FINAL TRIALS
The next morning Watson and George Knight, with the faithful Waggie (who
was destined to remain with his master throughout all these adventures, in
which he had played his own little part), were taken by the detachment of
Confederates to Chattanooga. Here they were placed in the jail, and here
also, in the course of a few days, were brought Andrews and the other
members of the ill-fated expedition. For they were all captured, sooner or
later, as might have been expected. The whole South rang with the story of
the engine chase, and every effort was made to track and capture the
courageous Northerners.
After a stay of several weeks in Chattanooga the party were taken by
railroad to Madison, in Georgia, for it was feared that General Mitchell
was about to take possession of the former place. In a few days, however,
when the danger had passed, they were returned to Chattanooga. It was not
until September of 1863 that this city fell into the hands of a Union
force.
Of the movements and separation of the prisoners after their return to
Chattanooga, or of the experiences of some of them in Knoxville, it is not
necessary to make detailed mention. Andrews, after a trial, was executed
in Atlanta as a spy, dying like a brave man, and seven of his companions,
condemned by a court-martial, shared the same fate. It was the fortune of
war. George could never dance, as he had promised, at his leader's
wedding.
Let us change the scene to the city prison of Atlanta, where the remaining
fourteen members of the expedition were to be found in the following
October. Among them were Watson, George Knight, Jenks and Macgreggor.
Waggie, too, was still in evidence, but he would have found life rather
dreary had not the kind-hearted jailer allowed one of his family to take
the dog many a scamper around the city.
"Poor Andrews," said Watson, one afternoon, "it is hard to realize that he
and seven others of us have gone."
The party were occupying a well-barred room on the second floor of the
prison. This second floor comprised four rooms for prisoners, two on each
side of a hallway. In the hallway was a staircase which led to the first
story, where the jailer and his family had their quarters. Outside the
building was a yard surrounded by a fence about nine feet high, and here
and there a soldier, fully armed, was on guard.
"I don't want to be doleful, boys," said Macgreggor, "but I think we will
soon follow Andrews. As the days rolled on and we heard no more of any
trial or execution I began to hope that the Confederate Government had
forgotten the rest of us. I even thought it possible we might be exchanged
for the same number of Confederates in Northern prisons, and thus allowed
to go back to our army. But I've kept my eyes and ears open--and I have
now become anxious."
"Why so?" asked George. The boy looked thin and very pale, after his long
confinement.
"I heard some one--I think it was the Provost-Marshal--talking to the
jailer this morning, at the front door of the prison. I was looking out of
the window; you fellows were all playing games. 'Keep a very strict eye on
those engine-stealers,' the marshal said; 'a court is going to try
them--and you know what that means--death! A trial will be nothing more
than a formality, for the whole fourteen of them are spies, under the
rules of war. They were soldiers who entered the enemy's line in civilian
disguise. So don't let them get away.'"
Macgreggor's listeners stirred uneasily. This was not what might be called
pleasant news.
"Why didn't you tell us before?" asked Jenks.
"I hadn't the heart to," returned Macgreggor. "You boys were all so
cheerful."
Watson cleared his voice.
"I tell you what it is, boys," he whispered, as he gave Waggie a mournful
pat; "if we don't want to be buried in an Atlanta graveyard we must
escape!"
George's white face flushed at the thought. The idea of liberty was
dazzling, after so many weary days.
"Well," said one of the men, in the same low tone, "it's better to escape,
and run the risk of failing or of being re-captured, than to rot here
until we are led out to be hanged."
"Let's invent a plan that will enable us not only to get out, but to
_stay_ out," laughed Jenks.
There was dead silence for nearly ten minutes. The men, who had been
sitting on the floor watching two of their number at a game of checkers,
were deep in thought. At last Watson opened his lips.
"I have a plan," he whispered. "Tell me what you think of it. You know
that about sunset the darkies come into the rooms to leave us our supper.
