Return to Chattanooga--Caution of Rebels--Unchain Ourselves--Mock
Trials--The Judge--Singing--One Kindness--Projected Escape--Loitering
Comrades--A Gleam of Hope--Sad Parting--Knoxville--Prison
Inmates--Brownlow--Awful Cruelty--Andrews Condemned to Death--Escapes
with Wollam--Fearful Perils--Swimming the River--Hiding on an
Island--Found by Children--Yields to His Fate--Horrible
Death--Wollam's Stratagem--On the River--Passes a Gun Boat--Final
Capture.
We remained only three days in Madison, when the rebel general,
becoming convinced that Mitchel was not then going to advance on
Chattanooga, ordered us back to that place. Again we were compelled to
run the gauntlet of insulting and jeering mobs that had annoyed our
course down the road. We traveled in rude box-cars, that were wet and
filthy, and the journey was rendered still more uncomfortable by the
idea of going back to our old quarters in the wretched prison at
Chattanooga.
However, by the time we arrived there, our captain, who had never been
a very warm secessionist, and, therefore, had no very hard feelings
towards us, had become quite friendly. He now proved this by
interceding in our behalf, and procuring us permission to remain in
the upper room. This was the same size as the lower one, but it had
three windows instead of two, and these were larger, and obscured by
only one row of bars. But the poor Tennessee Union men had to go
below.
It was amusing to see the exaggerated caution with which they guarded
us. Even when we were below, where scarcely any man could have got out
without assistance, they never raised the trap-door unprotected by a
strong guard. Now, when we were in the upper room, their vigilance was
still further increased. They would bring a guard into the jailor's
room, through which ours was entered, and there array them with
leveled bayonets, into two lines across the door. At the same time,
the stairway was guarded, and another guard always surrounded the jail
outside of the wall. And even the old jailor would fret, and predict
that evil would result from showing the Yankees so much indulgence.
All this time we were chained, and as the authorities were thus slow
in relieving us of what we believed to be an unnecessary incumbrance,
we set our wits to work to free ourselves. One of the party had
managed to secrete a small knife while they were searching him, and
with this made rude keys from the bones of the meat given us, and in a
short time opened every lock. We could not, of course, appear in
public in our new liberty, or more effectual means of fastening would
probably have been devised. To avoid detection, we kept some one
always on the watch. Then, when any person was heard approaching our
room, a signal was given, and a quick rattling of chains accompanied
the adjustment and re-locking of our bands. When the door opened, we
would be chained all right, and as soon as it closed we would be free
again. We continued this deception during our stay in this prison, and
were never detected.
While here, we relieved the tedious time that hung heavily on our
hands by mock trials. We would charge one of the company with some
offence, generally a trifling breach of our prison rules, and proceed
to trial. Campbell, whose immense personal strength better enabled him
to inflict the punishment that would be awarded, usually officiated as
judge, until at last he got the name of Judge firmly fixed on him.
These trials produced much sport. We had ample time for it, and the
opposing counsel would make very long and learned speeches. So
interesting were these arguments, and so eloquent our appeals, that no
one of the auditors was ever known to leave the house while they were
in progress! The witnesses, too, were very slippery, and it was
sometimes quite difficult to reconcile their testimony. There were
always some nullifiers present who would attempt to resist the
enforcement of the laws, and the infliction of the penalties adjudged;
but in these cases the _personal weight_ of the judge decided the
matter. This resistance would give rise to new arrests and trials, and
thus the work became interminable.
Another and more refined enjoyment was singing. There were several
good singers in the party, and, by practicing together, they soon
acquired great proficiency. Most of the songs were of a tender and
melancholy cast; such as the "Carrier Dove," "Do They Miss Me at
Home," "Nettie More," "Twenty Years Ago," &c. Our time for singing was
when twilight began to fall. Then in the gathering darkness the voice
of song would ring out, as glad and free as if it was not strained
through prison bars. The guards liked very much to hear us sing, and
frequently citizens of the town would gather round outside to listen
to the caged Yankees.
