the old Indian tales we have all listened to in the winter evenings, they succeeded in reaching the Gulf, where they were taken on board a United States ship, and brought around to Washington.

Porter and Wollam started westward. Their journey was a most perilous one. I will insert a short account which Porter has since furnished me.

"We started on the 16th of October, and reached the Federal lines on the 18th of November. During this time, we endured all the hardships imaginable. We traveled night and day, sleeping mostly in the woods, and subsisting on wild grapes, chestnuts, hickory-nuts, walnuts, and some few sweet potatoes. Occasionally, we got a little corn-bread from the poor class of whites and the negroes. It was miserable stuff. Several times we slipped into the fields where the negroes were at work, and stole the provisions they had brought out for their dinner. Once we were seven days without a bite of bread, and often went without for two or three days.

"We suffered much with cold, for our clothes were very poor. We slept but twice in houses during the whole journey. One night we traveled till we became chilled and weary; it was very late, and we were nearly frozen, when we fortunately discovered a nest of hogs. Immediately we routed them up, and, lying down in the warm retreat they had left, slept till morning!

"Many streams were in our way, which we were obliged to wade, or float across on logs. After twenty-two days of such privations, we reached the Tennessee river, twenty-seven miles below Bridgeport. Here we pressed a canoe into the service, and started down the river. We would run the canoe at night, and hide it and ourselves in the day time. When we arrived at the head of the Muscle Shoals, we were compelled to abandon our canoe on account of low water, and make a circuit of forty miles around. When we reached the foot of the Shoals, we procured a skiff, and continued our voyage until within twelve miles of Pittsburg Landing. Here we left the river, and striking across the country to Corinth, reached there in safety. Thus, after six months of suffering, we were once more under the glorious flag of the free."

These[7] will serve as specimens of what the brave boys endured in the truly herculean task of penetrating for hundreds of miles—in fact, from the very center of the Confederacy to its circumference—in different directions. It is an achievement I can not look upon without wonder, and in dangers to be encountered, and difficulties to be overcome, is at least equal to the proudest exploits of Park or Livingstone!

[7] Hawkins and myself associated, and made good our escape. We think all our party escaped to the woods. Whether any were afterward caught by the rebels, we know not. We traveled by starlight for more than three weeks. After twenty-one days of fatigue and hunger—living most of the time on corn or persimmons—occasionally a few raw sweet potatoes or a head of cabbage—dodging the rebel pickets and cavalry, climbing mountains, dragging through brush, and wading streams, we finally were so fortunate as to meet some Union men in the Cumberland Mountains. We met them, three in number, in the woods, and asked them to give us some supper, stating that we had no money, but we belonged to the rebel army, had been sick and left behind, and were now on our way to rejoin our regiments. They refused to supply our wants, and finally openly declared themselves to be Union men. When we became satisfied that they were all right, we made known our true character, and warmer friends were never met. They lodged and fed us, then piloted us to another Union man who did the same, and he to another; thus we were passed from one to another till we arrived at Somerset, Kentucky, where we procured transportation to our regiments.—Extract from an Account published by D. A. Dorsey.

All night long the guards talked over their adventures. Generally they praised their own bravery to the skies, but occasionally one who had arrived since the affray, would suggest that it was not very much to their credit to let unarmed men snatch their guns from them; but these hinted slanders were always received with the contempt they deserved, and the work of self-glorifying went on! One wondered at the speed of the Yankees, who had been kept in prison so long; another accounted for it by saying that they had received so much practice in that line, in all the battles they had fought, that it was no wonder if they were fleet of foot. This sally was received with prodigious applause.