The jailer stands outside. Then, later, the jailer comes and takes away
the dishes. He is then alone. Suppose we seize him, gag him, take his
keys, unlock all the doors on this floor, and release all the prisoners.
As you know, there are a number besides our own party--whites and negroes.
All this must be quietly done, however, if it is to prove successful. Then
we can go down-stairs, without making any noise, overpower the seven
sentinels, take their guns, and make off, after locking up these
gentlemen."
Watson went further into details, to show the probable workings of his
scheme. It was finally agreed that the dash was well worth the trial. As
Jenks remarked: "It's either that or a few feet of cold rope, and a
coffin!"
The late afternoon of the next day was fixed upon for the escape. In
addition to the fourteen remaining adventurers, a Union captain from East
Tennessee, who shared the room with them, was to be associated in this
daring enterprise. It seemed to George as if the hour would never come;
but as the sun began to sink gradually towards the horizon on the
following afternoon he realized, from the feverish restlessness of the
whole party, that there was not much longer to wait.
"Keep up your nerve, fellows," said Watson, who had become the leader of
the party, "and remember that all depends upon the quietness with which we
conduct things on this floor, so that the guard below won't take the
alarm."
As he spoke there was a rattling of keys and a creaking of locks. The
heavy door of the room opened, and in walked Waggie. He had been having a
walk, with a daughter of the jailer, and one of the negro servants had
taken him up-stairs and unlocked the door. The next moment the key was
turned; the prisoners were again shut in from the world.
"Poor little Waggie," said Macgreggor. "Is he going too?"
"I've taken him through too much to leave him behind now," said George
fondly. "Look. This is as good as a kennel." He pointed to an overcoat,
which the East Tennessee Captain had given him, and showed on one side a
large pocket. The side of the latter was buttoned up closely to the coat.
The minutes dragged along. Finally Watson said, with a sort of mournful
impressiveness: "Boys, let us all bid each other good-bye. For some of us
may never meet again!"
The men clasped one another by the hand. In the eyes of most of them were
tears--not timid tears, but the tears of soldiers who had become attached
to one another through suffering and hoping together. It was a solemn
scene which the rays of the dying sun illumined, and George would never
forget it.
Watson brushed a drop from his cheek.
"I feel better, now," he said cheerfully; "I'm ready for anything.
Remember one thing. Treat the jailer as gently as possible. He has been a
kind fellow where some would have been the reverse."
"Aye," murmured his companions. It was an order which had their hearty
sympathy.
In a little while there was the long-expected creaking at the door. It was
supper time! Two negroes entered and placed some pans containing food upon
the table. Then they retired, and the door was locked.
"Eat, boys," whispered Watson; "we don't know when we may get our next
square meal."
The men soon disposed of the food. Hardly had they finished before the
door was thrown open, and the jailer, an elderly, bearded man, appeared.
"Good-evening, men," he said, in a pleasant, unsuspicious voice. He halted
at the doorway with the keys in his right hand.
It was a terrible moment. George felt as if he were living ten years in
that one instant.
[Illustration: Watson Placed His Hand Over the Man's Mouth]
"Good-evening, sir," said Watson, approaching the jailer. "It's such a
very pleasant evening that we intend to take a little walk." He threw back
the door as he spoke.
The jailer was unprepared for this move. He did not even divine what was
intended.
"How--what do you mean----" he faltered.
"We've had enough of prison life," said Macgreggor, in a calm, even voice,
"and we are going to leave you. Now give up the keys, and keep very quiet,
or you'll find----"
"Keep off!" cried the jailer, as he tightened his hold on the bunch of
keys. He was about to call for help, but Watson placed his left hand over
the man's mouth, and with his right clutched the unfortunate's throat.
Then Macgreggor seized the keys, after a sharp but decisive struggle, and
hurried into the hallway, where he began to release the general prisoners.
He quickly unlocked in succession the doors of the three other rooms on
the second floor. The men thus freed did not understand the significance
of it all, but they saw unexpected liberty staring them in the face, and
they ran out of their quarters like so many sheep.
