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CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE
[Illustration: A RAILROAD CHASE.
_Frontispiece._]
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE:
A HISTORY
OF
SECRET SERVICE
IN THE LATE WAR.
BY
REV. WILLIAM PITTENGER.
"Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well;
Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell,
Rode the six hundred.
* * * * *
"They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of death
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them--
Left of six hundred."
TENNYSON'S _Charge of the Light Brigade_.
WASHINGTON:
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE.
1885.
Copyright, 1881, by REV. WILLIAM PITTENGER.
TO
THE SURVIVING COMRADES
OF THE
CHATTANOOGA RAILROAD EXPEDITION,
AND TO
THE FAMILIES OF THOSE WHO PERISHED IN THE
SAME ADVENTURE,
=This Record of their Daring and Suffering=
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.
NAMES OF THE ADVENTURERS.
EXECUTED.
J. J. ANDREWS, _Leader_ Citizen of Kentucky.
WILLIAM CAMPBELL Citizen of Kentucky.
GEORGE D. WILSON Co. B, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
MARION A. ROSS Co. A, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
PERRY G. SHADRACK Co. K, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
SAMUEL SLAVENS Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
SAMUEL ROBINSON Co. G, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
JOHN SCOTT Co. K, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
ESCAPED IN OCTOBER.
W. W. BROWN[1] (_Engineer_) Co. F, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM KNIGHT[2] Co. E, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
J. R. PORTER[3] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
MARK WOOD[4] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
J. A. WILSON[5] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
M. J. HAWKINS[6] Co. A, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
JOHN WOLLAM[7] Co. C, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
D. A. DORSEY[8] Co. H, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
EXCHANGED IN MARCH.
JACOB PARROT[9] Co. K, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
ROBERT BUFFUM[10] Co. H, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM BENSINGER[11] Co. G, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM REDDICK[12] Co. B, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
E. H. MASON[13] Co. K, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM PITTENGER[14] Co. G, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
RESIDENCES IN 1881.
[1] Perrysburg, Ohio.
[2] Minnesota.
[3] Carlisle, Arkansas.
[4] Dead.
[5] Hoskins, Wood County, Ohio.
[6] Topeka, Kansas.
[7] Unknown.
[8] Jefferson, Wisconsin.
[9] Kenton, Ohio.
[10] Dead.
[11] McCombs, Hancock County, Ohio.
[12] Unknown.
[13] Unknown.
[14] Woodbury, N. J. A member of the New Jersey Conference
of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
PREFACE.
War has a secret as well as a public story. Marches and battles are open
to the popular gaze; but enterprises of another class are in their very
nature secret, and these are scarcely less important and often much more
interesting than the former. The work of spies and scouts, the
enterprises that reach beyond the lines of an army for the purpose of
surprise, the councils of officers, the intrigues by means of which
great results often flow from apparently insignificant causes, and all
the experiences of hospitals and prisons,--these usually fill but a
small place on the historian's page, though they are often of romantic
interest, and not unfrequently decide the course and fate of armies. The
enterprise described in these pages possesses all the unity of a drama,
from the first plunge of the actors into the heart of the enemy's
country, through all their adventures and changing fortunes, until the
few survivors stood once more under the old flag! No single story of the
war combines so many of the hidden, underground elements of the contest
against rebellion as this. Disguise and secrecy, the perils of a forlorn
hope, the exultation of almost miraculous success, the sufferings of
prisoners, and the gloom of despair are all mingled in a varied and
instructive war-picture.
In telling the story all fictitious embellishments have been rejected.
No pains have been spared to ascertain the exact truth, and the reader
will find names, dates, and localities so fully given that it will be
easy to verify the prominent features of the account.
In narrating those events which fell under his own eye, the writer has
waived all scruples of delicacy, and used the first personal pronoun.
This is far more simple and direct, while an opposite course would have
savored of affectation.
This is not a revision or new edition of the little volume published by
the present writer during the rebellion. DARING AND SUFFERING, like a
number of similar sketches published in newspapers, magazines, and
pamphlets, was a hasty narrative of personal adventure, and made no
pretence of completeness. CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE is broader and more
historic; a large amount of valuable material is now employed for the
first time; and the story is approached in an entirely different manner.