I heard some confused sounds of distress from the room of the Tennesseeans, and on inquiring what was the matter, learned that Barlow had broken his ankle. He had gone down into the yard with our party, but in jumping from the wall, had received this very serious injury. Here he was found by a guard, who at first threatened to shoot him; but on being persuaded not to do that, ordered him to get up and lead the way into the jail. Barlow tried to do so, but fell down again. Then this inhuman guard punched him with the bayonet, and made him crawl, in all the agony that pain could produce, back to his cell, and as he went, kept hurrying him along by the sharp admonition of the bayonet! When here, his companions asked for surgical aid for him, but the Confederate authorities refused it, saying that he had caused the injury himself, and that they rather preferred that it should kill him! Their wishes were gratified. For months he lingered on in the greatest pain, until, finally, the leg mortified, and terminated his life. He was quite a young man—only eighteen—and had just been married when he was arrested. Thus died, in darkness and dungeon, one other East Tennessee martyr!



CHAPTER XIV.

Despair and Hope—Bitten Finger—Removed to Barracks—Greater Comfort—Jack Wells—Cruel Punishment of Tennesseeans—Story of a Spy—Help Him to Escape—Virtue of a Coat—A Practical Joke—Unionism—Sweet Potatoes—Enlisting in Rebel Army—Description of a Day—Happy News—Start for Richmond—Not Tied—Night Journey—Varied Incidents—Lynchburg—Rebel Audacity Punished—Suffering from the Cold—Arrival in Richmond.

All night long I lay in the hammock that one of the regulars had swung by the window, and listened to the boasting below.

"Sadly I thought of the morrow."

I had little doubt now, that the full weight of their vengeance would fall on every one who had been recaptured. And then, too, was the news we had received, and which had induced us to make our desperate effort to escape! We could scarcely hope that the death which had so long stared us in the face would now be longer delayed. And such a death! No vision of glory to dazzle the sight, and hide the grim monster from view, or wreathe him in flowers. No eye of friends beholding the last struggle, and sure, if you acted well your part, to tell it to those whose love and praise were more than life. Nothing but ignominy and an impenetrable darkness, beyond which no loving eye might ever pierce! But even as the cold horror of the scaffold and the vision of the heartless, jeering crowd, rose once more freshly before me, I looked out in the clear night, and up to the shining stars, and felt that I had one Friend—that He who dwelt above the stars, and to whom I had plighted my faith, would not forsake me, even if I had to pass through the very "valley of the shadow of death." With the thought came a still and heavenly peace once more—a peace that visits only those who feel, in the midst of sorrow and fear, that there is a blissful rest beyond the night bounding life's fleeting day!

The next morning, the jailor put me in the room I had formerly occupied, with the remainder of my companions. He told us that a man had put his hand over his mouth, and nearly smothered him, but added, with great satisfaction: "I bit his finger terribly, and gave the rascal a mark he will carry to the grave with him." However, his teeth were not so sharp as he thought, and he only managed to inflict a slight scratch. He had no suspicion that I was the person to whom he referred, as his fright had prevented him from observing anything. For a while, he was rather cross, and brought up the guards when he came to feed us; but this soon wore off.

About the middle of the day, some officers came, and, with many threats, asked us which way our boys intended to travel. I answered, "I heard them say that they were going to try to get to our lines, and that traveling in any direction would bring them there, for our men had you surrounded." They asked no more questions, but retired, satisfied that there was no information to be gained.

Our anticipations of worse treatment in consequence of our attempted escape were not realized. Colonel Lee thought the jail was no longer a safe place, and ordered us to be taken to the city barracks. Our apartment here was far more pleasant than our quarters in the jail had been. It was large, well lighted, and provided with a fire-place, which the chilliness of the days (it was now in October) made a great acquisition. It also commanded a view of one of the busiest public squares of Atlanta, and we would sit in the windows, which had no bars across them, and watch the tide of human life that flowed before us, for hours at a time, with an interest that only our long seclusion from the world could have given.

