THE FIRST TRAGEDY.
We will first narrate the history of the nine soldiers and their leader,
from whom we parted with so much sorrow and foreboding when the
remainder of us were sent to Knoxville. Various reasons have been
conjectured for this separation, one of which has been given in the
preceding chapter. Another that has been entertained by many of the
party, who have had the opportunity of reviewing the facts, is that the
enemy was now ready to proceed in the work of vengeance, and wished to
lessen any possible danger of escape on our part when we had been driven
to desperation by the beginning of the bloody work. If this was their
design, it was not without success, for the attempt to escape, fixed for
the very day of our separation, was in consequence postponed for a time.
A week elapsed, during which nothing occurred to break the monotony of
imprisonment. The plan of escape had been modified to be more easily
within the reach of the diminished numbers of the prisoners. The
jack-knife, which had made keys for unlocking the handcuffs, was again
brought into use. The jail walls consisted of brick, and were lined
inside with heavy plank, reaching to the top of the upper room and
covering the ceiling. Three men leaned against the wall, while a fourth
stood on their shoulders, and with the knife cut into the heavy plank
overhead. It was no light task to cut out a hole large enough to admit
the passage of a man's body into the attic. A small part of each day
only could be devoted to the work, and the utmost vigilance was needed
to prevent discovery. The "singing hour" was especially serviceable, as
then the noise of the knife could not be heard. The cut, when so nearly
completed as to require little more labor, was so filled up as not to
attract notice from below, and attention given to other parts of the
work. Just then an incident occurred which added the energy of
desperation to the efforts for liberty.
Captain Laws entered the prison-yard one day, while our comrades were
enjoying the shade of the prison in the afternoon breathing-spell, which
had been procured by the kindness of Colonel Cleiburne and himself, and
going up to Andrews, with averted face, handed him a paper. Andrews
glanced at it, stood perfectly still a moment, and then silently turned,
and walked up-stairs into the cell, the door of which had been left
open. No one of his comrades said a word, but all felt that something
dreadful had happened. The officer, who seemed hardly able to control
his own emotion, waited for a little time, and then telling the
prisoners very gently that it was time to close up the prison, guarded
them back to their room.
The explanation Andrews then gave was scarcely needed. He had received
his death-sentence! A week from that day had been appointed as the time,
and hanging as the mode of his execution. The sorrow of the brave men
was indescribable. The many noble qualities of our leader had won not
only respect but love. His unselfish regard for every one of his
companions in misfortune, his cheerful, kindly manner under the greatest
sufferings, had made a deep impression even on his guards,--much more on
his comrades.
But there was one gleam of hope. Andrews and his party resolved at once
to carry out their projects for breaking out of the jail. These soldiers
would have dared anything in the hope of saving their leader; besides,
the feeling was general that this execution would be but the beginning.
Some of the number had always maintained that no hope existed save the
gleam that might come from some desperate attempt for liberty, such as
they were now to put forth.
But an additional obstacle was interposed,--Andrews was put down in "the
hole" after receiving his sentence. This required the well-worn knife to
be again used, sparingly but persistently. Notches were sawed in the
planks which held the bolts of the trap-door, and an old blanket or two,
with some articles of clothing, were twisted into ropes. When all this
was done, although the first flush of dawn began to appear in the east,
they dared not risk the chance of their work being discovered the next
day, and accordingly resolved to go at once. Andrews had been drawn up
out of the hole, and it was agreed to give him the first chance for his
life. Andrews and John Wollam were in the loft or attic over the prison
room, while all the others, in their assigned order, were ready to mount
up through the aperture they had cut in the ceiling. A few bricks in the
outside wall had also been removed, and enough of the rude ropes
prepared to allow one by one to descend to the ground. The hope was that
by taking off their boots and moving very cautiously, each one could go
into the loft and out through the hole in the wall, and clamber down the
outside blanket-ropes without disturbing the repose of the guard. Those
who got down first were to wait beside the jail until all their comrades
were on the ground before attempting to dash across the jail-fence and
the guard-line outside.
It was an anxious moment. They could see the dim form of the sentry, and
hear his measured tread, as he paced back and forth not a dozen yards
away. The word was passed from one to another in the prison that all was
ready.
Andrews crept out first and swung over the wall, but in doing so
loosened a piece of mortar or a brick, which fell to the ground with a
loud "thump," and attracted the notice of the sentry outside, who
instantly gave the alarm, firing his gun and calling "Halt! halt!
