LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON.
Some two weeks after our capture Andrews received a very brief trial.
The charges against him were two,--that of being disloyal to the
Confederacy and of being a spy. On the first count the evidence against
him was strong. A Mr. Whiteman, from Nashville, Tennessee, whom Andrews
himself had directed to be summoned, and who had once been a partner of
his in some business, testified that Andrews had repeatedly visited the
South as a blockade-runner, bringing to Whiteman some ten thousand
dollars' worth of goods in that manner, and that he had always professed
allegiance to the Southern Confederacy, representing himself to be a
citizen of the same, and an enemy to the United States. When captured,
he had passes in his possession which showed that he had also taken the
oath of allegiance to the Southern government. He had, at the same time,
admitted his part in the railroad adventure, which was assuredly an act
of hostility against the South. Indeed, several persons were produced
who saw him on the train, or directing its movements at some of the
various stations during the chase. So far as I could learn, there was no
direct evidence produced to show that he was or ever had been a spy,
although this might be suspected from his passing back and forth across
the lines, and so soon after acting as an enemy. His case was entirely
different from that of the men he led, and much more unfavorable. They
claimed to have been acting all the while as enemies, and now to be
prisoners of war. They declared, and were ready to prove, their position
in the Federal army. He gave no account whatever of his position, or
the authority under which he was acting, and allowed the court-martial
to establish their case as best they might. He was very reticent, as was
proper, even among our band, as to his plans and hopes, but it was
whispered among us that he expected the liberal use of money from an
outside source to influence the court, or aid in his escape if
condemned. I never heard him, however, intimate anything of the kind,
and he certainly received no such help in escaping. He employed two able
lawyers, and they strove for delay, and at the last gave him reason to
hope that some informalities in the proceedings would require the whole
trial to be gone over again. No decision, however, was officially given,
but he was put back in the same prison, and no more strictly guarded
than the remainder of us, which was judged to be a favorable indication
of the result.
One day our old jailer, being very drunk, told us that General Mitchel
had advanced to Bridgeport, only twenty-eight miles distant, and there
defeated the rebels, capturing some of the very same men who had been
our guards but a day or two before. How we wished to have been with him!
and how we hoped for a further advance on his part! To be captured with
Chattanooga would be glorious! The officers of the guard were obviously
uneasy. They took the strictest precautions. There were twenty-six men
constantly on guard,--surely enough to watch over twenty-two, confined
and chained in a dungeon as we were.
Mitchel came nearer. We even heard the boom of cannon in the distance,
and his advance probably saved our lives, by taking us for the time out
of the clutches of Swims and Leadbetter, for a much longer confinement
or rather suffocation there must have been fatal. The ladder was thrust
down and we were ordered to come out. We would, then, have gladly
remained in that vile den a little longer, in the hope of Mitchel's
arrival, but we crawled up. Our fastenings were inspected, to see that
none of us were in condition to make a sudden dash for liberty; we were
formed into a column, with a line of rebel soldiers on each side, and
then marched out through the gate towards the cars. Strangely the free
air fanned our brows and strangely the wide sky bent above us. Very
grateful was the sense of openness and room in the streets through which
we passed, even although ironed, with a rebel soldier on either hand.
For three whole weeks twenty-two men had been cooped up in a dark room
much smaller than an ordinary parlor. No wonder the streets of the
hostile town seemed like freedom by comparison. We were soon seated in
the cars, and were carried in the evening back southward on the road we
had rushed over under such thrilling circumstances three weeks before.
How beautiful all nature appeared! It was now May, and the time that we
had spent in darkness had not been lost in the outside world. The
landscape had been robed in richer verdure, the budding trees had
swelled into leafy screens, the sky was of a softer blue, the birds
warbled with new melody, and everything seemed to wear its holiday
dress.
O the joy! the gladness! of being once more under the blue canopy of
heaven, and of looking up to its unfathomable depths, with no envious
bars to obstruct our view! Many a time have I looked on the most
romantic scenery in the freshness of May, but never did I so deeply feel
the pleasantness and beauty of the world as on that balmy evening, when
the rays of the setting sun, glowing from the west, streamed over the
grass and wheat-fields on their path, and poured in mellowed, yellow
radiance through the car-windows. But I could not quite forget that I
was chained to my companion and surrounded by guards with gleaming
bayonets!
The wild excitement caused by our raid had not subsided, and as it
became known that we were passing along the road, a mob greeted us at
every station. It is not necessary to again describe these assemblages,
for all were alike,--threatening, rude, loquacious, and insulting.
