FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND.
"When we resolved to break jail it was our firm belief that failure or
recapture meant death. Yet no sooner was the excitement over, and we
quietly back in prison, than hope began to whisper once more. Possibly
there was some mistake in the report which led to our desperate effort,
or, if it was indeed true, the escape of the larger part of the band
might derange the plan, or change the purpose of holding another
court-martial. It is sure that our anticipations of worse treatment were
not realized. I cannot account for the agreeable surprise we experienced
in this particular. Those who are convinced that the mitigations of our
lot were caused by any representations made by the Union authorities at
Washington after our comrades had escaped must be mistaken, because the
change took place _before one of the fugitives had reached the Union
lines_. Wilson and Wood at Washington, as well as the others of our
number who escaped, did make prompt representations to our government,
which may afterwards have been of service to us. But these could
scarcely have affected us during our stay in Atlanta, as the time was
not sufficient. Possibly, it was thought by the Confederates that the
little remnant of the band, which had already suffered so much, was not
worth persecuting further. However it is explained, the succeeding two
months we remained in Atlanta, after the attempted escape, was the least
rigorous imprisonment endured by us in the South.
Colonel Lee thought the jail no longer safe, and ordered us to be taken
to the city barracks. These were in the centre of Atlanta, looking out
on one of its busiest public squares. Our room was also far better than
had been given to us before. It was large, well lighted, and provided
with a great open fireplace, in which a fire was kept continually
burning. Our door was never closed, but a sentinel stood in it, watching
us, and the gas was burned all the night. The Confederate soldiers
roomed all around us, and the whole large house--a former hotel, I
think--was surrounded by a line of sentinels. We were in the second
story, and our windows were not barred. We could stand by them, and
watch the busy throng outside for hours at a time. All our surroundings
were now of a soldierly and civilized character. Our treatment was also
more courteous and considerate than formerly.
Probably much, if not all, of this change for the better may be
attributed to the character of the man in whose charge we were now
placed. Jack Wells, as he was familiarly called, had been a lieutenant
in the regular army of the United States before the war, and had not
forgotten the traditions of the service. He had no feeling of resentment
against us; on the contrary, would come around to our room and talk by
the hour, telling us some great stories of his adventures and receiving
as great in return. His worst fault was intemperance, being frequently
half drunk and not seldom going beyond that point. In these cases, and
when in a communicative mood, he would tell us that he did not care a
cent which side whipped in the war,--that he only held his present
position to avoid being conscripted, and because he preferred having a
commission as a volunteer to being compelled to fight as a private
conscript. But he was an excellent disciplinarian, and we nowhere had
less chance of escape than from under his watchful eye and among his
well-drilled soldiers. He would allow no trifling with his authority,
and was ready to punish with fearful severity, as some of our Tennessee
comrades--who were citizens, not soldiers--found. In fact, he seemed to
care very little for those who were not soldiers.
One of these men--Mr. Pierce, who had accompanied us from Knoxville--one
day threw his allowance of provisions back again into the tray in which
it was being passed around, with a gesture of contempt, but without a
word being spoken. The supply was very scanty and bad; but, as we could
get no better, we only thought that the old man was very foolish thus to
give up the little that he was offered. But this was not the end. In a
few minutes a file of guards entered, took Pierce out, and tied his
hands before his knees, with a stick inserted across under the knees and
over the arms, in that most uncomfortable position known to soldiers as
"bucking." They left him in the cold hall all night. He was able to eat
his morning allowance without difficulty!
The next Tennessee sufferer was a Mr. Barker. One of the guards often
used to tease the prisoners by asking them how they liked being shut up
in a prison, "playing checkers with their noses on the windows," etc. A
complaint to the commander would probably have caused a cessation of
such taunts, which it was foolish to notice in any way. But Barker
answered, that _he_ need not feel so proud, for he would certainly be
driven before long to work like a slave in the cotton-fields, to help
pay the expenses of the war. The guard reported the insult, and Barker
was taken to the punishment-room and there suspended, head downwards,
till he fainted. This was repeated two or three times, and he was then
put into a dark cell, only four feet square, without food, for
twenty-four hours.
