IN THE ENEMY'S POWER.
But I will dwell no longer on the miseries of this dreary morning. Its
hours went tediously by, marked by no special incidents till about noon.
Just beyond Lafayette, Georgia, I was observed by some one on the watch
for strangers. A party of pursuit numbering twenty or thirty was at once
organized. I knew nothing of my danger till they were within fifty
yards, when I heard them calling for me to stop.
A single glance showed my helplessness. I laid my hand instinctively on
my revolver, but knew that fight was useless. Neither was flight
possible. The country was open and I was too weary to run, even if some
of the party had not been mounted and others armed with rifles and
shot-guns. It was time to see what could be made of my plans carefully
contrived for just such an emergency. Therefore, making a virtue of
necessity, I turned round and demanded what they wanted, though I knew
only too well. They said courteously enough that they wanted to talk
with me awhile. Soon they came up, and a brisk little man who had the
epaulets of a lieutenant, but whom they called "Major," began to ask
questions. He was very bland, and apologized profusely for interrupting
me, but said if I was a patriotic man (as he had no doubt I was) I would
willingly undergo a slight inconvenience for the good of the
Confederacy. I endeavored to emulate his politeness, begging him to
proceed in the performance of his duty, and assuring him that he would
find nothing wrong. He searched me very closely for papers, and examined
my money and pistol, but found no ground for suspicion.
He next asked me who I was, where I came from, and where I was going. I
expected all these questions in about that order, and answered them
categorically. I told him I was a citizen of Kentucky, of Fleming
County, who had become disgusted with the tyranny of the Lincoln
government, and was ready to fight against it; that I came to
Chattanooga, but would not enlist there because most of the troops were
conscripts, and the few volunteers very poorly armed. I told him where I
had lodged in Chattanooga, and many things about the troops there, using
all the knowledge I had acquired of that character while riding on the
cars to Marietta the preceding Friday. I had also heard many words of
praise spoken of the First Georgia Regiment, and now told the major that
I wished to join that noble organization. This flattered his State
pride, but he asked me one question more,--why I had not gone directly
to Corinth, where the First Georgia was, without coming to Lafayette,
which was far out of the way. The question conveyed much information, as
I did not before know that I was near Lafayette, or out of the road from
Chattanooga to Corinth. I answered as well as I could by alleging that
General Mitchel was said to be at Huntsville, and that I was making a
circuit around to avoid the danger of falling into his hands.
This seemed to be perfectly satisfactory to the little man, and, turning
to the attentive crowd, he said,--
"We may as well let this fellow go on, for he seems to be all right."
I was greatly rejoiced at these words, and cast about in my own mind to
see if I could not gain something more before passing on the way. But my
joy was premature. A dark-complexioned man on horseback, with his hat
drawn over his brows, looked slowly up and drawled out,--
"Well, y-e-s! Perhaps we'd as well take him back to town, and if it's
all right, maybe we can help him on to Corinth."
This was rather more help than I wanted, but there was no help for it.
Besides, I reasoned that if I could keep on good terms with this party,
I could get information and aid that would be invaluable towards my
final escape. Nothing could really suit me much better than actually to
be forwarded to Corinth and enlisted in the First Georgia. I knew the
ordeal of questioning before that course was determined on would be very
trying, but did not despair. If I could only have had some food and a
few hours' rest!