There is one man in the Confederacy whom I must praise. Amid the
worthless and boastful aristocrats who have monopolized for themselves
the name of "chivalry," I found _one_ gentleman. This was Colonel
Claiborne, at that time Provost-Marshal of Chattanooga. When he first
visited us, he said boldly that it was a shame to keep men in such a
condition, and tried in vain to get permission from General
Leadbetter, to remove our irons; he then ordered us to be brought into
the yard to breathe the fresh air every afternoon. This was an
inexpressible relief, for it was now intensely hot in our room; and
simply to be in the open air a short time was a luxury above all
price. This he did on his own responsibility, and some weeks afterward
was dismissed from his post on account of his humanity to us!
While here, the idea of escape frequently presented itself. It is true
that our guards outnumbered us, and always used the cautions I have
described above; but the very fear this argued would have been our
best help. We often discussed the subject among ourselves.
All were anxious to go but Ross and Wilson, who thought the
proposition premature, as they, relying on what the officers in charge
of us said, believed that there was some hope of our exchange. But
others of us were impatient to make one bold effort for our own
deliverance. Two plans were proposed. The first, which I suggested,
was to have all our irons off when the guards came up to feed us, and
then, as the door opened, to make a simultaneous rush on the leveled
bayonets outside, wrest the arms from their owners, and pour down
stairs on the guard below. As soon as we had secured the arms of the
remainder, we could leave the prison-yard in a solid body, and pass on
double-quick to the ferry-boat, which lay on our side of the river,
not far distant. Once over the river, and thus armed, we would have
been comparatively safe.
The other plan, which we finally agreed to adopt, was proposed by
Andrews. It was, that some one should secrete himself under the bed in
the jailor's room, when we were coming up from our breathing in the
yard, and remain there till 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 the first plan.
There were two of our party who failed to reach the place of
rendezvous in time to be with us on the train. One was from the
Twenty-first, the other from the Second Ohio Regiment. They were
suspected, and to save themselves, were compelled to join a rebel
battery, which they did, representing themselves as brothers from
Kentucky. In the battle at Bridgeport, in which the secessionists were
so badly panic-stricken, the one from the Twenty-first found an
opportunity to escape to General Mitchel. This caused suspicion to
rest on his supposed brother, who was arrested, brought to
Chattanooga, and confined in the dungeon while we were there. We
recognized him, and talked, though very cautiously, about his
adventures. He asked us not to divulge the fact that he was one of
us--an unnecessary request. He remained there for some time, and was
finally released, and put into the battery again, from which, by a
wonderful series of adventures, he succeeded in making good his escape
to our lines.
At this time there was a great talk of exchange. A son of General
Mitchel's had been captured; but he also held a considerable number of
prisoners, and it was believed that an exchange would be effected. A
lieutenant, whom Mitchel had released on parole, for the purpose of
seeing Kirby Smith, at that time commanding the department of East
Tennessee, and obtaining his consent to an exchange, visited us. His
story raised the most sanguine hopes. The Confederate officers,
however, said that it would be first necessary to have a trial, and
prove that we were really United States soldiers, and then we, too,
would be embraced in the exchange. Andrews, some time before, wanted
to send a flag of truce through the lines to get from our officers a
statement of our true character; but they refused permission, saying
that they could believe our own story on the subject without going to
so much trouble.
The prospect of an exchange served to defer our attempted escape, but
at last we resolved to wait no longer. The very day we came to this
conclusion, an order was given to send twelve to Knoxville for
trial--a mere formal one as the commander of the guard and the marshal
told us--to clearly prove that we were an authorized military
expedition, and not mere citizen adventurers. George D. Wilson was in
the yard when the order came. He was permitted to be down there,
because he was very sick. The officer of the guard handed him the
order, asking him to select twelve to go, as no names were mentioned.
He did so, selecting all his own regiment (Second Ohio) first, and
afterward his special friends from the other regiments, because he
thought it would be a favor to them--that they would probably be
first exchanged. This unexpected order induced us to abandon our
cherished scheme of escape, which, in all probability, judging from
the result of a subsequent attempt, under far more unfavorable
circumstances, would have been completely successful.