I was personally very fortunate here in receiving the favor of the
commander, which I used to the advantage of my comrades as well as I was
able. Having nothing to read, for the kind minister had not visited us
since the attempted escape, and being determined not to be idle, I began
to practise short-hand regularly each day. I had learned it before, and
now wrote with a pencil on any scraps of paper I could find. Wells
watched me while thus engaged, made a good deal of sport of the "spider
tracks," but came in the next day and asked if I would not do a little
writing for him. I was perfectly willing, provided it was not contrary
to my allegiance to the United States. He laughed at the qualification,
and showed me that it was the daily prison reports that he wanted made
out. I did not see that this kind of work would do any harm, and
undertook it. His office adjoined the prison room, and he gave orders
that I was to be allowed to go from one room to the other at pleasure,
but no farther. In fact, when in the office, there was always a special
guard standing at the door. A hundred schemes of escape flashed through
my brain, founded upon the additional privileges I now had; but I soon
found that the guards were instructed to watch me all the more closely
on account of my license. Wells himself laughed, and said that he would
ask no pledges of me, for it was his business to keep us, and ours to
get away--if we could! The qualification was well put. The only time the
eye of a guard was off me day or night was while in the office, and that
had only one door, by which the guard who brought me to the office
always stood till ready to take me back to the common prison room. Yet I
hoped something might occur by which I could help my comrades and
myself.
One day I had the heartfelt pleasure of saving a man's life. While I was
in Wells' office writing a requisition for provisions a person dressed
in the uniform of a rebel officer was brought in under arrest. He
appeared to be very drunk, but remonstrated so very hard against being
put into the rooms which had common prisoners that Wells consented to
let him stay in his office, to get sober enough to give an account of
himself. He had five hundred dollars in gold, which had been taken from
him,--a marvellous possession, which Wells asked me to feel the weight
of,--but as the officer furiously demanded his money, it was given back
to him. As the charge against him had not yet been made known, Wells
believed that it was only that of drunkenness,--an offence with which he
had great sympathy. When the man got his money he sank down on a lounge
in a drunken stupor. Wells had some business to transact, and soon went
out. Sergeant White, the second in command, was with us, but he, too,
soon took his departure. I was busy writing, but, hearing a step, I
looked up and saw the stranger approaching me. A startling change had
taken place. No trace of drunkenness was visible, but in place of it a
terrible expression of anxiety and determination. I glanced about the
desk to see that the heavy inkstand was in easy reach, for I had never
seen a more desperate face. He leaned over my chair, and whispered, "You
are a prisoner?"
"Yes, sir."
"One they call engine thieves?"
I nodded assent.
"I know you," said he; "I know all about you. I was here when your
comrades were hung. Brave men they were, and the cruel deed will yet be
avenged. I am not afraid to trust you. The commander here don't know who
I am yet, but he will soon learn, and then I will have to _die_, for I
am a spy from the Federal army." Then he added, with a most appealing
look, "Can't you help me to escape, before it is too late?"
I was amazed, and for a moment doubtful; but a few hasty questions, put
to test his knowledge of the Federal army and his present character,
set my doubts at rest. Then I asked, "What can I do for you?"
He answered, "Can't you write me a pass and sign the commander's name to
it?"
I shook my head. If a pass written in such circumstances had been worth
anything, I would probably have written one for myself and comrades
before that time. Wells, who did not trust me at all, had guarded that
very point in his orders.
Then my new friend proposed that we together break past the guard and
run for it. I had no wish for such a trial with only one to help. There
was my guard at the office-door; two more guards in the hall; a
barrack-room, with always a dozen or more soldiers in it, at the head of
the stairway; two guards at the front door; and a line of sentinels
around the whole building.
But as I glanced around the room my eye rested on a fine overcoat of
Wells' lying on the foot of the office bed, and an idea struck me. The
prisoner was a short, thick man, about the same size and build of Wells.
Said I, "Take that overcoat," pointing to it, "and throw it around you,
and just walk out as independently as though you owned the entire
establishment. It is now nearly dark, and the chances are that you will
not be halted at all."
His countenance lighted at once. "I'll do it!" he exclaimed, with
suppressed eagerness. To fold himself in the cloak, nearly crush my hand
as he said "Thank you! Thank you!" and to open the door and walk out,
was the work of but a moment. I listened as his firm step died away
along the hall, but there was no challenge, no sound that betokened any
discovery. The soldiers, seeing the familiar coat, must have supposed
its rightful owner in it, and allowed it to pass unhindered. A moment
after Sergeant White came in. I feared he would notice the prisoner's
absence, but he did not. I got him engaged in story-telling as soon as
possible, to postpone any inquiries. For some five minutes I succeeded
very well, when Wells entered, cast an uneasy glance about the room, and
at once exclaimed, "Sergeant, where is that officer? Did you put him in
another room?"
The sergeant answered that he had been out, and that when he returned he
saw nothing of the man.
It was Wells' turn to be startled now. He sprang over to me and demanded
sternly, "Pittenger, where's that officer?"