They conducted me to the largest hotel of the place, where I was
received with much ceremony, but they neglected to order dinner. I could
have had drink enough, but was too prudent to touch it, even if I had
not always been a teetotaler. Soon all the lawyers came in,--Lafayette
is a county-seat,--and they all had liberty to question me. For four
mortal hours, as I could see by a clock in the room, I conversed with
them and answered questions. We talked of everything, and their
questions grew more and more pointed. I answered as well as I could, and
never let an opportunity pass to put in a question in turn, for it was
much easier and less perilous to ask than answer. When I told them I was
from Kentucky, they wished to know the county. I told them Fleming. They
asked after the county-seat. This also I could give. But when they asked
after adjoining counties I was sorely perplexed. One of them said it was
singular a man could not bound his own county. I asked how many of them
could bound the county we then were in. This question had a double
purpose,--to gain time and information. They mentioned several and fell
into a dispute, to settle which a map had to be produced. I got a look
at it also,--a mere glance, for it was soon out of reach of my eager
gaze; but I had seen much. Then they requested a narrative of my journey
all the way from Kentucky. This I gave very easily and in great detail
as long as it was on ground not accessible to my inquisitors. I told the
truth as far as that would not be compromising, and then pieced out with
inventions. The time I had spent on the train and in the woods were
hardest to arrange for. I had to _invent_ families with whom I had
lodged; tell the number of children and servants at each place, with all
kinds of particulars. I knew not how many of my auditors might be
familiar with the country I was thus fancifully populating, and was
careful not to know too much. I plead forgetfulness as often as that
plea was plausible, but it would not do to use it too often. I might
have refused to answer any question, but this would have been a tacit
admission of some kind of guilt,--at least as good as a mob would have
required. I might safely use any retorts and sharpness in
conversation,--and I did talk with perfect freedom,--but I had the
feeling that silence would have brought me in danger of the lash and the
rope. Can the reader conceive of any situation more critical and
perilous: starving and almost fainting from weariness, in the midst of a
growing tavern crowd, questioned by acute lawyers, and obliged to keep
every faculty on the alert, feeling that an incautious answer would
probably lead to an instant and frightful death, and compelled under
such pressure to tell falsehood after falsehood in unending succession?
But I had an increasing hope if my endurance continued to the end. At
supper-time I meant to boldly demand food, and I felt sure of getting
it. Besides, although they were clear that I was a suspicious
character, they did not seem in any way to connect me with the great
railroad expedition,--the only identification I feared. The very fact
that I was so far away from the point where the train was abandoned was
in my favor. Temporary confinement, enlistment in the army, anything
they were likely to do was without terror as long as I was not connected
with the daring adventure which had culminated the day before. They were
somewhat perplexed by the assurance with which I spoke, and held
numerous private consultations, only agreeing that the case needed
further investigation.
Matters were in this position when a man, riding a horse covered with
foam, dashed up to the door. He came from Ringgold and brought the
news--of deeper interest to me than to any one else--that several of the
bridge-burners had been taken near the place where they abandoned the
train. When first apprehended they claimed to be CITIZENS OF KENTUCKY,
FROM FLEMING COUNTY; but on finding that this did not procure their
release, they confessed being Ohio soldiers, sent by General Mitchel to
burn the bridges on the Georgia State Railroad!
I have no reason to believe that any of those who were captured
described their companions, or gave any information leading
intentionally to their discovery. This was not needed. The unfortunate
telling of the same fictitious story and the subsequent revelation of
their true character on the part of some of the number who were captured
close to the abandoned train, unmasked the others as well. After the
first captures, which were made Saturday afternoon, whenever a fugitive
was arrested who hailed from _Fleming County, Kentucky_, and was not
able to prove his innocence, he was at once set down as a member of the
railroad party.
The message from Ringgold ended all uncertainty in my own case. I was at
once conducted, under strict guard, to the county jail.
The little major was my escort. He took advantage of his position to
purloin my money, and then turned me over to the county jailer. That
personage took my penknife and other little articles of property, then
led me up-stairs, unfastened a door to the right, which led into a large
room with barred windows, and having a cage, made of crossing iron bars,
in the centre. He unlocked the small but heavy iron door of the cage and
bade me enter. For the first time in my life I was to be locked in jail!
My reflections could not have been more gloomy if the celebrated
inscription had been written over the cage that Dante placed above the
gate of hell, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here."
There did seem absolutely no hope for me. I was there as a criminal, and
I knew that life was held too cheaply in the South for my captors to be
fastidious about disposing of an unknown stranger. I had heard the
message from Ringgold, and at once comprehended its bearing against me.
Nothing save a confession of my true character as a soldier and my real
business in the South would be credited. The probability was that even
this would only make my doom the more speedy.
In that hour my most distressing thoughts were of the friends at home,
and especially of my mother,--thinking what would be their sorrow when
they heard of my ignominious fate,--if, indeed, they ever heard, for I
had given "John Thompson" instead of my own name. That all my young
hopes and ambitions, my fond dreams of being useful, should perish, as I
then had no doubt they would, on a Southern scaffold, seemed utterly
unbearable. But one moment only did these thoughts sweep over me; the
next they were rejected by a strong effort of the will as worse than
useless, and were followed by a sense of unutterable relief, for I could
now rest. I had found a refuge even in prison, and needed no longer to
keep every failing faculty at the utmost tension. The sweetness of rest
for the moment overcame every other feeling save hunger, and that, too,
was soon satisfied. The jailer brought some coarse food, which was
devoured with exceeding relish. There was another prisoner in the same
cage,--probably a detective, put in for the purpose of gaining my
confidence and leading me to a confession. His first step was to plead
ill health as an excuse for not eating his share of the prison food. I
excused him, and ate his allowance as well as my own without difficulty.