We also noticed that soldiers on guard were at every station, and that
each bridge we passed was strongly guarded. There could be no doubt that
all these precautions, so different from the careless security of less
than a month previous, were among the tangible results of our
enterprise. It was estimated that on the various roads of the South not
less than three thousand troops had been diverted from the field and
employed in securing communications in all parts of the rebel States. A
general passport system, with all its vexations, had been introduced.
Surely our enterprise, though unsuccessful in its immediate results, was
far from fruitless.
We passed Big Shanty, passed Marietta, which had been the extreme point
of our former journey southward, and went on to Atlanta. Here there was
no jail room for us; but before going farther we had to wait all day in
the cars for the evening train. Our arrival was soon noised abroad, and
a larger mob than we had seen before gathered and proclaimed their
intention of hanging us. The guard defended us manfully, and several
persons were seriously injured. But while the disturbance was in
progress, one man succeeded in reaching the window unnoticed and handed
us a paper, using only the single, magical word, "a friend," and then
disappeared in the throng. We read the paper by snatches, as we could do
so secretly, and found it to contain glorious news,--_the capture of New
Orleans_! Other items of news were adroitly wormed out of our guards,
who could not be kept from talking with us, and we were full of hope
that the darkening prospects of the Confederacy would brighten our own
outlook, by rendering the advocates of a declining rebellion more
cautious in their treatment of loyal soldiers. All information was
prohibited to us; but from the common soldiers, the negroes, and often
from the officers of the guard themselves, we managed to pick up items
of intelligence, which gave us a general idea of the course of affairs.
In the evening we left Atlanta, and after a journey not marked by any
notable event reached Madison, in the same State. This was then a
flourishing village, and had a pleasing look as we entered it. Some six,
hundred imprisoned Union soldiers had been already gathered here, and we
freely indulged the hope, which was encouraged by our guards, that we
would be put with them and henceforth treated only as prisoners of war.
But we soon found that the brand of criminality for our daring adventure
was not so easily effaced. We were marched past the dilapidated
cotton-factory, where our fellow-soldiers were confined, to the old
county jail. It was then entirely unoccupied, as all the prisoners had
been released to join the Confederate army. It was a gloomy stone
building, with two rooms, but both were above-ground, and the lower was
entered by an ordinary door. This lower room, in which about half of our
party, including myself and Andrews, were placed, was very dark, and its
heavy stone walls rendered it quite damp. But for our previous
experience at Chattanooga it would have been thought a wretched place.
It was so much better than that, however, that we almost enjoyed it.
Indeed, we could not have endured such confinement as that at
Chattanooga for many weeks longer. Several of our number could scarcely
walk, and all were greatly injured in health by the three horrible weeks
we had spent there. Now we were further from the pernicious influence of
General Leadbetter, and, although we were still kept in irons by his
explicit orders, yet the captain of the guard, in whose direct charge we
were, showed us all the kindness in his power, easing the irons which
pressed too heavily upon swollen limbs, and procuring us abundance of
good water, as well as a better supply of the coarse food, which we ate
in common with our guard.
The citizens of the town were freely admitted to see us, and ranged
themselves--always in the presence of the guard--along one side of the
room, and talked of all the exciting events of the day. We were now in
our true character, and were not likely to be benefited by concealing
our real sentiments. I used to greatly enjoy their surprise and horror
when I avowed myself an abolitionist, and told them that I had always
been one. They had been talking about abolitionists for years, but had
never before seen a man who would admit the justice of the charge. The
citizens expressed much admiration for us and for the daring of our
expedition, contrasting the latter with what they were pleased to call
the cowardice of the Northern armies in general. George D. Wilson one
day earnestly assured them that we were the poorest men in Mitchel's
division, and had only been sent on this expedition because he had no
use for us!
Here occurred one of the romantic incidents of prison-life. We had been
intensely anxious for some direct communication with our own army, but
from our side there was no means of effecting it. One day, however, a
man dressed in a rebel uniform came with the throng of visitors, and
managed to talk quite a while, and, as I thought, in a very disconnected
manner, with Andrews. I also thought I noticed an exchange of signs
between them. As soon as he and the visitors had gone, and we were once
more alone, Andrews told us that the man was a spy in the service of the
United States, and that they had managed, even in the presence of the
guard, and without exciting the least suspicion, to say all that was
necessary, and that we might be assured that our friends on the other
side of the lines would soon know all about us. I was a little
incredulous, thinking that the great anxiety of our leader to
communicate with some one who was a Federal spy, as he himself had been,
had caused him to misunderstand this man, and supposed his signs
recognized when they were not.