I was not in the least terrified. In fact, I was greatly amused, and for
the moment forgetting the purpose formed two months before, of always
avoiding untruth as well as all other evil things, I answered, "What
officer?"
"That officer I put in here."
"Oh! that drunken fellow?"
"Yes; where is he?"
"The last I saw of him, he picked up his coat and said he was going to
supper."
"Going to supper, was he? Ho! I see! Sergeant, run to the guards and
tell them if they let him out I'll have every one of them hung up by the
heels."
Wells was in a towering passion at once. The alarm was sounded, and for
a few minutes a terrible commotion prevailed, but nothing was seen of
the drunken fugitive, whose importance began to be known. Soon Wells
returned, and demanded in a peremptory tone, "Pittenger, why did not you
give the alarm when he started?'"
I answered carelessly, "Oh! I did not know that my business in the South
was to guard prisoners."
"Of course not," he returned; "but I wish you had called me this time."
Then after a moment's silence, he continued, "You said he took his coat.
Had he a coat?"
"I suppose so, sir," I returned, "or he would not have taken it."
"He brought none in. Where did he get it?"
"Off the foot of that bed."
Wells sprang to his feet as quickly as if he had been galvanized, kicked
the chair on which he had been sitting clear across the room, and
exclaimed, "_My overcoat!_ sure as ----! Worth eighty dollars! The
villain!"
No intelligence of this spy reached Atlanta while we remained there.
Wells told me that there was no doubt he had gotten entirely away.
While in this place, I had the opportunity of learning that there were
many lovers of the old Union in Atlanta. These visited us, and, although
always in the presence of the guards, managed to express their kindness
in very tangible ways. They told us much of their hopes, and of the
strength they numbered. A certain Dr. Scott was very liberal in his
contributions to our wants. I had afterwards the pleasure of repaying
his kindness, when he had been forced to flee for his life, and arrived
destitute in the North. The money we thus obtained, together with some
small presents Captain Wells bestowed, when pleased with the writing I
did for him, gave us the means of living almost luxuriously. One dainty
I remember with especial delight. Sweet potatoes were very abundant and
cheap, and we were allowed to buy as many as our means permitted, and
roast them in the ashes of the wood fire which always glowed on our
hearth. The great mealy potatoes, raked out and dusted off and eaten
hot, constituted a feast good enough for a king! I have never since
found any sweet potatoes equal to those we devoured by the bushel in the
old Atlanta barracks. This abundant living made some amends for the six
months of famine that preceded it, and gave strength, which was still to
be sorely tested before the day of deliverance. The memory of those
beautiful autumnal days, when we could look from our unbarred windows
upon the sky and the street, when we could gather around the fire and
under the gas-jet in the evening, when hunger no longer pinched, and
when health, which I had long missed, came back, when some consideration
was shown for us even by our guards, and when visitors often whispered
words or gave signs of sympathy for our cause as well as for ourselves,
is not altogether unpleasant. True, we were still prisoners, and our
fate as uncertain as ever; but it was easy to persuade ourselves that
these more pleasant surroundings were the promise of still greater good.
Our religious exercises were here continued as persistently and publicly
as in the jail. There were serious difficulties to overcome. Some of our
own party seemed to consider that our release from the dark cells of a
criminal prison removed the necessity of morning and evening prayer. We
were not alone, and the soldiers who were "off duty" came to our door
when it was first reported that "the Yankees were having
prayer-meeting," and greatly annoyed us by interruptions and by a
continual series of comments upon the exercises. We endured this for a
time, but at last I appealed to Wells. He gave us protection from the
guard, saying that he could not stand praying himself, but if we could
get any good out of it we were welcome, and should not be disturbed. The
opposition of the prisoners soon gave way also, and our morning and
evening devotions were seasons of great interest. Even prisoners from
other rooms came to their open doors that they might hear the reading
and prayers, and join with us in song. Faith, hope, and courage were
sustained by this recognition of God more than by all other agencies
combined.
An effort was here made to get recruits out of the prison for the
Confederate army. Especially were the regular soldiers who were in our
company importuned. But our band were not asked. I presume they thought
we could not be trusted. Had the offer now been made I would not have
accepted, though I would have done so without hesitation at any time
preceding the death of our friends. Now my religious principles would
have prevented me from taking the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy
for the mere purpose of breaking it by desertion. But I was glad the
temptation was not offered to any of our band.