He then wished to talk, and asked me some questions, but I was in no
mood for further conversation. Being cold I borrowed his prison
blankets, of which he had a plentiful supply, and, wrapping myself up in
them, soon sank into a deep sleep--profound and dreamless--such as only
extreme fatigue can produce. The quaint advice contained in the last
words of my companion, however, lingered in my memory. Said he,--
"If you are innocent of the charge they make against you, there is no
hope for you. You are much worse off than if you are guilty, for they
will hang you on suspicion, while, if you are a soldier, you can tell
what regiment you belong to, and claim protection as a United States
prisoner of war."
My sleep lasted until long after dawn of the next morning. This repose,
with the breakfast which followed, completely restored my strength, and
with the elasticity of youth I began to revolve my situation and plan
for the future. I was not long left in loneliness. The people of the
village and surrounding country came in throngs to see a man who was
supposed to belong to the daring band of engine thieves,--one of the
most common names by which our party was recognized during our
imprisonment. They were very free in their criticisms of my appearance,
and some were very insulting in their remarks. But I would not allow
myself to be drawn into conversation with them, for I had a momentous
question to decide in my own mind.
The more I thought of the advice of my fellow-prisoner the more weighty
did it appear. I did not value it because it was his opinion, but
because it seemed reasonable. I also longed to assume my true name once
more and my position as a soldier. The thought of perishing obscurely
and in disguise was most revolting. Besides, I felt that a soldier had
more chances of life than a suspected wanderer. Our government might put
forth energetic efforts to save those who were in such deadly peril. I
remembered, with increasing hope, that the Federals, at this very time,
held a number of rebel prisoners in Missouri, who had been captured
while disguised in Federal uniform inside of our lines, engaged in an
attempt very similar to our own,--the burning of some railroad bridges.
Why might not these be held as hostages to assure our safety, or even
exchanged for us? To entitle me to any help from our government I must
be William Pittenger, of the Second Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and not
John Thompson, of Kentucky. My mind was soon made up,--the more readily
that I heard my citizen visitors talking about the capture of several
others of our party, who had all admitted that they were United States
soldiers. They were influenced, no doubt, by the same course of
reasoning that I have indicated. I believe this decision ultimately
saved my life.
But there was room for choice as to the manner of making my confession.
I told the jailer that I had an important communication for the
authorities, and he reported the matter to some person of influence, who
summoned a vigilance committee, and ordered me before it.
I found them prepared to renew the examination of the previous day. They
had the same lawyers in waiting, and, indeed, all the principal men of
the town. When their preliminaries were over, they asked the nature of
the communication I wished to make, and hoped that I could throw some
light on the mysterious capture of the railroad train. I said,--
"Gentlemen, the statements I made yesterday were intended to deceive."
("So we suspected," said one of the lawyers, _sotto voce_.) "I will now
tell you the truth."
The clerk got his pen ready to take down the information, and the
roomful of people assumed an attitude of deepest attention.
"Go on, sir; go on," said the president.
"I am ready," said I, "to give my true name, and the division and
regiment of the United States army to which I belong, and to tell why I
came so far into your country."
"Just what we want to know, sir. Go on," said they.
"But," I returned, "I will make no statement whatever until taken before
the regular military authority of this department."
Their disappointment and surprise at this announcement were almost
amusing. Curiosity was raised to the highest pitch, and did not like to
postpone its gratification. They employed every threat and argument in
their power to make me change my decision,--some of them saying that I
should be hanged to the nearest tree if I did not. But I knew my ground.
I told them that though an enemy I was a soldier, possessed of important
military information, and, if they were loyal to their cause, it was
their duty to take me at once before, some regular military authority.
The leading men admitted the justice of this view, and when they found
that I would reveal nothing there, they made arrangements to take me to
Chattanooga. This was distant about twenty miles from Lafayette.
Ringgold, near which we abandoned the train, was about the same distance
to the east. In that long and terrible night of wandering I had
travelled twenty miles in a straight line, and, with my meanderings,
must have walked more than fifty.