But when the captain of our guard brought us supper, he lingered a
little in conversation, and remarked that a most singular thing had
taken place that afternoon, and that after this we would receive no more
visitors. Being pressed for explanations, he finally gave them. He said
that the provost-marshal of Madison had received information that one of
Lincoln's spies was in town, and had even been among our visitors,
though, the captain said, he was glad that the spy had found no
opportunity to reveal himself to us! The marshal at once despatched a
squad to arrest him. They found the suspected stranger at the depot,
just as the cars were coming in. He was boisterously indignant at his
arrest, and told them that he had papers in his pocket which would prove
his character anywhere. They let go their hold on him, so that he might
produce his papers. He lectured them roundly while pretending to search
in his pockets, until he noticed that the train, which was starting, had
attained a good degree of headway, and then, just as the last car swung
by, he suddenly flung the soldiers from him and jumped aboard. There was
no telegraph station at Madison, and no other train that evening, so
that an effective pursuit was out of the question.
The Confederates were very much enraged, and our confinement was
rendered much more strict. But we felt ample compensation in the hope
that our officers would now know just where we were, and be able to make
all possible efforts for our safety. Whether the spy surmounted all
other perils and got safely to our lines, we never heard.
Three days only did we remain at Madison,--days of comparative quiet and
hope, during which we recovered some degree of our wasted strength,
which was sadly needed for future trials. The rebel authorities, having
become convinced that Chattanooga was not in present danger from
General Mitchel, ordered us back to that place. Our destination was not
known to us, and the usual rumors circulated as to being now on our way
for exchange. To move from one prison to another--an experience we had
quite frequently--was always a welcome relief, and served, in some
measure, to mitigate the excessive rigor of our confinement. We went
back over the same road we came, and had again to run the gauntlet of
insulting and jeering mobs. We traveled in rude box-cars, wet and
filthy, and were harassed by the fear of going back to our miserable
prison at Chattanooga. One circumstance rendered the journey more
endurable. Captain Laws, who commanded the guard, and his soldiers also,
had been in close association with us for several days, and had become
really interested in our welfare. While he did not relax any of his
vigilance, he strove to make the hardship of our position more
endurable, and showed a friendly spirit on every occasion. His good will
was especially valuable when we reached Chattanooga.
The remorseless order had been given for our return to the negro prison.
Captain Laws could not change this, but by using his influence with
Colonel Patrick Cleiburne, a man of humanity, who occupied the position
of provost-marshal of Chattanooga for a short time, he got permission
for us to remain in the upper room instead of being forced into the
dungeon below. This was a great relief, for although we were equally
crowded, yet the upper room was above-ground, had three windows instead
of two, and these were of larger size. We had, therefore, a much better
supply of air and light. We were very sorry for the fourteen poor
Tennesseeans who were put below.
Our enemies displayed a wonderful degree of caution in the manner of
guarding us. Even when we were below, where a man, if left alone, could
scarcely have gotten out without assistance, they never raised the
trap-door unprotected by a strong guard. Old Swims remonstrated against
our being in the upper room, and seemed in perpetual terror. He fretted,
and predicted that evil would come from showing the Yankees so much
indulgence. Yet the precautions observed ought to have reassured him.
Before our door was opened a strong guard was always brought up-stairs
into the jailer's room, from which ours was entered, and arrayed in two
lines with levelled bayonets. At the same time the stairway was guarded,
and the whole jail surrounded by a strong force outside of the wall. We
had not yet been relieved of our fetters,--at least, not by Confederate
authority.
Colonel Cleiburne had asked permission to remove our irons, and this
being refused, he gave us, on his own responsibility, an inexpressibly
great indulgence. For an hour or two every fine afternoon he ordered the
guards to bring us out into the jail-yard. This was something to look
forward to all the day, and made our second confinement at Chattanooga
far less irksome and prostrating than the first. To simply sit in the
sunlight and watch the clouds drifting in the blue above, or to walk
back and forth watching the lengthening shadows of the mountains, was
intense enjoyment. We will never cease to be grateful to the brave Irish
soldier who secured us these indulgences, which, simple as they were,
had not been expected.
But we felt that the wearing of irons for so long a period was entirely
unnecessary, and set our wits to work for the removal of such needless
incumbrances. One of the party had managed to secrete a small knife in
his sleeve while being searched, and with this he whittled out rude keys
from the bones of the meat given us, which readily unlocked our
handcuffs. The padlocks on the chains were served in a similar manner.
We did not dare to let any one of the guards know of this expedient, or
appear in public in our new liberty, lest more effectual means should be
devised of securing us. To avoid detection while thus unchained we
always kept some one on the watch. When a footstep was heard on the
outside stairway the signal was given, and a quick rattling of chains
accompanied the adjustment and relocking of our bonds. When the door
opened we would appear all properly chained, but when alone we would
soon be free again. This deception was continued as long as we were kept
in irons.