Jack Wells, the commander of the barracks, had been an old United States soldier. Being thus brought up under a more honorable system than obtains in the South at present, he did not consider it derogatory to his dignity to treat prisoners kindly. He would come around to our room and talk with us by the hour—telling us great stories of his adventures, and receiving as great in return. Most of the time he was half drunk, and very frequently did not stop at the half way point. In these cases, and when he was in a communicative mood, he would tell us that he did not care a cent which side whipped—that he only held his present position to avoid being conscripted. But his masters knew him to be such a faithful, vigilant officer, and he could so readily control the rude mass who occupied the rebel portion of the barracks, that they readily forgave these little slips of the tongue. We passed our time while here more pleasantly than at any other place in the Confederacy; yet even here, our path was not one of roses. The following incidents will prove this:

The Tennesseeans were confined with us, making twenty in all. Our provisions, which were still very scanty, were handed around in a tray. Mr. Pierce, who is mentioned before, one time conceived his allowance to be too small, and threw it back into the tray again. Not a word was spoken on either side; but in a few minutes the guards came up, and, seizing Pierce, took him out of the room into the cold hall, and tying his hands before his knees, with a stick inserted across under his knees and over his arms, in the way that soldiers call "bucking," they left him there all night. This indignity was perpetrated on an old man over sixty!

One of the guards was a malicious fellow, who delighted in teasing our men by asking them how they liked being shut up in a prison, "playing checkers with their noses on the windows," &c. One day, when he was talking as usual, a Tennesseean, named Barker, replied that he need not be so proud of it, for he would some time have to work like a slave, in the cotton-fields, to help pay the expenses of the war. The guard reported this treasonable remark to the commander. Poor Barker was seized and taken to the punishment-room up stairs, and there suspended by the heels till he fainted; then let down until he revived, then hung up again. This was continued till they were satisfied, when he was taken down, and put into a little, dark dungeon, only about four feet square, and there kept twenty-four hours with nothing to eat!

While in this prison, I had the heartfelt pleasure of helping one man to escape. The guards, and, indeed, all the poorer class of Southerners, were very illiterate. Out of twenty-six who guarded us, only two or three could write at all, and these not enough to be of any service. Wells wrote a hand that nobody but himself could read, and even he not always. Therefore he often came for the prisoners to write short articles for him. On one of these occasions I was in the office, which was just by our room, and equally guarded, writing a requisition for provisions. While thus engaged, a man, dressed in the uniform of a rebel officer, was brought in for confinement in the barracks. He appeared to be very drunk, but remonstrated so hard against being put into the room where the remainder of the prisoners were kept, that Wells consented to let him stay for a while in his office. His money was not taken from him, for Wells, not knowing the charge against him, believed he was arrested only for being drunk—an offence with which he had a good deal of sympathy. Wells had some business to attend to, and went out. A sergeant was with us, but he, too, soon took his departure, leaving us alone. I was busy writing, but, looking up, I saw the stranger approaching me. There was no trace of drunkenness about him. I watched his movements attentively. Soon he was standing by me.

"You are a prisoner?" he queried.

"Yes, sir."

"One they call engine-thieves?" he continued.

I again answered in the affirmative.

"I know you," said he; "I know all about you. I was here when your comrades were hung. Brave men they were, and the cruel deed will yet be avenged. I am not afraid to trust you. They don't yet know who I am, but they will learn to-morrow, and then, if I am still in their hands, I will die, for I am a spy from the Federal army. Can't you help me to escape?"

I was astonished at this revelation, and for a moment doubted his character, thinking that his aim might be to betray me for a selfish advantage. I put a few hasty questions to him, to test his knowledge of the Federal army. The answers were satisfactory, and seeing nothing but truth in his clear eye, I hesitated no longer, but asked:

"What can I do for you?"

He answered: "Can't you write me a pass, and sign the commander's name to it?"

"That," I returned, "would probably be detected; but I think I can put you on a better plan. Take that overcoat," pointing to one belonging to Wells, and lying on the foot of a bed, "put it around you, and just walk past the guards as independently as though you owned the entire establishment. It is now nearly dark, and the chances are that you will not be halted by the guard at all."

"A good idea," said he, "I'll try it."