At length there came to us most startling news,--a court-martial was
again convened! This was the first since the ever-memorable one at
Knoxville, and we awaited its action with breathless interest. A week of
sickening suspense passed and no summons came for us. Had we been
ordered out for trial we had resolved to try again to escape, even if
the effort only resulted in throwing us on the bayonets of the
surrounding guards. But when news came that the court had adjourned, we
were as much rejoiced as we had been fearful before. It did look as if
they intended to persecute the feeble remnant of our party no further;
and passing from the extreme of despondency to that of hope, we began
once more to indulge the blissful expectations of exchange. But our time
had not yet come.
The weeks rolled on. Few things worthy of note occurred. The same
monotony which makes prison-life so dreary robs it of interest when
recorded. We would rise in the morning from our hard bed--the floor--and
wash ourselves by pouring water on each other's hands; then eat our
scanty rations when brought. Then the effort was to kill time until
dinner came, which was about four o'clock. It was not abundant, but if
we had a bundle of roasted sweet potatoes to add from our own stores, as
often happened, it was not so bad. Then we did anything to keep busy
until the gas was lit. This was kept burning all night, not from any
favor to us, but only that the guards might see that we were not
arranging any plan for escaping.
This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for under the soft
inspiration of the gaslight conversation flowed freely, and all the
incidents of our past lives were rehearsed. Wells or some other rebel
officer would often enter and talk with us. Arguments and discussion on
all manner of subjects were introduced, and often continued until the
midnight bells were striking in the town. Then would come our evening
prayers as we lay down to dream often of home and friends and freedom.
In the morning the same round recommenced. Thus days glided into weeks,
and weeks passed into months. The golden hues of autumn deepened into
the sombre colors of early winter, and still we were in Atlanta. It
almost seemed as if we would never be anywhere else.
At length there came a day of wonderful joy. A number of officers,
including the provost-marshal, came to the barracks, and, inquiring out
our room, had us all drawn up in line. One of them stepped forth and
addressed us, saying that he had good news to communicate, which they
had been hoping to receive for some time past. He continued, "You have
all been exchanged, and all that now remains is to send you out of our
territory by way of Richmond and City Point."
Each of them then came along our line and shook hands with us,--the
Tennesseeans and regular soldiers included, twenty in all,--offering
congratulations on the happy terminations of our trials, and wishing us
much joy on our arrival at home.
Our feelings were indescribable, but strangely mingled. There was an
overwhelming rush of emotions which forbade utterance,--rapture
exceedingly great, and yet mingled with a deep touch of sorrow that our
seven dead--murdered--comrades were not with us to share the joy of this
hour. And the eight also who had managed to get out of the clutches of
the rebels by their own daring,--we were uneasy about them. Only a day
or two before we had seen in an Atlanta paper, obtained, as usual,
through the negroes, who were waiters here as well as at the jail, an
article clipped from the _Cincinnati Commercial_, telling of the arrival
of Porter and Wollam at Corinth, as narrated above. Of the others we
had received no reliable information, but supposed that some of them at
least had perished. The provost-marshal told us that three had been shot
and left in the woods, but we did not fully credit him.
Notwithstanding all this, the prospect of liberty was enough to make our
hearts overflow with gratitude to God. I was so agitated that when Wells
asked me to write a requisition for provisions for the trip to Richmond
I could not do it, and had to transfer the work to more steady hands. It
was nine o'clock in the morning when we received the glad news, and we
were to start for home--_via_ Richmond--at seven in the evening. As the
time for departure drew near, we again lit the gas, and made up a fire,
the ruddy blaze of which was an emblem of cheerfulness, to take a
farewell view of the room in which we had spent so many not altogether
unhappy hours. Often afterwards did we remember that bright hour of
expectation.
We were forbidden to take any blankets with us, being told that we would
soon be where blankets were plenty. The pieces of carpet we had managed
to secure as blankets were therefore left behind, with the exception of
two small strips, which were afterwards very serviceable. A great
surprise met us when we were ordered to start. We were not tied! This
was the first journey on which we had been sent so carelessly, and it
afforded the strongest presumption that the exchange was a reality.
All was now in readiness for our departure, and we took a last look at
rebel Atlanta. The guards fell in on each side of us, and we wended our
way along the dark streets. Wells, even drunker than usual, accompanied
us to the cars, where he hiccoughed an affectionate farewell. I carried
away one good article of dress,--a nice felt hat. The day before Wells
clapped it on my head, telling me that I looked better in it than in my
own shabby cap. I supposed that it was only a freak, and that he would
reclaim it again, but he did not. It was much out of suit with my other
garments, but I wore it until I had a chance to sell it for a great
price--in Confederate money!
Sergeant White commanded our escort. He had always been kind to us, and,
like his superior, did not care which side came out best in the war, so
long as he was not hurt. The guard were only ten in number, while we
were twenty and unbound,--a ridiculous falling off from former
precautions.