My reason for postponing my confession until reaching Chattanooga was
that I wanted to get out of the hands of the mob as soon as possible.
There was no body of soldiers or responsible authority in Lafayette. If
I had perished there no one, in any contingency, could have been called
to account for it. Where a department commander was stationed I would
have to reckon with him alone, which was far preferable, and I counted
on the curiosity of the mob to preserve me as long as my secret was not
revealed.
I was remanded to the jail to wait for the preparation of a suitable
escort. After dinner about a dozen men entered my room, and guarded me
out to the public square. There a carriage was waiting, in which I was
placed, and then commenced the complicated process of tying and
chaining.
By this time a great mob had gathered, completely filling the square,
and in the most angry and excited condition. Some persons questioned me
in loud and imperious tones, demanding why I came down there to fight
them, and adding every possible word of insult. I heard many significant
hints about getting ropes, and the folly of taking me to Chattanooga
when I could be hanged just as well there.
For a little time I made no answer to any question, and paid as little
attention as possible to what was said. But the tumult increased, and
the mob grew so violent in its denunciations that I feared a passive
policy would no longer serve. Though I was being very effectually bound,
my tongue was still at liberty. I had no experience in managing mobs,
but I felt, by a kind of instinct, that mobs and dogs are very
similar,--neither likes to attack a person who quietly and
good-humoredly faces them. I had proved this with savage dogs several
times for mere sport, but this was a more serious matter. I was not much
in the humor of talking, but it was better to be led by policy than by
inclination. Selecting, therefore, some of the nearest persons, I spoke
to them. They answered with curses, but in the very act of cursing they
grew milder and more willing to converse. I answered their innuendoes
cheerfully, jesting, whenever opportunity offered, about the manner I
was being secured, the bracelets they were giving me, the care they had
for a "Yankee," as they persisted in calling me, and tried to look and
speak as if the whole matter were a mere comedy. I soon got some of the
laughers on my side, and before long had the satisfaction of hearing one
man say, regretfully, "Pity he is a Yankee, for he seems to be a good
fellow," and another agree to the sentiment. Yet I was not sorry to hear
the driver announce that we were now ready to start.
The manner in which I was tied indicated that my captors intended to
"make assurance doubly sure, and take a bond of fate." One end of a
heavy chain was put around my neck, and fastened there with a padlock;
the other end was passed behind the carriage-seat, and hitched to my
foot in the same manner, the chain being extended to its full length
while I was in a sitting position, thus rendering it impossible for me
to rise. My hands were tied together, my elbows were pinioned to my
sides by ropes, and, to crown all, I was firmly bound to the
carriage-seat, while two horsemen, armed with pistols and carbines,
followed the carriage at a short distance, and my evil genius, the
little major, took the seat beside me, likewise armed to the teeth. I
ought to have felt secure, but did not. The same exaggerated caution was
often noticed afterwards.
As we left Lafayette behind, the sky, which had been clouded for days,
suddenly cleared. The sun shone in beauty, and smiled on the first faint
dawnings of spring that lay in tender green on the surrounding hills.
What would I not have given for such a day forty-eight hours earlier!
But even then it was very welcome, and my spirit grew more light as I
breathed the fresh air and listened to the singing of the birds.
My companions were quite talkative, and I responded as well as I could.
They even tried to make me think that the extraordinary manner in which
I was tied and guarded--with which I reproached them--was a compliment,
showing that they had formed a high opinion of my daring character!
Their conversation was pleasant and courteous enough, except that when
they passed houses they would cry out, "We've got a live Yankee here!"
Then men, women, and children would rush to the door, staring as if they
saw some great monster, and asking,--
"Whar did you ketch him? Goin' to hang him when you get him to
Chattanooga?" and similar expressions without number.
I cared little for this at first, but its perpetual recurrence was not
without its effect in making me think that they really would hang me. In
fact, my prospects were far from encouraging; yet I considered it my
duty to keep up my spirits and hold despair at arm's length while any
possible ground for hope remained. The afternoon wore slowly away as we
journeyed amid grand and romantic scenery that in any other
circumstances would have been enthusiastically enjoyed. But now my
thoughts were otherwise engaged.
I was not so much afraid of death in itself as of the manner in which it
was likely to come. Death amid the smoke and excitement and glory of
battle never had seemed half so terrible as it now did when it stood, an
awful spectre, beside the gallows! And even sadder it was to think of
friends who would count the weary months, waiting and longing for my
return, till hope became torturing suspense, and suspense deepened into
despair. These and kindred thoughts were almost too much for my
fortitude; yet, setting my teeth hard, I resolved to endure patiently to
the end.
