MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION.
On Monday, April 7, while I was inside my tent engaged in some of the
little details of work which occupy a soldier's time in camp, a comrade
pulled open the canvas door and called out,--
"Pittenger, Captain Sarratt is looking for you."
I went out and met the captain, and together we walked up the street
formed by the two rows of tents to the larger tent occupied by the
company officers, which stood across the street at the upper end. He
took me inside, and then said, with a sigh,--
"Colonel Harris has just sent me word that you are to go with Andrews
down to Georgia. I do not know why he has selected you, but I advise you
not to go. You have perfect liberty to refuse."
I told him that so far from refusing my mind was fully made up to
accept, and that I had already arranged with Colonel Harris to that
effect. Sarratt was surprised to hear this, but urged every argument in
his power to dissuade me; telling me that the safe return of the four
who had been out on the former expedition had lifted a great burden from
his heart; but that if I went, it would be no better than before. I was
deeply moved by his evident concern, but had gone too far to retract. I
asked if any other member of our company was to go. He answered in the
negative, saying that he understood that but one from each company was
to be detailed. Finding persuasion in vain, he gave me a pass to
Shelbyville, where I could see Andrews and procure all necessaries for
the journey. I left him, deeply impressed by the kindness of the man,
which led him to regard the soldiers under his command as children, for
whose welfare he felt himself in a great degree responsible.
No one of my comrades yet knew of the intended expedition. In the
afternoon I took a friend with me and strolled into Shelbyville, a
well-built village of a few hundred inhabitants, and purchased some
articles of clothing, but was not able to find a complete suit. A number
of persons were engaged in making similar purchases--among others, the
sergeant-major of our regiment, Marion Ross. By watching the character
of his purchases and by a few careful questions, I found that his
business was the same as my own. No side-arms could be found, but I knew
that all lack in that direction could easily be supplied in camp.
Getting away from all other company, Ross and I strayed through the town
for some time, keeping a sharp lookout, until, at length, we saw
Andrews. His striking personal appearance made it easy to recognize him,
and, approaching, we told him that we were ordered to report to him.
After scrutinizing us a moment, and asking us the company and rank we
held, he told us that it would not be prudent to talk much in so public
a place, but to overtake him after dark a mile or more east of
Shelbyville, on the road toward Wartrace, and he would there give us
full explanations, and allow us to return to our regiments if not
satisfied with his plans. With these few words we parted from him, and
went back to our tents for final arrangements. I borrowed the additional
clothing I needed from one of the former adventurers. All my arms and
equipments I put carefully in order, packed my uniform in my knapsack to
be left in the care of the proper authorities, arrayed myself in
citizen's clothes, and stepped out of my tent. The soldiers who were
idling around passed the word to their comrades who were in their tents,
reading, playing cards, or amusing themselves in the various ways
incident to camp-life, and soon almost the whole company--indeed, all
who were not absent on guard duty--thronged around and commenced all
kinds of questions. "Pittenger, going to desert? Going home? Going out
as a spy? Got a discharge? Got a furlough?"--were a few of the inquiries
that rained from every quarter. At the same time I heard it asserted
that several other men were dressing up in the same manner. I answered
all questions in the affirmative, and stepped over to the company street
adjoining our own--that of Company K--and sought the tent in which Frank
Mills messed. He had a very good revolver which I wanted to borrow. As I
entered, he read the situation in a glance.
"So, you are going with Andrews."
I nodded, and hastened to add, "I want your revolver."
"You are welcome to the revolver, but if you know when you are well off
you will stay where you are. Because I was fool enough to go, it does
not follow that you need be."
I did not argue the question, but he saw that it was settled, and he
gave me the weapon, with a liberal supply of cartridges. I was now
ready, and the gravity of the situation forced itself more clearly upon
my apprehension. I did not expect to return to camp until the proposed
enterprise had been accomplished. Considering, therefore, that so much
was already known in camp from the report of the former party, and from
seeing me arrayed as I was, I could not understand that it would be any
advantage for me to steal away unnoticed. With this view, I went up to
Captain Sarratt's quarters and bade him good-by. He was almost overcome
with emotion, and could not muster a single one of his accustomed
good-natured jokes. Then came the farewells to tried comrades. Few of
them had any distinct conception of the nature of my errand, but they
knew it was secret and dangerous, and this was enough to excite their
apprehension. They labored hard to dissuade me. The devotion of one of
their number, my inseparable companion, Alexander Mills, was especially
affecting. Though he had been lying in our tent very sick all day, he
now crawled to the door and begged me not to go. Finding that I was
fully determined, he hurried as fast as his tottering steps would allow
to headquarters, for permission to go along! Notwithstanding his
physical inability, he persisted in his request until the colonel
threatened to have him put under arrest. Had he been well he would not
have been refused, as he was a most excellent soldier; but in the trying
times that followed, it was a great satisfaction to me that he was left
behind. Poor fellow! he lost his life while carrying the flag of the
Second Ohio at the battle of Lookout Mountain, eighteen months later,
and now sleeps in the beautiful National Cemetery at Chattanooga,--that
town towards which our steps were now bent.