No paragraph of the old book is copied into the new.
WOODBURY, NEW JERSEY January, 1882.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION 9
II.--MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION 27
III.--COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS 36
IV.--A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED 65
V.--UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES 75
VI.--A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE 93
VII.--A NIGHT IN THE WOODS 120
VIII.--IN THE ENEMY'S POWER 136
IX.--OTHER CAPTURES 153
X.--A HORRIBLE PRISON 170
XI.--LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON 182
XII.--THE FIRST TRAGEDY 197
XIII.--A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL 205
XIV.--THE CROWNING HORROR 221
XV.--PRISON RELIGION 228
XVI.--LIBERTY OR DEATH? 244
XVII.--ROMANTIC ESCAPES 262
XVIII.--FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF 274
XIX.--FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND 293
XX.--LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER 308
XXI.--SICKNESS AND LIBERTY 326
APPENDIX:
No. I.--EXTRACTS FROM THE REPORT OF JUDGE-ADVOCATE-GENERAL
HOLT TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR 341
No. II.--A SOUTHERN ESTIMATE 345
No. III.--A FRENCHMAN'S VIEW OF THE CHATTANOOGA
RAILROAD EXPEDITION 350
No. IV.--OLD SCENES REVISITED 352
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. The Chase _Frontispiece._
2. GENERAL O. M. MITCHEL 11
3. MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION 32
4. WILLIAM PITTENGER 42
5. MAP OF CHATTANOOGA AND ITS RAILROAD CONNECTIONS 58
6. CAPTURE OF A TRAIN 71
7. WILLIAM A. FULLER 87
8. D. A. DORSEY 156
9. A TERRIBLE DESCENT 172
10. LIBERTY OR DEATH! 255
11. W. W. BROWN 264
12. DORSEY AND HAWKINS IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS 272
13. SAVED AT SEA 290
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION.
As the writer looked up from the manuscript page on a warm March
afternoon of 1862, a very busy, and occasionally an amusing scene was
presented. I was seated on a gentle, wooded slope which led down to the
clear and quiet stream of Stone River, in Tennessee. Not being at that
time "on duty," I had strolled away from the tents which whitened the
level fields above, and was passing an hour in the pleasant task of
preparing "war correspondence" for the _Steubenville Herald_. Now and
then I lifted my eyes to watch the work in progress a few yards farther
down the stream. A large bridge, burned by the enemy on their retreat a
few weeks before, was now being rapidly repaired, or rather rebuilt. The
chief director of the work was General O. M. Mitchel, of astronomical
fame, in whose division I then served. He was in every respect an able
officer, and understood the construction of railroad bridges as well as
observing the stars, or moulding raw recruits into veteran soldiers. But
all his skill and science did not save him from becoming a little
ridiculous at times. The Union soldier found no difficulty in loving his
commander and laughing at him at the same instant. General Mitchel was
now most impatient to complete this bridge, and thus maintain a
northern line of communication, while he penetrated farther into the
South. Being now, for the first time, possessed of an independent
command, he wished to signalize himself by some great blow struck at the
most vulnerable point in the enemy's line. He could, therefore, scarcely
endure the necessary delay caused by burnt bridges, and worked like a
beaver, and chafed and fretted, and caused the men of his command to
perform more hard labor than was agreeable. As I saw him running from
place to place, urging on the idlers, and taking hold of any piece of
work that presented itself as if he had been a common laborer, shouting
and scolding, but always knowing just what ought to be done, and making
surprising progress, I could not help admiring the man, even while I
laughed at some exhibitions of superfluous zeal. Mitchel's scientific
education, his practical experience, and his inventive genius stood him
in good stead, as was proved by the rapid growth of the bridge before
me. The soldiers almost idolized their skilful and zealous commander,
but this did not deprive them of the soldier's privilege of grumbling
without stint at his restless activity. He was to be found along the
guard lines at almost any hour of the night, and woe to the sleepy
sentinel who failed to give the proper challenge or to "turn out"
promptly. No severe punishments had yet been inflicted, but some of the
indolent had been terribly frightened, and were accustomed to declare
that "Old Mitchel" had been watching the stars so long that he could not
sleep at night himself, and was not willing that anybody else should!