The sun went down, and night came on,--deep, calm, and clear. One by one
the stars twinkled into light. I gazed upon their beauty with new
feelings, as I wondered whether a few more suns might not set me free
from the short story of earthly things and make me a dweller beyond the
sky. A spirit of prayer and the faint beginnings of trust stirred within
me. Hitherto I had been looking at passing events alone, and refusing to
contemplate the great new experiences death would open. But now my
thoughts took a new direction. God was helping me, and inclining my
heart upward. I was to pass through many more terrible scenes and taste
bitter sorrows before I could recognize His voice and fully repose on
His love. I was not then a member of church nor a professor of religion.
I believed the doctrines of Christianity, and purposed some day to give
them practical attention. It had been easy to postpone this purpose,
and, latterly, the confusion and bustle of camp-life had almost driven
the subject out of my mind. But now God appeared very near, and, even
amid foes and dangers, I seemed to have hold of some hand, firm but
kind, beyond the reach of vision. What influence was most powerful in
turning my thoughts upward I cannot tell,--whether it was the familiar
outlines of the grand constellations, the quiet and stillness all
around, so congenial to exhausted nature after the excitement of the
last few days, or a yet more direct message from the Highest,--I only
know that the memory of that evening, when I was carried, chained, down
the long hill to the valley in which Chattanooga lies, there to meet an
unknown fate, is one of the sweetest of my life. My babbling guards had
subsided into silence, and, as we wended along through the gathering
darkness, high and noble thoughts of the destiny of man filled my
breast, and death appeared only a mere incident of existence,--the gate
out of one department of being into another. I was nerved for any fate.
It may be thought strange that in these moments of reflection and
spiritual yearning I had no feeling of remorse for any of the deceptions
of which I had been guilty. But I had not. It did not even occur to me
to consider them as sins at all. If necessary or expedient I would then
have added to them the sanction of an oath with equal recklessness. Some
sophistry--felt rather than reasoned out--about the lawfulness of
deceiving or injuring public enemies or rebels in any possible way--a
conviction that they had forfeited everything, even their right to be
told truth--must have controlled me. Before starting on this expedition
I had placed the highest value on truth, and would have regarded a
wilful lie with scorn and loathing. But I accepted deception as one of
the incidents of the enterprise, and all sense of its wrongfulness
passed away, and did not return until long afterwards.
We arrived at Chattanooga while a feeble glow of the soft spring
twilight lingered in the air. The headquarters of General Leadbetter,
then district commander, was in one of the principal hotels of the town,
and we at once drove there. I was left in the carriage while the major
ascended to inform him of the arrival.
The town had already been informed. The curiosity to see one of the men
who had captured the train and frightened the women and children of
Chattanooga into the woods only two days before was intense, and a very
large crowd soon assembled. They behaved as such assemblages usually
did, jeering and hooting, and calling me by every epithet of reproach
the language afforded,--wanting to know why I came down there to burn
their property and murder them and their children as well as free their
negroes. To these multitudinous questions and assertions I made no
answer. I was much amused (afterward!) by their criticisms of my
appearance. One would say that "it was a pity so young and
clever-looking a man should be caught in such a scrape." Another, of
more penetrating cast, "could tell that he was a rogue by his
looks,--probably came out of prison in his own country." Another was
surprised that I could hold up my head and look around on honest men,
arguing that such brazen effrontery in one so young was a proof of
enormous depravity of heart. I gave no opinion on the subject. Indeed, I
was not asked.
There was one man I noticed in particular. He was tall and
venerable-looking; had gray hair, gray beard, a magnificent forehead,
and, altogether, a commanding and intellectual expression. He was
treated with marked deference by the throng, and as they parted and
allowed him to come up to my carriage, the thought arose, "Surely I will
receive some sympathy from that kind and noble-looking man."
His first question confirmed my hope. Said he,--
"How old are you?"
I answered, "Twenty-two, sir."
Gradually his lip wreathed itself into a curl of unutterable scorn, and,
gazing steadily on me, he slowly uttered,--
"Poor young fool! And I suppose you were a school-teacher or something
of that kind in your own land! And you thought you would come down here
and rob us, and burn our houses, and murder us, did you? Now let me give
you a little advice: if you ever get home again, (but you never will!)
do try, for God's sake, and have a little better sense and stay there."