When all the farewells were over I strolled back to Shelbyville, meeting
Sergeant Ross as we had arranged, and passed the time pleasantly with
him in looking about the village until about dark, when we inquired the
road to Wartrace, and started for the rendezvous that Andrews had
appointed. We walked very leisurely, expecting that some of our number,
who were probably behind, would soon overtake us, and having a curiosity
to ascertain whether we could recognize them by speech or manner as
belonging to our party. We saw several persons, but they were travelling
the opposite way, and we began to be apprehensive that we had taken the
wrong road.
As we journeyed on, we noticed a house surrounded by a yard, and Ross
proposed getting a drink of water. Crossing the fence we went up to the
house, but before we reached the door, a dog came up silently behind my
companion, and, biting his leg, ran under the house before a revolver
could be drawn.
The bite was not severe, and I laughed heartily at his mishap; but
after drinking, and before reaching the fence, the same dog rushed out
once more. Ross saw him in time, and sprang over the fence, but I sat on
the top of it in fancied security. The malicious creature sprang at me,
seized my coat, and tore a large piece out of it. The same coat, thus
torn, I wore during the whole of the year through which our adventures
extended. The incident was trivial, but in the deepening darkness, with
a thunder-storm, which now began to mutter in the distance, approaching,
uncertain as to where our comrades were, and at the beginning of a
desperate enterprise, it stands out in memory with lurid distinctness.
To a superstitious person it might have seemed ominous of the results of
that expedition in which Ross perished, and from which I returned a
shattered and disabled invalid.
A pistol-shot easily cleared us of the dog, and we pursued our way,--not
rejoicingly, for our situation grew every moment more perplexing. Not
one of our comrades was visible, and we were almost certain we had taken
the wrong road. Finally, we resolved to retrace our steps, and try to
get in Shelbyville some better clue to our journey. Unless we could
obtain further instructions, we knew not how or where to go. We did not
like to return to camp, for that would probably delay us too long to
take part in the enterprise, and the failure to go, after our affecting
leave-taking, would have formed a ludicrous anticlimax, and probably
have been charged to cowardice. At a cross-road in sight of Shelbyville,
where we felt sure that any of the adventurers who obeyed the directions
we had received must pass, we sat down and waited nearly an hour longer.
Our patience was rewarded. We had started too soon, and from this
miscalculation all our perplexity arose. A few men, whom we recognized
almost instinctively as belonging to our party, came along the road in
the right direction. A little guarded conversation showed us that we
were right, and we strolled slowly on with them. Shortly afterwards
others overtook us, among whom was Andrews. This was a great relief, as
we now had a guide. Soon we were as far from Shelbyville as Ross and I
alone had been, and a few hundred yards farther on fell in with still
other men. Our party had so greatly increased as to be quite
conspicuous, and it was advisable to add still further security to the
cover of the night. Accordingly, we left the road for some distance,
and, marching silently, were soon at the appointed rendezvous.
A little thicket of dead and withered trees, a short distance from the
road, and sufficiently open to assure us that no listener was near, was
the place of our assemblage. Never was a consultation preparatory to
some desperate deed held under more fitting circumstances. The storm
which had been gathering all the evening was now near. Black clouds
covered one half the sky, and the young moon, low down in the west, was
soon obscured. The frequent flashes of lightning, more vivid in the
darkness, and the low roll of thunder that followed, grew continually
more emphatic, forming most startling interruptions to the earnest but
suppressed words of our leader. It is very singular that amid these
ominous surroundings, which fitted so well the character of the business
in hand, one ordinary sound stands out in my memory, far more clear and
distinct than any part of the scene. Far off I heard the bark or howl of
a dog,--no doubt at some farm-house,--roused either by the coming storm
which began to sway the leafless boughs above us, or by the passing of
some belated traveller. Popular superstition would probably have
considered such a sound as ominous of evil; and most of us are
superstitious when young, in the dark, and entering upon unknown
dangers.
We formed a close circle around Mr. Andrews while he revealed to us his
daring plans. In a voice as soft and low as a woman's, but tremulous
with suppressed enthusiasm, he painted the greatness of the project
we were to attempt, the sublimity of rushing through a hostile country
at the full speed of steam, leaving flaming bridges and raging but
powerless foes behind. But he did not disguise the dangers to be
encountered.
[Illustration: Midnight Consultation.
Page 32.]