Meanwhile the members of the engine expedition, with the exception of
Watson and Macgreggor, had run almost noiselessly down the staircase,
through the jailer's quarters on the first floor, and thus out into the
prison yard. Some of them threw themselves upon the three soldiers in the
rear of the yard, wrenched from them their muskets, crying out at the same
time: "Make a movement or a cry and we'll shoot you down!" The rest of the
party, among whom were George Knight and Jenks, tore into the front part
of the yard, where four guards were patroling near the main door of the
jail. Two of these guards were quickly disarmed. But the other two, seeing
the oncoming of the prisoners, ran out of the gate of the picket fence,
uttering loud cries as they went. Their escape was entirely unexpected.
The general prisoners now came tumbling into the yard, headed by Watson
and Macgreggor. Watson, warned that there was no time to lose, had
released his hold upon the astonished jailer. He did not know that two of
the sentinels had escaped, but he arrived down-stairs just in time to see
the result of their disappearance. A large reserve guard of Confederates,
warned of the jail delivery by these two soldiers, came rushing madly into
the yard.
"Look out, boys!" cried Watson. Other members of the engine party, seeing
the arrival of the troops, released the five remaining sentinels, threw
down their newly acquired muskets, and began to scale the prison fence.
There came the sharp crack of rifles from the reserve guard. Whiz! The
bullets rattled all around the heads of the fence-climbers, the whistling
noise having for accompaniment the cries of the angry Confederates. Whiz!
Another volley! Yet no one was hit. On the fugitives went, as they
descended on the other side of the fence, and made for some woods at a
distance of nearly a mile from the prison.
"After 'em, men," came the word of command to the Confederates. Soldiers
were running hither and thither, while the general prisoners, who had been
released by Macgreggor, were soon safely housed in their old rooms. The
bullets were flying thick and fast within and without the prison yard; the
scene was one of pandemonium. Ere long five of the engine party had been
captured, three inside of the yard and two immediately outside. Among
these were Jenks and Macgreggor who were both uninjured, but both very
much disheartened. Soon there was the clatter of hoofs, and a troop of
cavalry dashed up to the front of the jail.
"No more chance of escape!" said Jenks bitterly, as he looked out of the
barred window. He could hear the cavalry colonel excitedly crying: "Hunt
down the fellows till you have every one of them!"
"I hope some of the boys will get off," remarked Macgreggor. "Any one who
is captured is sure to be hung now." Afterwards another prisoner was
captured. There were now six of the party back in jail.
Where were Watson and George during this escapade? No sooner had the
former cried out his warning, on the approach of the reserve guard, than
he made directly for George, who was in the back part of the yard.
"Come on," he said, in tones of suppressed excitement, "over the fence
with us. It's our only chance--now!"
Imitating the example of others the man and boy were soon balanced on top
of the wooden fence. Whirr! George was conscious of a whistling sound, and
a bullet flew by him as it just grazed the tip of one ear.
"Hurry up!" urged Watson. In another second the two had dropped from the
fence and were running like mad over a large field.
"Halt!" cried some voices behind them. Looking back they could see that
about a dozen soldiers were in hot pursuit. A ball sped by George,
dangerously near the capacious pocket in which Waggie was ensconced; a
second bullet would have ended the life of Watson had it come an inch
nearer the crown of his head.
"Look here," said Watson. "These men are fresh--we are weakened by
imprisonment--they will get up to us in the end. Let's try a trick. The
next time the bullets come we'll drop as if we were dead."
At that moment another volley rattled around and over them. Watson threw
up his arms, as if in agony, and sank on the grass. George uttered a loud
cry, and went down within a few feet of his companion.
All but one of the Confederates halted, upon seeing the apparent success
of their aim, and turned to pursue in a new direction. The remaining
soldier came running up to the two prisoners, and after taking one look
which convinced him that they were either dead or dying he scurried back
to rejoin his detachment. There was no use in wasting time over corpses
when living enemies remained to be caught.
