Next day the soldiers got together and detailed three men to take
me to Knoxville, Tenn. When we arrived there, about two o’clock in
the morning, they took me out—I cannot tell where—and put me in the
stockade with about three hundred poor ragged men who had declared
themselves for the Union. When I went in, they raised a howl,
“There is another Lincolnite!”
I never saw such a sight in all my life. These men were half naked
and barefooted, and some without hats. They had lost their apparel
in the woods, trying to make their escape. I do not think they had
washed their faces or hands since being captured.
In the morning a wagon drove up to the stockade, on the outside, and
the driver commenced throwing old, poor beef over the stockade on the
ground. I shall never forget seeing one of the men pick up a piece of
beef and throw it against the wall to see if it would stick, but it
was too poor. I never expected to eat or bite of it, and I never did.
My father, who was a cousin of John H. Reagan, Postmaster General of
the Southern Confederacy, was on hand at Knoxville about the time I
arrived. He telegraphed to Richmond that his son was under arrest,
that he had committed no crime, and that he was a school teacher. The
Richmond authorities telegraphed back to Leadbeater, the commanding
officer, directing him to release me. The next morning I passed out
of the stockade and went back to my home, and commenced teaching
school again.
In a few days word was sent to me that I was to be again arrested. I
then disappeared, and for about eighteen months my whereabouts were
only known by my family and the families of my wife, father, and an
old uncle. All this time I was trying to get across to the Federal
lines, but something happened to prevent my getting away. They were
scouring the country for conscripts, and already had my name on the
rolls, as I have heretofore stated.
Sometime about the first of 1862 I heard that a pilot was to be in
Greene County, Tenn., to take Union men to the Federal lines. One
Joseph Smith, who lived near my town, Parrottsville, went with me to
Greene County, about twelve miles from our home, to the banks of the
Nola Chucky River, and we remained there for a few days, lying in a
straw stack and fed by an old Union lady, by the name of Minerva Hale.
News came that a “pilot” would be on hand about one mile from where
we were. I do not know why, but something told me not to go. Joseph
Smith left me, bidding me good-bye, and I never saw him again.
I started back home, twelve miles through the woods, and had to cross
the Nola Chucky in the dark, and the rebels travelling all through
the country, knowing that men were trying to cross to Kentucky. I
reached home before daylight and let my wife know I had returned,
then went out in the woods as usual and put up.
The next day news came to the neighborhood that the men Joseph Smith
met were captured the night he left me, only three men making their
escape—the pilot (William Worthington) and two others. They saved
themselves by jumping into Lick Creek, a small but deep stream, and
sinking themselves in the water, only allowing their faces above the
water enough to breathe.
The rest of the men were taken to Vicksburg and put in the rebel
army. Joseph Smith was shot in the foot while at Vicksburg, and
gangrene set in, causing his death. The other men were never
subsequently heard of.
I never slept in a house but three or four times during the time I
was scouting. I travelled between what is called Neddys Mountain and
Newport, Tenn., which is about twelve miles. I never travelled in a
road, and always in the night.
I had an old uncle who lived in Newport, between the French Broad
River and the Pigeon River, which were about four miles apart.
I wanted to see him, and started out one night. It was dark and
raining, but I always felt safer the harder it rained and the darker
the night. I came to the French Broad, a good sized river. Of course
I knew that I could not cross at the ferry, for I had heard that it
was guarded by rebel soldiers. I had been raised in that section from
a boy and was familiar with the river and the surrounding country.
About two hundred yards below the ferry I crossed the river, wading
part of the way and swimming the balance, with my clothes in a bundle
on my head.
When I got over I went in the bushes and dressed. I had to be very
careful, for the town was full of rebel scouts, but no regular
regiment was stationed there.
I went on the north side of the town, and down a little alley to the
back of my uncle’s house, and knocked at the kitchen door. Directly
my cousin, Sarah Ragan, came to the door, and was dumbfounded to see
me. She said, “Why, Cousin Bob, the town is full of rebel soldiers,
and two are now in the parlor!”
She took me upstairs, and I remained there two days and nights. I
could look out in the street and see the rebel soldiers going up and
down. Of course they thought I was in the Northern Army, and nearly
all the Union people thought the same.
I left the third night and went to my father’s, on the main road
leading from Newport to Greeneville, Tenn., about three miles from
Newport. This was a dangerous place for me to stop, but I wanted to
see my mother and sister, and I always found such places about as
safe for me as any, as the rebels never thought of me or any other
Union man being in such places.
I remained there for a few days. The second day, about two o’clock,
word came that a regiment of rebel soldiers were crossing the French
Broad at Newport, the place I had left a few nights before. I was at
a loss to know what to do.
A rebel family lived just a few hundred yards away, on the main road,
and there was not a tree or bush to hide me. I knew the soldiers
would stop at the house and probably search the building for Union
men. I had but a few minutes to decide.
My mother was on hand and always ready to offer suggestions in time
of danger. She said, “Bob, put on Laura’s dress and sun-bonnet, and
cross the road.”
[Illustration: CAPT. R. A. RAGAN MAKING HIS ESCAPE FROM THE FATHER’S
HOME IN 1862. See page 15.]
My sister was well grown for her age, and in a few minutes I had the
dress and bonnet on. The dress reached just below my knees, but I
crossed the road and passed the barn into an old field about three
hundred yards away. I fell into a washout, and stuck my head out and
saw the rebel regiment pass. Some of them stopped at the house.
This was the first rebel regiment I had seen, and of course it was
a sight to me, and I felt more anxious to get to the Federal army.
This regiment of rebel soldiers was on its way to Johnson, Carter
and Cocke Counties, to look out for Union men making their way to
Kentucky or to the Federal army.
I went back to the house after dark, and left that night for Neddys
Mountain, in the neighborhood of my home, and remained there some
time, visiting my home at nights, but never sleeping in the house.
I will here relate a little incident that occurred while on a visit
to my father’s home, at the same place where I made my escape with
the dress on. I was in the sitting room, talking to my mother, when
some one knocked at the door, Of course we did not know who it was,
so I got under an old-fashioned bed, with curtains to the floor. Our
visitor was a lady who lived just below on the road, who was a strong
rebel sympathizer, and had two brothers in the rebel army. She had
come to spend the evening, and brought her knitting, as was the usual
custom in that neighborhood. As she was busy talking to my mother,
her ball of yarn rolled out of her lap and under the bed. As quick as
lightning, mother ran and got the ball, by my kicking it back. In a
few minutes she invited her visitor into another room.
At another time the same lady came while I was there, and she had a
big bull dog with her. I heard that she was on the porch, and I went
under the bed again. The dog came into the room and scented me. He
stuck his head under the curtains, and I kicked him on the nose, and
he went out yelping. The woman did not understand what it meant, but
said nothing. I left that night, and never visited my father again
during the war.