As we twelve, who were to go to Knoxville, prepared for our departure,
we felt a shade of gloom fall over our spirits. Our little band, who
had for nearly two months been companions in dangers and privations,
such as few men ever experienced, was now to be divided, and we knew
not where we should unite again; for in spite of their fair words, the
_fact_ remained that we were in the power of that enemy who has
deluged our land in blood.
With Andrews, the parting was peculiarly affecting; we had been
accustomed to look up to him in all emergencies. He was our leader,
and was the particular mark for the vengeance of the foe. Officers, in
bidding us hope, spoke no words of comfort to him. He bore this like a
hero, as he was, and continued to hope against hope. But _now_, after
we had sung our songs together for the last time, and come to bid him
farewell, we were moved even to tears. I will never forget his last
words, as he silently pressed our hands, and with a tear in his blue
eye, and a low, sweet voice, that thrilled through my inmost being,
said: "Boys, if I never see you here again, try to meet me on the
other side of Jordan." It _was_ our last earthly meeting.
Colonel Claiborne accompanied us to the cars, where we found we were
to be escorted by a detachment of Morgan's celebrated guerillas.
Claiborne gave orders for our humane treatment, saying: "They are men,
like other men, and gentlemen too, and I want them treated as such."
When he left, I felt we had parted from a friend, rebel as he was.
Claiborne's parting charge procured us courtesy from our guard.
Indeed, they were a much better class of men than the great mass of
the Southern army. Several of them told us that they had enlisted with
Morgan only to make money, and were getting it fast. All were well
dressed in citizens' clothes, and had the language and manners of
gentlemen. They had another motive in treating us kindly. A large
number of their own band were now in the hands of the government, and
were equally liable with ourselves, under every rule of right, to be
treated as criminals; for they had not only dressed in citizens'
clothes, but had even assumed our uniform wherever it was their
interest to do so. They were indignant to see us in irons, and said
they would not be afraid to guard us with our limbs free, but did not,
of course, dare to remove our fastenings.
We had been started as usual, without any rations, on the calculation
that we should fast till we reached our destination, which would be in
about twenty-four hours. But our guerilla friends would not permit
this. They bought pies, and literally feasted us, saying that their
money was plenty, and when it was gone they could easily get more from
our men. We hoped that we might have Morgan's men for our escort in
all future migrations.
We arrived in Knoxville shortly after noon, and marched through the
hot, dusty streets, directly to the old jail. This is now a historical
edifice. It will forever remain associated with the extreme sufferings
of the loyal East Tennesseeans, during the progress of the great
rebellion.
The building itself is a noble one, and resembles some old baronial
hall. It is of a peculiar style of architecture--solid, square and
massive, with lofty projecting towers and sharp angles--altogether
presenting an imposing appearance. It was used as a military prison,
and was filled from top to bottom with ragged, dirty-looking
prisoners. Some were Union men, and others were deserters from their
own rebel ranks. These constituted the _lower_ class of prisoners, and
were permitted to range over most of the building, which was
completely encircled outside by a strong guard.
The higher class, or those who were charged with more desperate
offences, were shut up in cages. There were five of these. Two of them
were at once cleared for our reception. The smaller one was about
seven feet by nine, and four of us were put into it. The larger, in
which the remainder of the party were placed, was perhaps ten by
twelve. The latter was the cage in which Parson Brownlow had been
confined, and we felt honored by being in the same cell that this
noble champion of the Union had once occupied.
While in this cage, we read an article in a copy of the _Knoxville
Register_, stating that Brownlow was in the North, humbugging the
Yankees by telling them that he had been kept in an iron cage, and
fired at by his guards, when everybody in that vicinity knew that the
whole thing was a falsity. Even while we read this, we looked at the
shot-marks which were still visible on the cage, and which the guards
and prisoners assured us had been made in the way Brownlow stated.
This may serve as a specimen of the manner in which Southern papers
are accustomed to deal with facts.