The "corpses" waited until all was quiet around them. Then they arose, and
kept on towards the woods. These they reached when darkness had fallen
upon the trees--a circumstance which aided them in one way, as it lessened
the danger of pursuit. But in another way the night impeded their progress
for they could not get their bearings. They groped from tree to tree, and
from bush to bush, like blind men. Once they heard a great rustling, and
were convinced that it was caused by some of their companions, but they
dared not speak, for fear of a mistake. At last they stumbled out upon a
deserted highroad.
"Where are we?" whispered George.
"I don't know," returned Watson. "Hark! Do you hear anything?"
A sound, at first very faint, became more and more distinct as they
listened. Galloping horsemen and the rattle of sabres proclaimed the
approach of cavalry.
"Back into the woods," urged Watson. "We may be putting ourselves in a
trap--but for the life of me I don't know where else to go!"
They hurried into the wood, where they crawled under a scrubby pine bush,
and anxiously awaited the outcome. On rushed the horsemen until they
reached the outskirts of the wood. Here they halted. The hiders under the
pine bush could hear one of the officers say: "The infantry will soon be
here to relieve us."
"We've had a great time to-night," growled another officer. "These
Yankees, not content with troubling us on the battle-field, must even stir
things up when they are prisoners."
"I don't wonder those locomotive-stealers wanted to escape," laughed the
first officer. "They know what the punishment of a spy always is."
In a few minutes a company of infantry marched to the scene. After a short
conference between their officers and those of the cavalry the horsemen
galloped away. The infantry were now formed into squads, and sent to keep
guard in the woods.
"Things are getting rather warm!" whispered Watson. George murmured an
assent. Well might he do so, for a sentry had soon been posted within
fifty feet of the two fugitives. The situation was fraught with the
greatest danger. Watson and George realized that the soldiers would patrol
the woods until morning, when discovery would be inevitable.
Watson sank his voice so low that it could just be heard by his
companion.
"We can't afford to stay here until daylight," he whispered. "We must
wriggle out of here until we come to the edge of the road. Then we must
make a break and run."
"Run where?" asked George.
"Providence alone knows," answered Watson. "We must trust to chance. But
anything is better than remaining here, to be caught like rabbits by
dogs."
"I'm ready," replied George. He already saw himself back in the Atlanta
prison, and he even pictured himself with a rope around his neck; but he
was prepared for any adventure, whatever might be the result.
"The sooner the better," whispered Watson. Without any more words the two
began to wriggle along the ground and kept up this snake-like motion until
they reached the edge of the wood. It was slow work and very tiresome, but
it was their one chance of escape. Then they stood up, and bounded across
the highroad.
"There they go!" shouted one of the soldiers in the wood. At once there
was an uproar, as the sentries ran out into the road, and began to fire
their guns in wild confusion. It was pitch dark, and they could see
nothing. Over the road and into an open field tore the two fugitives. They
felt like blind men, for they could hardly distinguish any object before
them; moreover they were wholly ignorant of their surroundings. They ran
on, however, and finally reached another field in which were several large
trees. Watson made straight for one of them.
"Up we go," he said, and, suiting the action to the order, he had soon
clambered up the tree, and seated himself across one of its branches.
George was quick to follow; he climbed up with even more celerity than
Watson, and settled himself on a neighboring branch.
They could hear the cries of the sentries, mingled with an occasional
shot. Two of the soldiers passed directly under the tree occupied by the
Northerners.
"They have gotten off," one of them was saying.
"I'm not surprised," rejoined the other sentry. "Any fellows who could do
what they did at Big Shanty are not easy customers to deal with."
In a little while the two sentries returned, and, again passing under the
tree, evidently went back to the woods. The uproar had ceased; there was
no more firing; it was plain that the chase had been abandoned.