We here took up the amusement of mock trials. Andrews had been tried,
and the remainder of us expected to be, either in a body or singly. This
may have suggested the diversion, which soon became very popular. One of
the company would be charged with some offence, usually a trifling
breach of our self-imposed prison rules. William Campbell, whose immense
personal strength better enabled him to enforce his decisions, usually
officiated as judge, until at last he got the name of "judge" firmly
fixed upon him. We had ample time for this sport, and the opposing
counsel would make very long and learned speeches. So interesting were
these arguments, and so eloquent were our appeals, that no one of the
auditors was ever known to leave the court-room while they were in
progress! The witnesses were very slippery, and it was often difficult
to reconcile their testimony. Some friends of the prisoners nearly
always attempted to resist the laws and prevent the infliction of
penalties, but in such cases the _personal weight_ of the judge decided
the affair. This resistance would give rise to new arrests and trials,
and thus the work became interminable.
Another and more refined source of enjoyment was found in music. There
were several good singers in the party, and by practising together they
soon acquired great proficiency. Most of the songs, under the leadership
of Marion Ross, were of a tender and sentimental cast, such as "Nettie
Moore," "Carrier Dove," "Twenty Years Ago," "Do they miss me at Home?"
etc. The most frequent time for singing was when twilight began to fall.
Then all other occupations would be laid aside, and in the gathering
darkness the voice of song would roll out as full and sweet as if not
strained through prison-bars. The guards were very fond of our singing,
and frequently groups of citizens also would gather around the high
jail-fence to listen. Words of sympathy and kindness for the "caged
Yankees" became more common, and there were a good many tangible
manifestations of the same feelings. The guards who came in contact with
us,--a considerable number, as one squad replaced another,--together
with many of their officers and many residents of Chattanooga, began to
ask why we were not treated as other prisoners, and the shameful chains
taken off. I do not know whether this produced any essential change in
our fortune. Most likely it was the reason we were not brought to trial
in a town where we would have been sure of so much sympathy, but were
arraigned in a distant place, and before officers who were strangers to
us.
Yet no friendliness on the part of our guards, or mitigation in the
horrors of our treatment, put the thought of escape out of our minds,
although it did divide our counsels and delay an attempt. With many
others, I was convinced that we ought to make a bold push for liberty.
The very strictness of the guard was a challenge to do our best to
overcome it. If there were a few gleams of humanity in the present
treatment, this was merely because our captors had discovered us to be
human beings and not monsters; besides, there was enough still in the
vile nature of our food and rigor of our confinement to justify the most
desperate effort for freedom. If we tried and failed, we might lose our
lives in the attempt; but this was a risk soldiers have to take in every
enterprise; if recaptured, we would be no worse off than we were, for
the charge of attempting to escape could be no more deadly than the old
one of seizing the train. But those who did not wish to make the
attempt, among whom George D. Wilson was foremost, maintained that our
enemies were growing daily kinder, and that we would soon be formally
placed on the footing of prisoners of war; the commander of the guard,
Captain Laws, had become even intimate with Wilson, and had assured him
that our good conduct was producing a profound impression in our favor;
to forfeit this now by a foolhardy attempt to escape might turn the
scale against us. Ross agreed with Wilson. He was a Freemason, and some
members of the fraternity visited him, and gave him assurances of
friendship, together with some small sums of money, which he generously
used to procure us all a little greatly-needed addition to our food. We
no longer made our purchases through Swims, but through Captain Laws,
who did not lose the money intrusted to him.
Finally the majority decided in favor of an attempt to escape. Two plans
were proposed,--the first by the writer. When men who are not expecting
danger are suddenly surprised, there is a moment when they are incapable
of action, and may be at the mercy of a bold adversary. The same plan,
in general outline, was carried out long afterwards with the most
brilliant success. It was simply to have our irons off when the guards
came to feed us in the evening, and then, as the door opened, to make a
simultaneous rush upon the levelled bayonets outside, wrest the muskets
from their holders, and pour down the stairs on the guards below. If we
succeeded in reaching the ground before the guards fully realized what
was going on, a few moments would suffice to disarm them, and then we
could leave the prison-yard in a solid body, run with all our speed to
the ferry-boat which lay on our side of the river, not far distant. Once
over the river, armed with muskets and bayonets, we would have been
comparatively safe.