But the discipline of the troops steadily improved, and the hearty
commendation of their commander, who knew how to praise as well as
blame, made amends for seeming harshness.
[Illustration: GENERAL O. M. MITCHELL.
(From Harper's Magazine.)
Page 11.]
As I watched the working-parties, my attention was attracted to one
strong-looking soldier who was obviously shirking. Before many minutes
General Mitchel saw him too. The man pretended to lift and work,
while really doing nothing, and thus became a great hindrance, for his
example was contagious. Stealthily the general stole towards him, and
when I saw him take a piece of rotten wood in his hand I looked for a
scene. It came. He dealt the idler a sudden blow that covered him all
over with rotten wood, and nearly took him from his feet, but did him no
real injury. The fellow turned furiously to avenge himself on his
assailant, but stood abashed when he saw the face of his commander, and
heard the exclamation, "Go to work, you lazy rascal!" The spectators
enjoyed the man's look of blank amazement greatly, and the work went
forward more promptly than ever. But in a few moments the tables were
turned. Large framed masses of timber were first floated near the
position they were to occupy in the bridge, at the end of the
trestle-work, and then, with ropes and pulleys, were slowly and
painfully hoisted into place. One of these was approaching the
perpendicular, and the general, in his eagerness, ran to the end of a
log, which extended over the water, and began to encourage the laborers
by loud cries of, "Heave, O! heave, O!" as they pulled at the ropes.
Another party of workmen passed by the shore end of the log on which
Mitchel stood, carrying a load of timber. Just as they reached the
log,--the lazy man among them, now lifting as much as any other,--I
could not see just how it was done, but probably by a quick motion of
the foot, the general's log was turned so suddenly that he had no choice
but to plunge in the water. I expected a fearful explosion of
indignation, and perhaps the summoning of a guard to arrest the
offender, but was greatly surprised to see Mitchel, as soon as the
splash enabled me to see at all, stand up in the water, which was not
more than two feet deep, and without even turning towards the shore,
continue calling, "Heave, O! heave, O!" as vigorously as ever. There was
some laughing, but the soldiers had great respect for such coolness and
presence of mind. The general made no effort to discover the author of
his sudden immersion, though he must have known that it was not
accidental. "'Old Stars' can take a joke," was the approving remark of a
soldier close to my side.
I had just finished reading to a friend the newspaper article I had been
writing, when Captain Mitchel, a distant relative of the general's, and
commander of one of the companies in the Second Ohio Regiment,--the
regiment in which I served,--came and sat down by me, and asked what
news I had been writing to the papers. This was always a matter of great
interest to the officers and soldiers of our volunteer armies, for the
public letter served to give the families at home a great deal of news,
and thus to fill out the accounts conveyed by private letters. I read
the sketch over to him, and it suggested a general conversation on the
prospects of the war. These we regarded as eminently favorable.
McClellan was about to move towards Richmond with an overwhelming force,
and we expected him to easily capture the rebel capital. Buell, who had
been with us in our march through Kentucky, had gone Southwest to join
Grant. That they would, when united, be able to drive the enemy far down
the Mississippi, even if they did not open that river to the Gulf,
seemed equally sure. But where were we going, that we, with only ten
thousand men and an adventurous general, were being hurried Southeast?
There was no enemy in our front now, but we could not continue to march
in that direction very long without finding foes enough. We were
striking directly between the great armies of the Rebellion, and, if we
went on far enough, would totally sever their connection. At this point
in the conversation Mitchel exhibited some constraint, as if afraid of
saying too much. I declared my own opinion, which I shared with the
greater part of the army, that we were bound for Chattanooga, and
possibly for Atlanta, but that the rebels would be sure to run in heavy
bodies of troops by rail, and give us all the fighting we wanted before
reaching even the former place.
"Possibly they may," said Mitchel; "but there are ways of looking out
for that."
"How?" I asked, with interest, for I knew that he was usually well
informed and very intelligent.
He smiled, and said that "I might find out some time."