At once folding himself in the coat, he bade me an affectionate adieu. Eagerly I sat with beating heart in the deepening twilight, listening for any sound that might betray the success or failure of the scheme; but all was silence. I have since learned that the guard, seeing the familiar coat, supposed that, of course, its owner was in it, and allowed it to pass unchallenged! A moment after, the sergeant came in, and I instantly engaged him in conversation, inducing him to tell some good stories, to keep him from missing my companion, and to allow as much time for a start as possible, before the inevitable alarm was given. I succeeded perfectly for some five minutes, when Wells came in, threw an uneasy glance around the room, and at once exclaimed:

"Sergeant, where is that officer?"

The sergeant protested that he knew nothing about him; that he was not in the room when he entered.

Wells then turned to me, and demanded:

"Pittenger, where's that officer?"

"What officer?"

"That officer I put in here."

"Oh! that drunken fellow?"

"Yes; where is he?"

"The last I saw of him, he picked up his coat, and said he was going to supper."[8]

[8] I do not pretend to justify the falsehoods recorded in this book. But it is better to give a true narrative, and bear the censure awarded by the reader, than to increase the guilt by omitting or misrepresenting facts.

"Going to supper, was he! Ho! I see it! Sergeant, run to the guards, and tell them if they let him out, I will have every one of them hung up by the heels."

This was rather a useless punishment, considering that the prisoner was already far away.

But the sergeant departed to muster the guards. Shortly after, Wells, who had resumed his seat, said in a meditative tone:

"Had he a coat?"

"I suppose so, sir," I returned, "or he would not have taken it."

"Where did he get it?"

"Off the foot of that bed."

Wells sprang to his feet as quickly as though he had been galvanized, kicking over the chair on which he had been sitting, and exclaimed:

"My coat! sure as——! worth eighty dollars! The villain!" then pressing his head between his hands, sat down again, but, as if thinking better of it, ejaculated, "Well, if that ain't a cool joke!" and burst into a loud laugh, which ended the scene.

There are some facts connected with the Union sentiment in the South, which I would like to publish, if I dared; but I cannot do it in full, for it might be the means of exposing persons who befriended us, to the vengeance of the tyrant rebels. I will only say that there exists in Atlanta a society of over four hundred members,[9] who are still devoted to the cause of union and liberty; who endure in patient faith all the cruel persecutions heaped on them by the slavery-loving aristocrats who now rule their beautiful land. From members of this society many prisoners as well as myself, received money and other needed articles, which were of the greatest value to us. These were given at great risk to the donors, for there to give a Union soldier money is a serious criminal offence. One man I know was confined for four months on the mere suspicion of having aided the Shiloh prisoners in this manner.

[9] My impression of Southern feeling is very different from Vallandigham's. But the Union men were my friends. Were they his?

Sweet potatoes were very abundant in Atlanta, and with the money Union friends supplied us, we bought a great many, roasting them in the ashes of the large fire-place that made our room so comfortable. They added materially to our rations, and rendered our living here more tolerable. In fact, had it not been for that universal Confederate pest, with which all, from the least to the greatest, seemed supplied—sometimes termed the "rebel body guard"—and from which, for the want of clean clothes, no exertions of ours could free ourselves, we might have passed our time not unpleasantly.

We still continued our devotions in the morning and evening, and trust that God blessed them to us. We met with occasional hindrances. Some of our own party seemed to consider that our release from the dark cells of a criminal prison did away with the necessity of continued prayer. The Confederates also annoyed us very much by interruptions, while thus engaged in seeking help from above. On these occasions, Wells was our friend. He declared that he could not stand praying himself, and so invariably stayed away; but that if it did us any good, we were welcome to it, and ought not to be disturbed. The opposition we met with was of short continuance. As soon as they found us firmly resolved on our own course, they did as all cavilers do in similar circumstances—let us alone. Thus even there we enjoyed many pleasant moments, which will ever be remembered as a green oasis in the parched desert of prison-life.

While here, the Confederates wanted some of us to enlist in their army. They tried particularly hard to get the regulars, Wells declaring that he would rather have the two, than any half dozen of his own men. They pretended not to be unfavorable to the scheme, but delayed complying with it for a time, to see what the ultimate prospects of an exchange might be.