But Andrews did not like this plan for the same reason that made him so
unwilling to use our arms in desperate fighting during the race on the
train. He proposed another plan, which, as he still had great influence
with us, was adopted. His proposition was that some one--John Wollam, I
think, was selected for the perilous attempt--should conceal himself
under the bed in the jailer's room as we passed through it on our return
from the breathing-spell in the yard, and remain there until all was
quiet at night; then come out and noiselessly unlock the door; after
this we could rush down, seize the guard, and proceed as in our first
plan. The time for this bold attempt was fixed for a moonless night not
far distant.
There were two soldiers of the original twenty-four detailed for our
enterprise who failed to reach the designated rendezvous at Marietta.
One was from the Twenty-first, the other from the Second Ohio Regiment.
They had been suspected and compelled to join a rebel battery,
representing themselves as brothers from Kentucky. In the skirmish at
Bridgeport the member of the Twenty-first found an opportunity to run
across the railroad bridge and join Mitchel. This caused suspicion to
rest on his supposed brother, who was arrested, brought to Chattanooga,
and thrown into the dungeon while we were there. There was some
suspicion that he might have belonged to our party, but we refused to
recognize him, and after confinement for some time he was sent back to
the battery again, and from it, after many remarkable adventures,
succeeded in making good his escape to the Union lines.
There was at this time a great talk of our exchange, and our drooping
hopes revived. A son of General Mitchel's was captured, but the general
held a large number of rebel prisoners, and released one of them--a
lieutenant--on parole, to propose an exchange. This man visited us and
raised the most sanguine hopes in our bosoms. The Confederate officers
encouraged those hopes, but said we must first go through a merely
formal trial to prove that we were really soldiers, after which we
would be included in the exchange which would undoubtedly be made. We
wanted them to refer the question of our soldiership to General Mitchel,
but we have every reason to believe that they not only never asked him
anything about us, but used all the means in their power to prevent him
from obtaining any knowledge of our situation. The exchange was
effected, but we were not included, and the lieutenant was not permitted
to return to the loyal camp.
These delusive hopes had served to delay a little longer our projected
escape, but at last we resolved to end the suspense. The very day we had
fixed upon for the desperate enterprise an event occurred which deranged
the plan in the most unexpected manner by dividing our party. George D.
Wilson, who was very sick, was taken down into the yard closely guarded.
While he was there Captain Laws came to him, and said that he had
received an order for twelve of our number to be taken to Knoxville, to
pass the formal investigation which had been so long talked about, and
which was to fix the character of the whole party as prisoners of war.
Wilson asked who the twelve were to be, and wished that he might be one.
The captain told him that this was easily arranged, as the order called
merely for twelve, without giving names. He further offered Wilson the
privilege of naming eleven others beside himself to go, saying that he
would do well to select the ablest men,--those who could do themselves
most credit on examination. Whether this was a mere incident, or whether
it was a plan laid to have Wilson select the most prominent men of the
party, that they might be tried and put to death, I have never learned.
In the light of the subsequent history, this choice was a matter of
profound importance, and my own opinion is that the names were purposely
left blank, and Wilson induced to make the choice, with the view of his
leaving out the nine who might best be reserved for the exercise of
mercy after the others were capitally punished. If this was the case, I
cannot persuade myself that Captain Laws was in the secret. But poor
Wilson was completely misled. He told me that he considered that those
who went to Knoxville would probably be exchanged first, if any
difference was to be made. So he put down his own name first, and mine
next. Then followed the other two who belonged to our regiment,--the
Second Ohio; then William Campbell, the muscular citizen of Kentucky,
and the list was filled out by the names of Wilson's especial friends
from the other regiments. As we twelve, who were to go to Knoxville,
waited the hour of starting, a shade of gloom fell upon us. For nearly
two months we had been companions in trials and privations such as fall
to the lot of few men, and now our band was to be separated. There was
no certainty of reunion; for, in spite of fair words, the fact remained
that we were in the power of desperate and deadly foes, who would not
hesitate a moment in taking our lives, if they saw it for their own
advantage to do so.
The parting with Andrews, our noble leader, was especially affecting. We
had been accustomed to ask his advice in all emergencies. He had been
already tried by court-martial, and, although no sentence had been
given, the long delay was not a favorable omen. We knew that he was the
first mark for the vengeance of the foe. Officers and visitors, in
bidding us hope, had no words of comfort for him. He bore this like a
hero, as he was, and continued to hope for some deliverance. But now,
after we had sung our songs together for the last time, and came to bid
him farewell, we were all moved to weeping. I will never forget his last
words, as he pressed our hands, with tears in his eyes, and said, in a
low, sad voice that thrilled through my inmost being, "Boys, if I never
see you here again, try to meet me on the other side of Jordan." Never
did we look upon his noble face again!