We were crowded into box-cars, and soon began to suffer severely with
cold, for the night air was most piercing. It was the 3rd of December,
and we had only summer clothing, which was, in addition, very ragged.
About three o'clock in the morning we left the train at Dalton to wait
for another train to Cleveland, as we were not to go through
Chattanooga. This was our last passage over the railroad we had so much
wished to destroy nine months before.
The stars were sparkling in night and frosty brilliancy. When we
stopped, and the keen and icy wind cut almost through us. We nearly
perished before the train arrived, and enabled us to continue our
journey.
In the morning we found that our three days' rations, which were to last
to Richmond, were barely sufficient for breakfast. We ate everything,
and trusted to buying something with the remaining money our Atlanta
Union friends had given us. When that failed we had our old
resource,--the endurance of hunger.
During this day's ride on the cars, we discussed the question as to
whether it would not be best to capture the guard and escape. The task
did not seem hard. The guards were very careless, and we could at any
time have had as many guns as they had. They sat on the same seats with
us, and were often asleep. Several times on the trip we awakened the
sentinels by the doors as the corporal approached, thus saving them from
punishment. Once Sergeant White laughingly told us that we could escape
if we tried, but that he thought it would be more pleasant for us to
ride around by way of Richmond rather than to walk over the mountains on
our own responsibility. This very security lulled our suspicions, and
made us shrink from undertaking an escape which would have involved
severe hardship in mountain travel, if nothing worse. Besides, we no
longer had the same homogeneous party as in Atlanta.
In the afternoon we passed Knoxville, and were glad to keep right on.
Then came the town of Greenville, the home of our former companion, the
heroic Captain Fry. About nightfall we reached the Virginia line, and
ran steadily on. It was a beautiful night; the moon shone over the pale,
frosty hills with a mellow radiance which made the whole landscape
enchanting. The shifting scenes of mountain, stream, or ghostly wood
seemed to me like a panorama of human life. The morning dawned upon us,
still steaming slowly through the romantic valleys of Virginia.
The next day was wet and dreary. Our car leaked, our fire went out, and
we were thoroughly uncomfortable. By evening we had reached the mountain
city of Lynchburg, and discovered that we had missed the railroad
connection. This led to a delay of twenty-four hours, which we greatly
regretted, being very anxious to get speedily through to our own lines.
We had all our plans laid for the happy day of our arrival at
Washington.
We were quartered in a large bare room belonging to the barracks, where
some of the worst criminals of the Confederacy were also confined. There
was a great stove in the centre of the room, but, as no fire was put in
it, we had to endure another night of dampness and cold. The only
consolation was found in the thought that we would not have many more
such nights to spend before reaching home. I paced the floor till nearly
morning, and saw a good many amusing incidents. Many of the rebels were
drunk and disposed to mischief. One man diverted himself by walking
around the room on the forms of those who were trying to sleep. In his
round he stepped on Bensinger,--one of our party. The infliction was
patiently endured the first time, but as the sot came again, Bensinger
was on the lookout, and, springing to his feet, gave him a blow that
stretched him out on the floor. Some of his companions rushed forward to
resent the just punishment, but Bensinger's friends also were prepared,
and there was a good prospect of a general fray. But, as soon as the
ruffians understood the position, they retired to their own side of the
room.
In the raw and chill morning I found here some of the most virulent
enemies of the Union I had yet seen. A prisoner loudly declared that no
quarter ought to be given in the war,--said that he had advocated
raising the black flag from the first, asserting that "if it had been
raised the war would have been over long since."
"No doubt of it," I replied. "In that case the whole Southern race would
have been exterminated long before this."
That mode of ending the war had not entered his mind, and he did not
appear pleased with the suggestion.
A little before dark the next evening we again started, and now had
good, comfortable cars,--the best we had enjoyed on the route. But we
only ran a short distance to the junction, where we had to leave them
and wait the arrival of another train. Here was the best chance of
escape we had yet found. The night was pitchy dark, and so cold that the
guards built a great fire on the border of a strip of woodland, and
allowed us to help in gathering withered sticks to replenish it. They
scarcely appeared to notice us, and all that was necessary for escape
was to give the word and run for it. Nothing held us but the absolute
confidence of a speedy exchange, and, depending upon that, the golden
opportunity was neglected. Of course, the perils and hardships of
wandering through the Virginia mountains in the depth of winter would
have been severe, but the start would have been mere child's play. Oh!
how bitterly we afterwards regretted that we had not darted into the
depths of the forest and sought to effect our own exchange!