His manner, much more than his words, piqued my curiosity. Besides,
there was another matter I had resolved to question him about at the
first opportunity. A few days before several of the best soldiers of our
regiment had suddenly disappeared. Four of the missing men were from the
company to which I belonged, and two others from Mitchel's company. They
had been seen in close and apparently confidential conversation with the
regimental officers, and then, without any leave-taking, were gone! No
one of the private soldiers could tell anything about their destination.
In a moment the hints of Mitchel connected themselves, in my mind, with
the absence of these men. Had not some secret enterprise been set on
foot in which they were engaged? If there was any such scheme, I would
like to find it out, and, if still possible, take a part in it. In
addition to this motive for curiosity, one of the absent men was a young
cousin of mine, in whose welfare I was deeply interested.
"Mitchel," I said, turning sharply on him, "I understand that Frank
Mills and those other men have been sent into the enemy's lines to
perform some important and dangerous service. I want you to tell me all
about it."
As soon as I uttered the words I knew I was right. Mitchel was silent
for a moment, and then asked who had told me so much.
"No matter about that," I returned. "You can trust me fully. Tell me
what you know."
"I will," he answered, "for I am anxious about the boys myself, and
want to talk the matter over with some friend. I am not sure that we did
right in letting them go."
Rising, we strolled up the stream until we reached a solitary place far
away from the bridge and the noisy workmen. Then getting a seat on a
large rock, I listened to Captain Mitchel's story. This conversation is
one of the most important epochs of my life. So strange and romantic
were the particulars to which I listened, that it was difficult at first
to give them perfect credence.
Said Mitchel, "Do you remember a Mr. Andrews, a Kentuckian, who was
about our camp last fall?"
At first I did not, but a moment after, I recollected seeing a
fine-looking, well-dressed man standing on the street-corner in the town
of Prestonburg, up in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. He held
carelessly on his arm a beautiful Winchester rifle, which I, in common
with many others, had examined with great admiration. I therefore
answered Mitchel's question in the affirmative, though I thought he was
beginning rather far away from the subject in hand. He continued,--
"Some of you maintained that he was a rebel citizen, and possibly a spy,
who was only pretending to be a unionist because our army was at hand."
I said that such had been my own opinion when I first saw him, for he
was the very ideal of a magnificent Southern gentleman, but that I had
afterwards learned that though he was a spy and secret agent, it was on
the Union side, and that he was high in the confidence of our officers,
adding that I had seen the same man in our camp again, but had not
spoken to him after the first occasion.
"Well," continued Mitchel, "he was, and is, a spy, and has been of great
service to us. But I sometimes fear that we may have trusted him a
little too far. Our boys are now in Georgia with him."
I sprang up from my seat. This was startling news. It had, indeed, been
asserted by the camp-fires--where all events are discussed, and where
conjectures too often pass for facts--that the missing men had turned
spies, but I had scouted the idea. I thought that at most they might
have been sent on ahead of us a short distance, to seize some important
post in connection with similar details from other regiments, and
supported by cavalry. But we were a hundred and fifty miles from the
nearest point of the Georgian State line.
I looked at my companion in astonishment, and exclaimed, "What on earth
are they doing in Georgia?"
"Andrews has taken them there," he said, "disguised as Southern
citizens, with the intention of capturing a railroad train. He has also
engaged a Southern man, who is an engineer on the same railroad, to run
their locomotive, and when they get their train they will start for our
line and burn every bridge they pass over. They will cut all the
telegraph wires, and thus leave the enemy in helpless rage behind them."
My imagination took fire at the picture his few words had sketched. A
train surprised by a handful of bold men in the heart of the enemy's
territory; the passengers and train hands forced to get out under threat
of instant death, and possibly a desperate fight before this was
accomplished; then the wires cut, so that no lightning message could be
flashed ahead; the secret confederate--whom there might be a show of
compelling by force to mount the engine--set to his work; the train
rushing on its way through a hostile country, past the towns and camps
of the enemy, but rendered secure by the two elements of surprise and
speed; the great bridges (like those at Green and Stone Rivers and other
places, which had cost us weary delays and hard work in repairing),--all
these bursting into flames as they were passed, and possibly other
damage done before the daring adventurers returned in triumph to our own
lines. I knew enough of war to understand, at a glance, the great
military importance of thus severing railroad communications, for had I
not seen our whole division brought to a halt, and General Mitchel
rendered almost furious with impatience over a single burnt bridge?