The cartel of exchange had been agreed upon long before; yet these men, who had no charge against them, were still held. They believed that it was because they were with us, and that the rebels feared to let them go, as they would most certainly convey to our government intelligence as to our whereabouts, condition, and treatment. This view appeared still more probable, when I learned, since returning to Washington, that the Confederate government had officially denied hanging any of the party. They have never yet acknowledged it.

The time wore wearily away here, as it had done before. The delay, since the death of our friends, had now been so long extended, that we began to believe that our lives might be spared. This conviction was strengthened as the months rolled on.

At last a court-martial was convened—the first since the ever-memorable one at Knoxville, and we awaited its action with the utmost anxiety. A week of sickening suspense passed by, and no summons came for us. Then the court adjourned, and we breathed freer. It now seemed probable that they did not intend to prosecute the feeble remnant of our party any further; and, passing from the extreme of despair to that of hope, we began to indulge once more the blissful expectation of being permitted to revisit the scenes of our loved North, and stand beneath the "old flag," which we honored and reverenced as the embodiment of liberty with law—the emblem of the highest national life. But our time for freedom had not yet come.

The weeks rolled on. Few things occurred worthy of note. That same monotony which makes prison-life so dreary, robs it of interest when recorded. We would rise in the morning from our hard bed, and wash ourselves, pouring the water upon each others' hands, and eat our scanty breakfast; then loll listlessly around, seeking in vain for anything which might relieve the almost unendurable tedium. When dinner came, which was of the same quality as the breakfast, we would eat it, and then try desperately to kill time until dark, when the gas was lit—not from any favor to us, but that the guard could watch us from the ever-open door, and see that we were working no plots to get out.

This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for under the soft inspiration of the gaslight, conversation flowed more freely, and all the incidents of our past lives were rehearsed to attentive listeners. To vary the subject, an argument would be started on science, politics, or religion, and warmly discussed. When the talk would flag, which was frequently not till the midnight bells were striking in the town, we would offer up our devotions, and lie down to sleep, and often to indulge in the most delightful dreams of freedom, friends, and home. In the morning we waked again, and the same round was recommenced. Thus days glided into weeks, and weeks passed into months. The light golden hues of autumn deepened into the dead and sombre colors of early winter, and still we were in Atlanta. Our weak faith, judging what would be from what had been, could scarcely conceive that we would ever be anywhere else! A heavy, dead indifference, like the lack of sensibility which the repeated infliction of pain produces in our physical natures, took possession of us. We almost ceased even to hope!

But at last there came a day of rejoicing. A number of officers visited the barracks, and inquired which was the room occupied by the Federal prisoners. On being shown around to our apartment, they told us to fall into line, and then said they had glad news for us.

"You have all been exchanged, and all that now remains is for us to send you out of our territory."

They then came along the lines, and shook hands with us, offering congratulations on the happy termination of our trials, and wishing us much joy on our arrival at home.

Our feelings may be better imagined than described. There was an overwhelming rush of emotions which forbade utterance—happy joy—exhilarating, and yet mingled with a deep touch of sorrow, that our seven dead—murdered—comrades were not with us to share the joy of this unexpected release. And the eight also who had managed to get out of the clutches of the rebels by their own daring—we were uneasy about them. Only a day or two before, we had seen in an Atlanta paper, obtained, as usual, through a contraband source, an article clipped from the "Cincinnati Commercial," giving notice of the arrival of Porter and Wollam at Corinth, in a very wretched and famished condition. This was most gratifying to us, but of the others we had, as yet, received no reliable information. The Provost-marshal told us that three of them had been shot and left in the woods, but judging by the source, we considered the account very doubtful, and still cherished the hope that the whole story was a fabrication.[10] Thus we were in suspense as to their fate. But still, beyond all this, the prospect of speedily gaining our liberty, was enough to make our hearts overflow with gratitude to that Being who had so wonderfully preserved us through all our trials. I was so agitated that when Wells asked me to write a requisition for provisions for our journey, I could not do it, and had to transfer the task to more steady hands. It was six in the morning when we received the news, and we were to start for "home—via Richmond"—at seven in the evening. We spent the intervening time in arranging what clothes we had, and preparing for the journey. And as the time for departure drew near, we again lit the gas, and built a fire, the ruddy blaze of which was itself an emblem of cheerfulness, to take a farewell view of the room in which we had spent so many not altogether unhappy hours. Often afterward did we think of that bright hour of expectation, during the dreary lapse of succeeding months, which we were still doomed to pass in the South.