Then he turned contemptuously on his heel and strode away. The rabble
rewarded him with a cheer. I could never find out who he was; but after
that I looked for no more sympathy in that crowd.
My conductor now returned and escorted me into the presence of General
Leadbetter. I was glad of the change, though there was little about this
man to inspire confidence. They said he was from the North
originally,--a native of Maine, I believe. His habits were so
intemperate that a Confederate captain afterwards informed me that he
always lived in one of two states,--either dead drunk or gentlemanly
drunk. His record was, even this early in the war, of a very ill
character, for he had been the principal agent in hanging a considerable
number of East Tennessee Union men under circumstances of great
barbarity. To this, it was said, he owed his present position. Such was
the man in whose hands my fate now rested.
All the facts concerning him I learned afterwards, except one that was
apparent when I entered the room. He was considerably under the
influence of liquor, though not to an extent which interfered with the
transaction of business. He began to question me, and without any regard
for truth I gave him the story that I supposed would be best for my own
interest. I told him I was a United States soldier, giving my name,
company, and regiment correctly; but told him I was sent on this
expedition without my previous consent, and was ignorant of where I was
going or what I was to do, which I only learned as fast as it was to be
executed. He next inquired who was our engineer, but I refused to tell.
I afterwards found that they were exceedingly anxious to discover the
name of the person who ran our train, imagining him to be some official
connected with the Georgia State Railroad. He then asked after the
purpose of the expedition. I pleaded ignorance as far as any positive
information went; but as this did not satisfy him, I gave him my
inferences. There was no betrayal of Union interests in this, for all I
told him was what any thoughtful person, map in hand, would have
supposed,--the destruction of bridges and the capture of Chattanooga and
the occupation of East Tennessee. He was very attentive, and said,--
"But has Mitchel men enough for all that? My spies report that he has
not more than ten thousand infantry and three regiments of cavalry."
This was so near the truth that I did not wish to confirm it. So I took
another departure from accuracy, and said,--
"That must refer only to his advance-guard, and leaves out of account
that part of his command which has not yet left Nashville."
"What!" he returned, "is there a reserve army?"
I assured him there was, and that with the regiments on their way from
the West and Northwest, sixty or seventy thousand men would be at
Nashville for Mitchel's disposal in three or four weeks!
Leadbetter then asked, "What do you soldiers think is going to be done
with such a large army?"
"We are confident," I answered, "that Chattanooga will first be
captured, then Atlanta, and afterwards Mitchel may probably strike for
some point on the coast, so as to cut the Confederacy in halves."
The general rubbed his forehead for a moment, then exclaimed,--
"It's a grand plan. They can do it if they have men enough. But I had no
idea that Mitchel had such backing."
How I did wish that he had! but I knew better.
Then wheeling his chair directly in front, and fixing his eye steadily
on me, he continued,--
"I am much obliged to you for this information. Now, sir, I want you to
tell me just how many men you had on that train, and to describe each
one so that I may know them when I get hold of them."
This was too much! I answered, "General, I have freely told you whatever
concerns only myself, because I thought you ought to know that I am a
soldier under the protection of the United States government. But I am
not base enough to describe my comrades."
"Oh!" sneered he, "I don't know that I ought to have asked you that."
"I think not, sir," I replied.
"Well," retorted he, "you need not be so particular. I know all about
it. Your leader's name is Andrews. What kind of a man is he?"
I was thunderstruck! How should he have Andrews' name, and know him to
be our leader? I never imagined what I afterwards found to be the true
cause,--that Andrews had been captured, with documents in his possession
which implicated him so completely that he acknowledged his name and the
fact of his leadership. I had every confidence that _he_, at least,
would escape and devise some means for our relief. So I answered
boldly,--
"I can tell you only one thing about him, and that is, he is a man you
will never catch."
As I said this I thought I noticed a peculiar smile on the general's
face, but he only replied,--
"That will do for you;" and turning to a captain who stood by,
continued: "Take him to the hole,--you know where that is."
With a military salute, the captain took me out of the room. There was
an explanation of the general's smile! Before the door, heavily ironed,
stood Andrews, waiting for an audience, and with him Marion Ross and
John Wollam. I did not think it prudent to recognize them, nor they to
recognize me, so we passed each other as strangers.