Corporal of the guard!" The whole guard was instantly aroused, and the
firing became rapid. Andrews, however, dropped to the ground, darted to
the fence, and was over before he could be prevented. Wollam heard the
noise from the inside, and knowing that caution was now needless, sprang
through the wall, and slid with the greatest rapidity to the ground. A
number of shots were fired while he was suspended in the air, but the
dim light and the hurry and confusion were not favorable to a steady
aim, and he, also, got to the ground and over the fence unhurt. Dorsey
was third in order, but was too late. Before he could get into the loft
the guard were ready to make sure work of any who might follow. He
prudently turned to his comrades and said, "It is all up with us!" The
whole town was soon aroused. High officers visited the prison to see how
many had escaped. They found the remaining eight safely ironed as
before, the keys having been brought into use. The natural supposition
was that only the two who were missing had succeeded in getting off
their irons, and that the others had not escaped because too tightly
fettered. They were, however, put down in "the hole" as an additional
security, and all damages to the prison carefully repaired, while the
guard manifested unusual vigilance. The afternoon airing was forbidden,
and all the strictness which had marked the first confinement in
Chattanooga returned. The poor captives were made to feel that they had
now nothing to expect but the sternest dealings.
One consolation was left them in the hope that their comrades had made
good their flight, and that the death-sentence of Andrews could not now
be executed. When the firing was first heard the not unnatural inference
was that both the fugitives had perished, but they knew that _such_ news
would soon have been imparted to them; and as days passed by, their hope
strengthened that two, at least, of their fated company would get back
to the Union lines to tell the story of their adventures and
sufferings. How far these hopes were realized will be seen in the
sequel.
When Andrews left the prison it was nearly day, so that he knew he could
not long continue his flight without detection. He went only a few
hundred yards away from the city, and there finding a dense tree,
climbed, unobserved, into its branches. It was in plain view of the
railroad and the river. All day long he remained in this uncomfortable
position, and saw the trains passing almost under his feet, and heard
his pursuers speculating as to what could possibly have become of him.
The search all over the vicinity was most thorough, but fortunately no
one thought of looking into the tree.
At night he came down and swam the river, but becoming entangled in some
drift-wood, floated down past Chattanooga, and did not disengage himself
until he had lost most of his clothing. His boots had been lost in the
first alarm, and he was thus placed in the most unfavorable position for
escaping, but he journeyed on as well as he could. Though so much
superior, in many particulars, to his followers, yet in trying to escape
in the woods he seems to have been as much inferior. As will be seen,
Wollam, and, at a later period, many others of the number, were far more
skilful or fortunate than he. Early in the morning he crossed an open
field on his way to a tree in which he intended to take shelter as on
the preceding day, but unfortunately he was observed. Immediate pursuit
was made, but he dashed through the woods and regained the river much
lower down than the day before. Here he swam a narrow channel and
reached a small island, where, for a time, he secreted himself among
some drift-wood at the upper end of the island. In all his terrible
struggle he seemed to look to the river and to trees for safety. These
became fixed ideas, and possibly interfered with his seeking refuge in
any other manner. But the loss of clothing at the outset was a fatal
misfortune.
A party with blood-hounds now came over from the mainland to search the
island for him. The dogs came upon him, but he broke away from them, and
ran around the lower end of the island, wading in the shallow water, and
in this way throwing the hounds off the track; then he plunged into the
dense thicket with which the island was covered, and again ascended a
tree. There for a long time he remained securely concealed, while his
pursuers searched the whole island. Frequently they were under the very
tree, whose high foliage effectually screened him from the gaze of dogs
and men. At last they abandoned the search in despair, concluding that
he had by some means left the island. Slowly they took their departure
to devise new plans of search. Two little boys, who came along merely
from curiosity, were all that were left behind.
At length, in their play, one of them looked upward, and said that he
saw a great bunch on a tree. The other looked,--shifted his
position,--looked again, and exclaimed, "Why, it is _a man_!" They were
alarmed and cried aloud, thus announcing their discovery to their
friends on shore. The latter instantly returned, and Andrews, seeing
himself discovered, dropped from the tree, ran to the lower end of the
island, took a small log, with a limb for a paddle, and shoved into the
stream, hoping to reach the opposite shore before he could be overtaken.
But there was another party lower down the river with a skiff, who saw
him and rowed out to meet him. Thus enclosed, he gave over the hopeless
struggle, and surrendered to his fate,--inevitable death! He afterwards
said that he felt a sense almost of relief when the end had come and he
knew the worst. From the time of losing his clothing in the drift-wood
he had but little expectation of ultimate escape. The spectacle of a man
condemned to death, starving and naked, hunted through the woods and
waters by dogs and men, is one of the most pitiable that can be
imagined.