It was in the latter part of May when we arrived in Knoxville, and
_outside_, the weather was intensely warm, but _inside_, from the
enormous masses of stone and iron around, it was quite cool. Indeed
the nights, which are always cool, even in midsummer, in the warmest
parts of the South, were here very cold, and as we had no beds or
blankets, but had to lie on the partly iron floor, we suffered
greatly.
Here we formed the acquaintance of a few Tennesseeans, who continued
with us during the remainder of our sojourn in Dixie. One of the most
remarkable of their number was named Pierce. He was some sixty years
old, and had received a stroke with a gun-barrel, right down his
forehead, which, even after healing, had left a gash more than an inch
deep. From this he was denominated, "Gun-barrel," "Forked head," &c.
He was at the same time very religious and very profane. His voice
would first be heard singing hymns, and next cursing the Confederacy
in no measured terms. He was, however, a very clever man, and almost
adored the name of a Union soldier.
Here it was that we first became acquainted with Captain Fry. He was
confined in a cage in another room. We could not get to see him, but
could entrust little notes, written on the margin of newspapers, to
the more faithful of the outside prisoners, and were always sure of a
reply.
There was one man in the same room with me, but in another cage, in
whom I became especially interested. He was between seventy and eighty
years old, and was awaiting sentence of death. Before his arrest he
had been a Union man, and, of course, a marked object of suspicion to
his secession neighbors. A band of these came one night for the
purpose of robbing him. He endeavored to prevent them, when they
attacked him, drawing revolvers and bowie-knives. They fired several
shots, and pursued him. He dodged around old barrels and other pieces
of furniture in the outhouse where the assault was made, for some
time, until finally he managed to seize a pitch-fork and plunge it
into the foremost of his foes; then breaking away, he escaped for the
time. The robber whom he wounded afterwards died, and the Confederate
government arrested the old man, and confined him in the cage on a
charge of murder! I never heard the result of it, but have no doubt
that he has long since been hung.
We obtained quite a number of papers while here, and were much pleased
to learn of the continued progress of our arms, particularly in the
West. The taking of Fort Pillow, the evacuation of Memphis and
Corinth, with the destruction of the rebel flotilla on the
Mississippi, all came out in one paper; and the editor complained that
he had been restrained from publishing this by the government for more
than two weeks after the intelligence arrived.
One day we received news that sent the blood coursing through our
veins in swifter flow. It was that Andrews and one other of our party
_had escaped from Chattanooga_!
Here, to preserve the unity of the story, I will give a history of the
events that took place at Chattanooga subsequent to our departure.
No unusual event occurred until a week after we had left. Then, one
day, an officer entered the yard, where our boys were enjoying the
shade of the prison, in the cool of the afternoon, and carelessly
handed to Andrews his _death-warrant_! It was a terrible shock, but
was borne bravely. He communicated the startling intelligence to our
comrades as soon as they again assembled in their room. At once they
resolved to carry into immediate execution the long-projected plan of
escape, on which now depended their leader's only chance of life.
He was separated from them, and put down into the dungeon. But this
did not interfere with their plans, for with the same knife which was
so serviceable in making keys, a hole was cut above the bolts of the
trap-door, allowing it to be raised. This done, which was late at
night, they drew Andrews up by blankets, and then went to work cutting
another hole through the ceiling. While they were performing the most
noisy part of this operation, they deadened the sound by singing. The
jailor afterward remarked that he might have known there was something
the matter by their singing so mournfully.
When all their preparations were completed, the gray tint of dawn was
just beginning to rise in the east. There was no time to lose. Andrews
quickly mounted aloft. A rope was formed of some twisted blankets, and
the next moment he was swinging outside of the wall. But in passing
through the hole he loosened some bricks which fell to the ground, and
thus gave the alarm. The accident caused him to drop his boots, which
he afterward sorely needed.
The guard was instantly aroused, but Andrews dropped to the ground,
darted to the fence, and was over before he could be prevented. John
Wollam followed, and even while suspended in the air by the blankets,
was fired upon. Fortunately, the hands of the guards were too unsteady
to inflict any injury, and he, too, succeeded in getting out of the
yard in safety.