After the lapse of half an hour Watson and George descended from their
uncomfortable perches. Once upon the ground the boy released Waggie from
his pocket, and the little party pushed on in the darkness for about a
mile. Here they found a hayrick in a field, alongside of which they laid
their weary bones and slept the sleep of exhaustion. When daylight came
they had awakened, feeling much refreshed and ready for more adventures.
"I'll tell you what I think," said Watson. "There's a chance for us yet,
provided we try a new means of getting away from the South."
"What do you mean?" asked George.
"If we try to move northward," continued Watson, "we are sure to be
caught. Every countryman between Atlanta and Chattanooga will be on the
lookout for us. Instead of that, let us strike out towards the Gulf of
Mexico, where we should reach one of the ships of the Union blockading
squadron. New Orleans is in the hands of the North, and many of our
vessels must be patroling the Gulf. Once we reach the coast we are
practically free."
"The very thing!" cried the boy. "You're a genius!"
Watson smiled.
"Not a genius," he said, "but I have what they call horse-sense up our
way--and I'm not anxious to return to the delights of the Atlanta
prison."
Acting upon this new theory the wanderers began their long journey. This
they pursued amid many hardships, not the least of which was hunger. Even
poor Waggie grew emaciated. First they reached the banks of the
Chattahoochee River, after which they secured a boat and rowed their way
down via the Apalachicola River, to Apalachicola, Florida, on the Gulf of
Mexico. Here they found, to their great delight, that a Federal blockading
squadron was patroling on the Gulf, near the mouth of Apalachicola Bay.
The two fugitives now pushed their little boat out into the open sea. They
were a sorry looking couple, with their old clothes fairly dropping from
them, and their thin, gaunt figures showing the consequences of many days
of privation. Watson was feverish, with an unnatural glitter in his eyes,
while George's face was a sickly white. Waggie reposed at the bottom of
the rickety craft, as if he cared not whether he lived or died.
"Look!" cried Watson, who was at the oars. He pointed out towards the
south, where were to be seen a collection of masts and smoke-stacks,
rising above long black hulls.
"It's the Federal fleet," said George. He was glad to have a look at
it--glad to know that deliverance was at hand--but he felt too exhausted
to put any enthusiasm into his voice.
"Can you see any flag?" he asked, wearily. "Perhaps we have been fooled
after all. The ships may belong to the Confederate navy."
Soon they could detect, as they drew nearer, a flutter of bunting from the
vessel nearest to them.
"It's the old flag!" cried George, jumping from his seat in the stern with
a precipitancy that threatened to upset the boat. "See the blue--and the
red and white stripes! Hurrah!" But he was too weak for much enthusiasm
even now and he soon had to sit down once more.
Watson uttered a cry which was meant to be triumphant, although it came
like a hoarse croak from his parched throat. Then the tears gushed into
his eyes as he gazed again upon the flag. It almost seemed as if he were
home again.
Nearer and nearer they rowed to the squadron. There were four ships of
war, and now they could see the sailors walking the decks and the guns in
the portholes.
"We'll be there in ten minutes now," said Watson, "and I think I can eat
a----" He gasped and failed to finish the sentence. He half rose from his
seat, relinquished the oars, with a despairing cry, and then, losing all
consciousness, pitched over the gunwale into the sunlit waters of the
Gulf.
George jumped up from the stern and stretched out his arm to seize the
inanimate body of his friend. But the movement was too much for the
equilibrium of the frail boat and for the balance of the boy. Out into the
water shot George, overturning the craft until its keel was in the air.
George struck out for Watson and succeeded in grabbing him by the hair of
his head just as he was about to disappear beneath the waves. Then he
changed his hold upon the man, and with his left hand clutching the neck
of Watson's coat he pulled to the side of the upturned boat. To this he
held with his right hand like grim death, as he put his left arm around
Watson's waist. The boy was panting for breath, and as weak as if he had
been swimming for miles. Not until now had he thoroughly realized how
hunger, exposure and privation had done their work. The next instant he
felt a gentle paddling near him; he looked down and there was Waggie's wet
but plucky little face.