Besides, it required no particular insight to reveal the immense moral
effect upon an enemy of such a bold stroke far in the centre of his
territory. It would tend to diffuse distrust and fear through all the
rebel armies if they were thus made to feel that no place in their whole
country was safe from the presence and the blows of a daring adversary.
"Well, what do you think of it?" said Mitchel, as he saw my
preoccupation.
"Why, it is the grandest thing I ever heard of!" was my enthusiastic
reply. "I wish I was with them. But do you think that spy can be
trusted? Spies are all the time betraying the confidence of one party or
the other, and if he should be false to us, he has the lives of our boys
in his hands. I have heard that he has been over the lines several
times, and if he has been a secret rebel all the while, it would be a
nice stroke of business for him to lead down a party of our best men and
deliver them to the rebels."
"I have no fear of the fidelity of Andrews," said Mitchel. "He has been
too well proved. But I am not so sure that he will be able to carry
through all that he has undertaken, or that our boys can preserve their
disguise until they reach the right point and are ready for the blow. If
they should be detected while pretending to be rebels, it is not at all
unlikely that they will be treated as spies and hung up. I wish they
were back in camp again. But if they get through all right and burn the
bridges, we will make for Chattanooga as fast as our legs can carry us.
This is one of the reasons that makes the general so anxious to have
that bridge done. If we should hear to-morrow, as we may at any moment,
that those Southern bridges are smashed, it would be a race for
Chattanooga with all the odds in our favor. But you must not breathe a
word of this to one of the soldiers, or especially write of it to the
papers, or to any of the relatives of the poor fellows, till they are
back with us,--if they ever come back! Give me your candid opinion, was
it right to let them take such a risk?"
Without the slightest hesitation I declared that it was right, giving
the reasons that seemed most weighty. War is full of risks. In an
obscure skirmish, or by a chance shot from the picket-line, the most
valuable life may be put out. Now, if by a little additional risk a few
men can do the work of thousands,--the work that if done in the ordinary
mode would certainly cost a score times as many lives as are
imperilled,--the risk is worth taking. Of course, it would not be right
to send men on such an enterprise without their consent, but in the
Union army it was never necessary to force men into any dangerous
enterprise. Volunteers were always plenty enough.
I asked, further, how many men were engaged, and learned with additional
astonishment that the detachment from our own regiment--only eight
men--was all. This force seemed totally inadequate to the greatness of
the work, but I understood that the risk of detection would multiply
with the increase of numbers. The very smallest number that could serve
was, therefore, selected. If they succeeded, few were better than many.
After a long conversation, Mitchel and I returned to the working-party
down the river. The burnt remnants of the old railroad bridge and the
rapidly rising timbers of the new had now a deeper interest than ever.
The completion of this bridge and the burning of some others far in the
South were the two events for which that whole division, whose tents
dotted the meadows behind us, was unconsciously waiting. My head was
full of conjectures and plans as I walked back through the twilight to
join my messmates in the tent. I could talk to no one of what I had
heard, but as I lay awake that night a most important resolution took
shape. I was weary of the slow movement of the army, and of the monotony
of a private soldier's service. While trying carefully to do all my
duty, and winning a fair degree of approval from my officers, I yet had
no taste for military affairs. If by a little extra hazard I could do
more for the country, while getting rid of distasteful routine and
entering into a new sphere of work, I was more than willing to accept
all the hazard involved. It was too late to take part in the present
attempt, but I resolved to be prepared for any opportunity of the kind
that might again offer.