"Soldiers," he said, "if you are detected while engaged in this
business, the great probability is that you will be put to death,--hung
as spies, or massacred by a mob. I want you to clearly understand this,
and if you are not willing to take the risk, return to camp, and keep
perfectly quiet about it."
A murmur all around the circle conveyed the assurance that we would
follow him to the last extremity.
"Our plan," he continued, "is simply this: you are to travel on foot, or
by any conveyance you can hire, either to Chattanooga or some station
not far from that point on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad; then you
can take passage on the cars down to Marietta; that will be our next
place of assembling, and not Atlanta. You must be there by Thursday
evening, ready to take passage on the cars northward again by Friday
morning. I will be there as soon as you, and tell you what more is to be
done."
"But how about money to pay our way?" was asked.
"I have plenty of Confederate money, and will share it among you before
we part. As to your story, you cannot do better than to tell everybody
that you are Kentuckians coming South to get away from the Yankees, and
to join the Confederate army; only be careful to have always some
plausible reason for going farther before joining. A great many
Kentuckians have gone South by this route, and are very heartily
received. If you will go eastward through Wartrace and Manchester, you
will get into the track they usually take, and by then turning south,
you will not appear to be heading from the Union army. If any one of you
are questioned closely, you may say you are from Fleming County, for I
happen to know that no soldiers from that county are in this part of the
country."
All of these directions were eagerly listened to, but the closing one
afterwards bore disastrous fruit.
One of the soldiers asked, "If any of us are suspected, and find we
can't get away, what would you ad vise us to do?"
"Enlist without hesitation in the rebel army," was the response. "You
are fully authorized to do that, and no one of this party will be
accused of desertion, even if captured among the rebels. I would be
sorry to lose any one of you, but it will be far better that you should
serve awhile with the enemy than to acknowledge who you are, and thus
risk the disclosure of the enterprise."
"But is it likely that we could get the chance thus to enlist?" it was
further asked.
"Most certainly," said Andrews. "They are taking all the prisoners out
of the jails and enlisting them. They are picking up men who have run
away from the conscription wherever they can find them, and serving them
in the same manner. If you tell your story and stick to it, even if they
are not satisfied that you are telling the truth, they will put you into
the service. You can stay until some dark night on picket. But I hope
you will escape all trouble, and all meet me at Marietta safely. Break
this party up into squads of three or four, and don't recognize each
other on the way. I will ride along the same country you are travelling,
and give you any help or direction in my power. But you must not
recognize me unless sure that we are not observed."
There was but one subject on which I cared to ask any questions, and
that related to a distant contingency. I was well informed as to the
first part of the intended enterprise.
"Suppose we succeed in capturing the train," I said, "and in burning the
bridges, are we then to leave the train, and try to steal back to our
lines in the same way we are now going South?"
"By no means," replied Mr. Andrews. "We will run the train right through
Chattanooga, and westward until we meet Mitchel, who by that time will
be coming eastward on the road from Memphis. If we should not quite
reach him, we will get so close that we can dash through in a body."
This was satisfactory as far as it went, but there was still another
contingency. More than anything else I dreaded being left alone in an
unknown country.
"If we fail to run the captured train through Chattanooga, will we then
disperse or stick together?"
"After we meet at Marietta, we will keep together, and, if necessary,
cut our way back to our own lines. Form your squads now, and I will give
out the money."
Swiftly we selected our companions. There was little time for choice.
Most of the men were strangers. The darkness was intense, and the
thunder-peals almost overhead. In a moment we formed six or seven little
groups. My former comrade, Ross, stood with another man or two beside
Andrews. Two men from Captain Mitchel's company and one from the next
company to that in the regimental line stood by my side. Andrews went
from group to group, giving out the money freely, and answering
questions that were still asked. When this was accomplished, he
addressed himself once more to the whole number, and we crowded around
to listen to his parting words. They gave us the fullest insight into
the whole plan we had yet received.
"To-morrow morning," said he, "Mitchel, with his whole army, will start
on a forced march right south to Huntsville. He will capture that town
not later than Friday (it was now Monday night), and will then turn east
towards Chattanooga. We must burn the bridges south of Chattanooga the
same day, for after that, the road will be crowded with trains bringing
reinforcements against him and running property away, and our task will
be very much harder. So we have no time to lose. We must be at Marietta
on Thursday evening. The last train for that station leaves Chattanooga
at five o'clock in the afternoon. Be sure to catch it. Good-by."
He gave each of us his hand with a hearty pressure and fervent good
wishes. Not many moments after, the storm broke over us with all its
fury. The rain fell in torrents. The last glimpse I caught of Andrews as
my party of four hurried on their prescribed course was by means of a
broad glare of lightning that made the drenched landscape for a moment
as bright as day. He had just parted from the last group and was gazing
after us.