"Hello! old boy," said George. "I would rather drown myself than see you
go under. So here goes!"
He released his hold of Watson and by a quick movement swung Waggie to the
upturned bottom of the boat, near the keel. The tiny animal gave a bark
that said "Thank you," as plainly as if he had spelled out every letter of
the two words. George again seized Watson and clung to the boat more
tightly than before. The soldier gradually came back to consciousness.
"What have I done?" he asked, staring wildly at the hot sun above him.
"Nothing!" answered George. "Only try to hold on to the boat. For I'm so
worn out that it's all I can do to keep myself up."
Watson clawed frantically at the gunwale. At last he managed to grasp it
with his tired, bony fingers.
"I can't hold on much longer!" suddenly said George, in a faint voice. His
hands were numb; he felt as if he had not one particle of strength left in
his emaciated body. His mind began to wander. He forgot that he was in the
Gulf of Mexico; he thought he was holding on to a horse. By and by the
horse began to move. Could he keep his grasp on the animal? No; not much
longer. The horse started to canter, and the boy felt himself slipping
backward. In reality he had let go his hold upon the boat. So, too, had
Watson. The next moment was a blank. The sun came burning down on poor
Waggie, perched on top of the craft, as he growled piteously at the sight
of master and friend drifting helplessly away.
* * * * *
When George recovered his senses he was lying on the deck of one of the
war-vessels, and Waggie was barking in an effort to awaken him. Near him
sat Watson, with a happy smile on his wan face. Around him was a group of
officers.
"By Jove," one of the latter was saying. "Those poor fellows had a narrow
escape. It was well we saw their plight and sent a boat after them. It got
there just in time."
"Well, my boys," asked an older officer (who was evidently the captain of
the vessel), in a gruff but not unkindly tone, "what on earth _are_ you,
and where did you come from? You don't appear to have been gorging
yourselves lately."
When George and Watson were a little stronger they told the story of their
adventures, in brief but graphic terms, to the interested group of
officers. When they had finished the Captain came up to them, and put a
hand upon the shoulder of each.
"You fellows want a good round meal!" he said emphatically. "And after
that some clothes will not come amiss, I guess."
To this they readily assented. How delicious the food tasted when it was
served to them at the officers' mess; and how comfortable but strange they
felt when, an hour later, they were arrayed in all the glory of clean
underclothes, shoes, nice suits and naval caps. When they came on deck
again, how the sailors did cheer. And Waggie! How fine and cheerful he
looked, to be sure, all decked out in ribbons provided by the tars; and
how pleased he felt with the whole world since he had eaten--but it would
take too long to detail the _menu_ with which the dog had been regaled.
The wonder was that he survived the spoiling that he received during the
next four days.
At the end of that time he accompanied his master and Watson, who were
sent on a government vessel to New York. From New York they traveled by
rail to Washington, where they were to relate their experiences, and the
result of the railroad chase, to President Lincoln.
First they saw Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, who made them dine and
spend the night as his guests, and who the next morning took them to the
White House. George trembled when he was ushered into the private office
of Mr. Lincoln. He felt nervous at the thought of encountering the man
who, more than any one else, held in his hand the destiny of the nation.
But, when a tall, gaunt person, with wonderful, thoughtful eyes and a
homely face, illumined by a melancholy but attractive smile, walked up to
him and asked: "Is this George Knight?" all the boy's timidity vanished.
As he answered, "Yes, I am George Knight," he felt as if he had known the
President for years.
Mr. Lincoln listened to the narrative of the two fugitives--now fugitives
no longer--and put to them many questions. When the recital was over the
President asked: "Do you know that poor General Mitchell has died from
yellow fever?"
They answered in the affirmative, for Mr. Stanton had given them this
unwelcome information upon their arrival in Washington.
Mr. Lincoln pulled a paper from one of the pockets of his ill-fitting
black coat and handed it to Watson.
"Here is a commission for you as a Captain in the regular army," he
explained. "I know of no one who could deserve it more than Captain
Watson."