Accordingly, in the forenoon of the next day I went up to regimental
headquarters and told Colonel L. A. Harris, of the Second Ohio, that I
had a favor to ask of him. Major (since General) Anson G. McCook, in
whose company I had served during the first three months of the war, was
also present. I told them I had ascertained that some of our men had
been sent out on secret service lately, and that if any similar details
should be made in the future, I wanted the opportunity of being
included. Major McCook, while saying some kind things about me,
intimated a doubt whether my defective vision--I was very
near-sighted--might not be a hindrance on any perilous service. Colonel
Harris, however, took a different view of the matter, saying he thought
that if I dressed in citizen's clothes, and wore my spectacles (as I was
accustomed to do even in the ranks), no person in the South would
suspect me of being a soldier, and I was thus only the better fitted for
any secret service. McCook did not press his objection, and after
learning the reason for my request and trying in vain to find the source
of my information, Colonel Harris said,--
"Pittenger, I don't know that we will ever send any more men out of camp
in this manner, but I will give my promise that if we do, you shall be
the first man called upon."
This was perfectly satisfactory. I returned to my duty, and in the
routine of camp-life waited for several days in impatient anxiety. I
dreamed at night of burning bridges and startling adventures. Duty on
picket and in the camp lines, however, with other excitements, began to
weaken the impression, as day after day rolled by with no recurrence of
the subject. But one day it was told me by a friend that one of the
missing men, a member of Company C, was back again in his usual place in
line. For some time attempts to get him to say where he had been, and
whether alone or in company, were in vain. He would speak no word by
which any one could divine the nature of his errand while away from us,
or the degree of success he had met with. I was much disquieted by his
return alone, but having no special acquaintance, I did not like to try
to get any information directly from him. But I soon learned that he had
gone as far as Chattanooga and had turned back,--some of his comrades
afterwards thought because he became so sensible of the difficulties of
his attempt that he resolved to go no further in it,--a determination
which he had a perfect right to make, and which in no way impugned his
character as a soldier. His own explanation, afterwards given, which I
saw no reason to doubt, was more dramatic. He said that he had gone in
disguise as far as Chattanooga, but had there been recognized by a rebel
soldier, who was an old acquaintance, and who knew that he belonged to
the Union army. This man heard him telling his false story in a public
place without contradicting him, but as soon as he could do so
unobserved, drew him aside and declared that he remembered him, and knew
he was down there disguised for some bad purpose; but that if he would
pledge himself to return immediately to the Union lines, he would, for
the sake of their former friendship, refrain from denouncing him,
otherwise his own sense of duty would require him to report all he knew
to the commander of the post. Under such circumstances our comrade
judged it most prudent to give and keep the pledge required.
At length the bridge over Stone River was completed, and there was great
rejoicing as the first train, laden with army supplies, passed over it
from Nashville. Next morning the order was given to the whole division
to prepare three days' rations. This was invariably the signal for a
decided movement. Our lost comrades were still away, and no word had
reached the rank and file of the army of any unusual occurrence
southward. The uneasiness of General Mitchel and the regimental officers
of the Second Ohio, and especially of Captain Sarratt, who commanded the
company to which I belonged, and my friend, Captain Mitchel, was
apparent to any careful observer.
Just before the march began, while we were standing in line early the
next morning, with the camp all broken up, our knapsacks swung, and our
haversacks filled with rations, waiting only for the word "forward,"
Captain Mitchel came over to me and uttered a sentence, in a half
whisper, that went through me like an electric shock. His message was
simply this: "Mills is back, and has gone up to headquarters to report."
While standing in my place in the ranks I could give no answer, nor
could I ask any question, but my mind was full of surmises. Had the
adventurers succeeded, and were we now on our way to do our part in the
great plan,--to strike swift and far into the South, while the enemy's
communications were broken? That would involve hard fighting and
stirring scenes not far ahead. Had they failed? If so, there would
probably be other attempts,--that is, if the secret had been kept,--and
then I would have a part in the risk and the adventure. At any rate, I
was exceeding glad of Mills's return, and I knew that I would find out
all about it as soon as I could get to talk with him alone. As Company
K--Mitchel's--was next my own in the line, that opportunity, even on the
march, would not be long delayed.