EVERY SCHOLAR SHOULD POSSESS A GOOD DICTIONARY.
A NEW EDITION OF
WORCESTER'S UNABRIDGED QUARTO DICTIONARY
=WITH SUPPLEMENT=,
=Embracing 204 Additional Pages, containing 12,500 New Words and
a Vocabulary of Synonymes of Words in General Use.=
FULLY ILLUSTRATED AND UNABRIDGED.
With Four Full-page Illuminated Plates. Library Sheep,
Marbled Edges, $10.00. Half Russia and Half Morocco, $12.00.
Full Russia, $16.00.
The new edition is a massive volume of =2058= pages, and
contains considerably more than =115,000= words in its
vocabulary, with their =pronunciation,= =definition,= and
=etymology=. It is illustrated with about 1100 neat woodcuts,
and is enriched by more than a thousand excellent articles on
=Synonymes=, in which five thousand synonymous words are
treated, and accurately and concisely illustrated by short and
well-chosen examples.
THE NEW EDITION OF
WORCESTER'S DICTIONARY
Contains Thousands of Words not to be found in any other Dictionary.
="WORCESTER"=
is now regarded as the STANDARD AUTHORITY, and is so
recommended by Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Sumner, Holmes,
Irving, Winthrop, Agassiz, Marsh, Henry, Everett, Mann, Quincy,
Felton, Hillard, and the majority of our most distinguished
scholars, and is, besides, recognized as authority by the
Departments of our National Government.
"It follows from this with unerring accuracy that WORCESTER'S
Dictionary, being preferred over all others by scholars and men
of letters, should be used by the youth of the country and
adopted in the common schools."--_New York Evening Post._
"The volumes before us show a vast amount of diligence; but
with _Webster_ it is diligence in combination with
fancifulness. With _Worcester_, in combination with good sense
and judgment. WORCESTER'S is the soberer and safer book, and
may be pronounced _the best existing English lexicon."--London
Athenaeum_.
"The best English writers and the most particular American
writers use WORCESTER as their authority."--_New York Herald._
(OVER.)
=Worcester's Complete Series of Dictionaries.=
=--I--=
=WORCESTER'S POCKET DICTIONARY.=
Profusely Illustrated. 310 pages. 24mo. Cloth, 63 cents; Roan flexible,
85 cents; Roan tucks, gilt edges, $1.00.
=--II--=
=WORCESTER'S PRIMARY DICTIONARY.=
Profusely Illustrated. 384 pages. 16mo. Half Roan, 60 cents.
=--III--=
=WORCESTER'S NEW SCHOOL DICTIONARY.=
Illustrated. 390 pages. 12mo. Half Roan, $1.12.
It contains definitions for nearly =35,000= words, a greater number
than found in any similar publication.
=--IV--=
=WORCESTER'S COMPREHENSIVE DICTIONARY.=
Profusely Illustrated. 608 pages. 12mo. Half Roan, $1.75.
"For school purposes, and for common use in the home or place of
business, the _Comprehensive Dictionary_ has no superior."--
_Massachusetts Teacher_.
"I regard =Worcester's New Comprehensive Dictionary= as far the best
English Dictionary for general use with which I am acquainted."
THOMAS HILL, LL.D., _Late President of Harvard University_.
=--V--=
=WORCESTER'S ACADEMIC DICTIONARY.=
With Illustrated Appendix. 576 pages. Crown 8vo. Half Roan, $1.85.
=--VI--=
=WORCESTER'S OCTAVO DICTIONARY.=
Universal and Critical. 956 pages. Library Sheep, $4.25.
=--VII--=
=WORCESTER'S QUARTO DICTIONARY=
of the English language. _New Edition, with Supplement._ Unabridged and
fully Illustrated. Library Sheep, $10.00; Half Russia or Half Morocco,
$12.00; Full Russia or Full Turkey, $16.00.
Many special aids to students, in addition to a very full pronouncing
and defining vocabulary, make the above named books, in the opinion of
our most distinguished educators, the most complete as well as by far
the cheapest Dictionaries of our language.
* * * * *
-> For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, carriage
free, on receipt of the price by the Publishers. Liberal terms for
Introduction. Correspondence solicited with that view.
Published by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
_775 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia_.
(OVER.)