"How can I ever thank you, Mr. President?" cried Watson.
"The thanks are all on my side," answered the President, smiling. "That
reminds me of a little story. When----"
Mr. Stanton, who was standing immediately behind his chief, began to cough
in a curious, unnatural way.
A gleam of humor came into the unfathomable eyes of the President.
"Mr. Stanton never appreciates my stories," he said, quizzically, "and
when he coughs that way I know what he means." Then, turning to George, he
continued: "My lad, you are one of the heroes of the war! I had intended
giving you, too, a commission, but I find you are too young. But I suppose
you want to see more of the war?"
"Indeed I do, Mr. Lincoln!" cried George.
"Well, since poor Mitchell is dead, how would you like to go as a
volunteer aid on the staff of one of our generals?"
"The very thing!" said the boy, with ardor.
Mr. Lincoln faced his Secretary of War.
"You don't always let me have my own way, Mr. Secretary," he observed,
dryly, "but I think you must oblige me in this."
"The boy's pretty young," answered the Secretary, "but I fancy it can be
arranged."
"Very good," said the President. "And now, George, if you behave with half
the pluck in the future that you have shown in the past, I'll have no fear
for you. Do your duty, and some day you may live to see--as I may not live
to see--a perfect reunion between North and South; for God surely does not
intend that one great people shall divide into two separate nations."
George left the White House in a perfect glow of enthusiasm. The very next
day he was ordered to join the staff of General George H. Thomas, and he
joyfully obeyed the summons to leave Washington. His only regret was in
parting from Waggie, whom he was obliged to entrust to the care of a
friend of Secretary Stanton's. The boy saw plenty of army life throughout
the rest of the war. When the conflict was over he hurried back to
Washington, found Waggie alive and well, and then went home with him to
Cincinnati. Here he had a startling but delightful reunion with his
father, whose mysterious disappearance had been due to his capture by the
Confederates, and an incarceration for many months in an out-of-the-way
Southern prison.
There were many things of interest which George did not learn until after
the last gun of the war had been fired. One was that Watson had made a
brilliant record for himself as a regular army officer, and had come out
of the war with a sound skin and the rank of Colonel. Another piece of
news concerned the fortunes of the soldiers who escaped from the Atlanta
jail. Eight of the engine party and the East Tennessee Captain (this
number including Watson and George), managed to escape, and finally
reached the Northern lines in safety. The six prisoners who were
recaptured, among them Macgreggor and Jenks, escaped hanging, and were
exchanged for the same number of Southern prisoners. Jenks was killed at
the battle of Gettysburg; Macgreggor served through the war, was honorably
discharged as a Major of Volunteers, and finally developed into a
successful physician in the growing city of Chicago.
Waggie has been gathered to his canine forefathers these many years. But
it is comforting to reflect that he lived to a fine old age, and died full
of honors. He was known far and wide as the "Civil War Dog"--a title which
caused him to receive much attention, and a good many dainty bits of food
in addition to his regular meals. Let it be added, however, that his
digestion and his bright disposition remained unimpaired until the end.
George Knight is now a prosperous merchant, happily married, and living in
St. Louis. He is proud in the possession of a son who saw active service
in the Spanish-American War as an officer in the navy. Before we say
good-bye to our hero let us record that he never forgot the kindness of
the Rev. Mr. Buckley, who had saved his life as a boy. Many a
Christmas-time gift testified to the gratitude of the Northerner.
In the desk in George Knight's office is a bundle of letters from the old
clergyman. The last of these to be received reads as follows:
"Dear Friend George:
"This is Christmas Day--the last, I am sure, that I will ever see. I
am too feeble to write you more than my best wishes for the holiday
season, and to say--Thank God, the war has been over these twenty
years and we are once more a united nation. No North, no South, no
East, no West--but simply America. I have been spared to see
this--and I am grateful.
"Cordially yours,
"Amos Buckley."
THE END