Soon the command to march was given, and the column moved southward
towards Shelbyville, about twenty-five miles distant. Before noon I
dropped out of my place, sought and found Mills, and as we plodded
along, in the loose order allowed on long marches, we had no difficulty
in remaining together, and yet far enough from other soldiers to talk in
perfect security. The whole history of my relative's adventures was
fully laid open before me. I found that all Mitchel had narrated was
perfectly accurate, but the enormous obstacles to be encountered by such
an expedition were now brought much more plainly into view. Mills said
that he and his companions had first of all exchanged their uniforms for
citizen's clothes, and made provision for the safety of their arms and
personal effects in the camp. Then, under the direction of Andrews, they
had scattered in the mountains, to the eastward of our camp,
representing themselves as refugees from the oppressions of the Union
troops in Kentucky, and had journeyed thus to Chattanooga. That town had
been reached in about four days. My friend pictured in lively colors the
manner in which he had been compelled to verbally abuse the Union cause,
and join in praise of the leaders and principles of Secession. The squad
to which he belonged had no particular difficulty in passing themselves
as good rebels. The man who first returned had been less fortunate. At
Chattanooga they took passage on the cars for Atlanta, and in due time
reached that place, where they scattered themselves among the several
hotels and lived plentifully (they had an abundant supply of money) for
three days longer. Each hour Andrews anticipated the arrival of that
Confederate engineer of whom Mitchel had spoken to me. But he did not
come. All possible inquiries were guardedly made concerning him, for it
was not safe to appear too inquisitive.
"How did you feel while thus waiting in suspense?" I asked.
"I felt as if I wanted to be back in camp, and had no business to be in
that town any longer," replied Frank. "To hear the curses and threats
made against everything that belonged to the Union, and to be obliged to
keep perfectly quiet, or to agree with them, was more than I could
easily endure. And the folks about the hotel were more anxious every day
to know who I was, and I had to tell them lies without number. I
resolved not to stand it much longer."
"Were you really afraid of being found out, Frank?" I queried. "Did you
consider yourself in much danger?"
With great emphasis he answered, "No money could hire me to put myself
in such a position again. I would have run away if we had been obliged
to stay much longer."
This man was as brave as any human being. I had seen him perfectly cool
and serene under circumstances of great danger, when every one else in
the company betrayed some sign of fear. I did not suspect him of
exaggerating the perils of the situation in which he was placed, and,
having a deep personal interest in the matter, I put the question
bluntly,--
"If men should be wanted to try this thing again, would you not go?"
"Never!" was the unequivocal response. "If Andrews and Mitchel want
bridges burned, they can go themselves and burn them! I will do my duty
as a soldier, but as to going out among those----"
The terms applied, and the energy given to the accompanying description
of the horror of being alone among blood-thirsty enemies, feeling that,
sleeping or waking, a rope was around one's neck, just ready to be
tightened on the utterance of a single careless word, it is not
necessary to transcribe here.
"But why did not that man come to help you? Did you find out anything
about him?"
"Andrews told us, on the third day after we had reached Atlanta, that he
had heard through some of the railway officials that the engineer had
been transferred to the Mobile and Ohio Railroad to help in running
troops to Corinth" (this was a short time before the battle of Shiloh).
"But my own opinion is that the man got scared and had himself
transferred there to get out of a bad scrape."
"But how did Andrews take this disappointment?"
"He was very much cast down. He asked each of us if we had ever been
engineers or firemen. But no one had ever occupied such a position. He
hated terribly to give up; but, as nothing more could be done, he at
last told us we might work our way back to camp."
"Where are the other boys?"
"I suppose they are on their way. It was harder getting back than going
down. Everybody seemed to think it natural for us to be going South; but
we had to make all kind of excuses for 'heading the wrong way,' as they
called it. We had to scatter to avoid observation, and travel part of
the way by night; and if some of them are not discovered and either put
into the rebel army or hung, I will be very glad."
"Do you think Andrews will now give up the job of burning those bridges,
or will he try again?"
"If he can get men to go, you may be sure he will keep at it until he
succeeds or dies. But I would never go again or advise any one else to
do so. Why, he said he would stay down several days after we left and
make a complete survey of the line, for the very purpose of trying over
again."
"What do you think of Andrews himself? Can he be trusted?"
"Yes; he's as true as steel, and very smart. But I am afraid he will
venture a little too far, both for himself and for those with him, one
of these days."
I have omitted the many striking incidents that Mills narrated to me in
the course of this conversation, which was more interesting to me than
any romance, because adventures very similar in their general character
to those he described will be fully narrated in another place.