[10] It was a malicious falsehood. All were safe.

We had obtained quite a number of pieces of carpet, which served as blankets, but were forbidden to take these with us, being told that we would be run directly through, and would soon be where blankets were plenty. We however managed to secrete two very small pieces, which were afterwards of great advantage to us. They did not tie us now for the first time in all our travels. This was truly remarkable, and afforded strong confirmation to our hopes.

All was now in readiness for our departure, and we took a long, and, I trust, a last look at Atlanta—at least while it remains in rebel possession. The guards fell in on each side of us, and we wended our silent way along the dark streets. Wells, even drunker than usual, accompanied us to the cars, where he hiccoughed an affectionate farewell. White, the sergeant who was with me when our spy escaped, commanded our escort. He was one of the best-natured rebels I ever saw, and, like his superior, did not care which side came out best, so long as he was not hurt. The guard was only ten in number, while we, including the Tennesseeans, were twenty—a great falling off in precaution from their former custom.

We were crowded into rude box-cars, and soon began to suffer severely with the cold, for the night air was most piercing. It was the 3d of December, and we had only summer clothing, which was, in addition, very ragged. At about three o'clock in the morning we arrived at Dalton. We were not to go through Chattanooga.

The stars were sparkling in light and frosty brilliancy when we stopped. The other train, on which we were to continue our journey, had not yet arrived, and the keen and icy wind cut almost through us. We stood shivering here, and suffering extremely from the cold, for something like an hour, when, to our great relief, the expected train arrived. We were more comfortably fixed in it, and managed to doze away the time till daybreak.

In the morning, we found that our three days rations, which were to last us to Richmond, were scarcely enough for a breakfast. However, we ate what we had, and trusted to buying a few necessaries with the remaining money which our Union friends had given us. When that failed, we had still a sure resource that never failed—endurance of hunger.

During the day, we discussed the question whether it would not be best, at nightfall, to try making our escape, as we were within forty miles of our own lines. It would be an easy task. The guards were perfectly careless, and at any time we could have had as many guns as they had. They sat on the same seats with us, and slept. Frequently those guarding the doors would fall asleep, and we would wake them as the corporal came around, thus saving them from punishment. The most complete security seemed to pervade them, utterly forbidding the idea that they thought they were taking us onward for any other purpose than that of exchange. Once the sergeant laughingly told us that we could escape if we wished, for we had the matter in our own hands; but that he thought it would be more pleasant to ride on around, than to walk across on our own responsibility. This very security lulled our suspicions, and, combined with what the Marshal and other officers had told us in Atlanta, induced us to shrink from undertaking a journey, almost naked and barefoot as some of us were, over the mountains and in the snow, which now began to appear.

In the afternoon, we passed the town of Knoxville, now a place of loathing and hatred to us; then the town of Greenville, which we noticed as being the residence of our heroic companion, Captain Fry; then on into the lower part of Western Virginia. It was nightfall when we entered this State, and a beautiful night it was. The moon shone over the pale, cold hills with a mellow, silver radiance, which made the whole landscape enchanting. On, on, we glided, over hill and plain, at the dead of night, and saw, in the shifting scenery of the unreal-looking panorama without, a representation of the fleeting visions of life—like us, now lost in some dark, gloomy wood, or walled in by the encroaching mountain side, and now catching a magnificent view of undulating landscapes, far away in the shadowy distance. Thus, through the silent night, we journeyed on, and morning dawned on us, still steaming through the romantic valleys of Virginia.