Alfred Wilson, who was one of the eight who failed to escape, speaks in
feeling terms of the manner in which their leader was brought back to
them on the third day after escaping. He says,--
"At the prison we were startled by a rumor that Andrews had
been taken, but we at first gave little credence to it,
probably because we did not desire to believe it. But, alas!
the rumor was only too true, for soon after, a strong guard of
soldiers, having in charge a prisoner, followed by a rabble of
citizens, approached the prison. It was Andrews! Oh, how our
hearts and hopes sank down within us beyond the power of
expression!... I could have prayed that death had spared me
those painful moments, the most harrowing of my life. He was
the most wretched and pitiable human being I ever saw,--a sight
which horrified us all, and even drew words of compassion from
some of our prison guards. His own brother would scarcely have
been able to recognize him. It did not seem possible that the
short space of three days could have wrought a change so
startling. As he lay there chained to the floor, naked, bloody,
bruised, and speechless, he seemed more dead than alive. He had
not eaten a morsel since he left us,--during which time he had
made the most desperate struggle for liberty and life. He had
swam about seven miles in the river in his efforts to keep
clear of the dogs. His feet were literally torn to shreds by
running over the sharp stones and through the brush. Towards
the last he left blood at every step. His back and shoulders
were sun-blistered almost to the bone, and so completely
exhausted was he that he could hardly move his limbs after he
was brought in. His face was pale, haggard, and emaciated. His
eyes, which were sunken, gave forth a wild, despairing,
unnatural light.
"When we were left to ourselves, we drew around the miserable
man, and, after he had somewhat revived, he told us in that
low, calm tone of voice in which he always spoke, and which
seldom failed to impress the listeners favorably towards the
man, the whole story of his unfortunate attempt to escape. He
told us he had but little time to live, and that now, after
having made every effort to save his life and to rescue us, and
failed, he felt reconciled and resigned to his fate. He said he
was incapable of doing anything more to help himself, and only
regretted that his death could not in some way be instrumental
in saving us, his comrades. He counselled us all against the
fallacy of hoping for an exchange, or for any mercy from those
into whose hands we had fallen. He said his doom foreshadowed
our own, and entreated us to prepare for the worst, and, when
the time came, to prove to them that we were as brave in
confronting an ignominious death for our country's sake as we
had been fearless in doing service for her."
A few more words will finish this pitiful story. Andrews, in Wilson's
opinion, was somewhat of a fatalist, or at least was haunted with a
presentiment of coming doom from the time he had fairly entered upon
this expedition. He had not long to wait. He was put back into "the
hole," but not before a negro blacksmith had welded a pair of heavy
fetters upon his ankles, and connected them with a chain only about
eighteen inches in length. A scaffold was prepared for him in
Chattanooga, but the indications of an advance by Mitchel, and,
possibly, expressions of sympathy on the part of the citizens, induced
the authorities at the last moment to transfer the death-scene to
Atlanta. His comrades were sent with him to that town. On the way to
Atlanta he was taunted with his approaching doom by the crowds, who
surrounded every station.
It was the day appointed for the execution. On reaching Atlanta Andrews
and his eight companions were conducted to a second-story room, not far
from the depot. In a little time a body of soldiers marched up into the
building, an officer appeared at the door, and, while all were silent as
death, said, in a low, almost faltering tone, "Come on now, Mr.
Andrews." He instantly arose, and the low, sad "Farewell, boys," spoken
in his calmest, sweetest tones, mingled with the horrible clanking of
his chains, as he walked out with the short, halting step his irons
compelled. This was the final separation.
The survivors were conducted to the city jail of Atlanta, and there
placed in an iron cage. At meal-time the guards told them how bravely
Andrews died. His fortitude stilled even the clamorous spectators. The
dying agony was protracted by the unskilfulness of the executioner, the
rope stretching so that his feet touched the ground. But the earth was
shovelled away, and the brave spirit set free. Why should the gallows be
accounted infamous when courage and patriotism there meet a hero's
death? The cross was once esteemed more shameful than the gallows now,
but one death has sanctified that instrument forever!
The grave of Andrews at Atlanta was unmarked, and, in the many changes
that have taken place there, it is probably lost forever. The most
diligent search on the part of the writer failed to discover it. But the
rope adjudged by the court-martial, all of whose members have passed
into obscurity with the downfall of the rebellion they served, cannot
desecrate his memory. No flowers can be placed on his unknown grave by
loyal hands, but loving tears will fall freely for him as long as hearts
can feel for the extremity of misfortune that gathered around the last
hours of the man who planned and boldly executed the most romantic and
perilous enterprise of the Great Civil War.