I found my way back to my proper place in the regiment, feeling sure
that another attempt to destroy the Southern communications would be
made, in which I must engage if I did not positively "back out";
convinced, also, that it would involve hard labor, much peril, and, even
with these, great risk of failure.
The next day others of the Andrews party returned to us, and
corroborated the accounts given by Mills. The day following the
remainder arrived in safety. They were all glad to get back, and were
unanimous in declaring that they would not again venture disguised into
the enemy's country under any circumstances. They spoke very sparingly
about their experiences, for the officers had cautioned them to say but
little, in view of the possibility of a new venture of the same
character.
On Saturday evening, the 5th of April, we camped on the banks of Duck
River, in some pleasant meadows about a mile from the town of
Shelbyville. The next day was delightful. The spring of 1862 opened very
early, and now the meadows were verdant and the birds singing. The calm,
quiet, and beauty of that Sabbath, with the white tents dotting the
level fields, and the soldiers luxuriating in one day of rest after the
hard march, which had been rendered more fatiguing by the accompaniments
of rain and mud, form a very pleasant picture in memory. The next
Sabbath came to me under entirely different circumstances. I felt the
pressure of a vague melancholy resting upon me,--possibly it was only
that pensive feeling often inspired by a fresh, bright, and quiet day in
early spring; possibly the faint shadow of coming evil. I devoted the
greater part of the day to writing letters to friends and
newspapers,--the last I wrote for weary months. On this same day--though
we knew it not till afterwards--began the great battle of Shiloh, or
Pittsburg Landing, one hundred and fifty miles west of us.
On Monday Andrews himself returned to our lines, and asked, as I had
anticipated, for permission to renew his enterprise. He had spent
several days along the line of the Western and Atlantic Railroad,
learning the number of trains, their times of running, and everything
else likely to be useful. He had then started for camp, and being
provided with passes, so that he could take the most direct road,
besides being well mounted, he came in almost as soon as the private
soldiers who started much sooner.
But not one of the first party would return. They were tired of feeling,
as one of them expressed it, that their necks depended upon a lie. Like
Schiller's diver, they had plunged once into the abyss and returned in
safety; but, unlike that venturous youth, they would not make the second
and fatal trial.
The new expedition, as proposed by Andrews, differed in three
particulars from the first. He wanted a larger force,--twenty-four men
instead of eight. He had seen that it was possible to carry a
considerable number of men in disguise to the scene of action, and the
number now requested was none too large for the capture of a full
railway train or the overpowering of guards at important bridges. He
also wanted some engineers to be detailed, in order that no mishap might
leave them without the power of running their train. Five were secured,
thus leaving an ample margin, as it was believed, for the possibility of
capture on the way down, or of death by the enemy's bullets in the hour
of conflict. It thus became an enterprise completely fitted out in
Federal lines, without any reliance on help from the South. The third
point of difference was of more importance than a casual glance
revealed. The first expedition had an abundance of time. A week's delay,
even after the soldiers were in the enemy's country, would have involved
no risk, save that of discovery,--would, indeed, have been an advantage,
as it would allow less time for the repair of damages done to the
Southern railroads before Mitchel's arrival at Chattanooga. But now it
was different. The whole division was ready to advance, its course being
clearly indicated to the enemy, and moments became precious. By making
the utmost speed it was still possible to have the bridges burned at the
right time, but every hour's delay would render the work more difficult,
and its success more uncertain. The bearing of this question of time
will be made painfully apparent in our story.
General Mitchel received the report of Mr. Andrews (which also embraced
all the information the most skilful spy could have brought concerning
the nature and disposition of the enemy's forces), approved his prudence
in ordering the return of the soldiers, and sanctioned the second
attempt. He, however, advised caution, saying that Andrews must not
strike unless he saw a good prospect of success; but he made no
objection to the increase of force, provided volunteers could be
obtained. It was easy to secure the five engineers asked for without
going beyond the limits of the three Ohio regiments composing General
Sill's brigade. Of the detail as finally made out, nine men belonged to
the Twenty-first, eight to the Thirty-third, and seven to the Second
Ohio Regiments.