Now the excitement became intense. All Chattanooga was roused, and the
whole force started in pursuit of the flying fugitives. The officers
hurried to the prison and roundly berated our boys because they did
not give the alarm when their comrades were escaping! Colonel
Claiborne, the Marshal, who had shown us some humanity, was summarily
dismissed from his office for that cause alone! And the press came out
in the most violent language, denouncing the officers in charge, and
particularly General Leadbetter, for their false philanthropy in not
having us chained to the floor in such a manner as to make escape
impossible.
Our flying comrades had separated as soon as they left the prison. It
was now daylight, and they could not continue their flight without
the most imminent danger of discovery. Andrews went only a few hundred
yards from town, and there secreted himself in a tree, in plain view
of the railroad. He remained all day in this uncomfortable position,
and saw the trains running under his feet, and heard his pursuers
speculating as to what course he could have taken. The search was most
thorough; but, fortunately, his umbrageous shelter was secure.
At night he came down and swam the river, but lost most of his
clothing in the passage; he then journeyed on nearly naked. In the
morning, just at the break of day, he crossed a small open field on
his way to a tree, in which he intended to take shelter, as he had
done the day before; but, unfortunately, he was observed. Immediately
pursuit was made, but he dashed through the woods, and regained the
river, much lower down than he had crossed the evening before. Here he
swam a narrow channel, and reached a small island, where, for a time,
he secreted himself among some driftwood at the upper end of the
island.
A party with bloodhounds now came over from the mainland in search of
him. He was soon observed, but broke away from them, and ran around
the lower end of the island, wading in the shallow water, and in this
way threw the hounds off his track; then he plunged into a 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, being frequently under the very
tree whose high foliage effectually screened him from the sight of
dogs and men. At last they abandoned the search in despair, concluding
that he had, by some means, left the island, and slowly took their
departure to the shore to concert new plans of search. Two little
boys, who came along merely for curiosity, were all that still
lingered behind.
At length, in their childish prattle, one of them said he saw a great
bunch on a tree. The other looked--shifted his position--looked again,
and exclaimed that it was _a man_! This alarmed them both, and they
called aloud, announcing the discovery to their friends on shore. The
latter instantly returned, and Andrews, seeing himself observed,
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 with a skiff, lower down the river, who saw
him, and rowed out to meet him. Thus enclosed, there was no hope, and
he surrendered.
He was in a most wretched condition, having eaten nothing since he
left the jail. His feet were all cut and bleeding from running over
the sharp stones, and his back and shoulders were parched and
blistered from exposure, unprotected, to the rays of the sun. He said
he felt so miserable that the thought of the certain death, to which
he then resigned himself, had no further terror for him.
He was brought back to Chattanooga, where a blacksmith welded a pair
of heavy clevises on his ankles, and connected them with a chain only
about eighteen inches in length. He had then but few more days to
live, and his confinement was most rigid. They prepared a scaffold for
him at Chattanooga, but the indications of an advance by Mitchel,
induced them to change the death scene to Atlanta. All the way down to
that place he was taunted with his approaching doom by the mobs who
surrounded every station. Our eight comrades accompanied him to
Atlanta, but parted as soon as they arrived--they going to prison, and
he to the place of execution. He was compelled to walk, all ironed as
he was, and the clanking of his chains no doubt made sweet music in
the ears of these human bloodhounds.
He displayed great firmness when led to the place of execution, and
mounted the scaffold without a tremor. When swung off, the rope by
which he was suspended, stretched so that his feet came to the ground,
but, nothing disconcerted, these wretches dug the earth away from
under him and completed the murder! Thus died a good and brave man, at
the early age of thirty-three, by the hands of rebels, for the crime
of loving and trying to serve his country! He was engaged to be
married to a young lady of his own adopted State the same month in
which he suffered death on the scaffold!
It is now time to return to Wollam, whom we left outside of the
jail-fence, trying to get away from Chattanooga.
He ran down to the river side, and seeing no way of crossing himself,
hit on the brilliant ruse of making them believe that he was across.
To this end he threw off his coat and vest, dropping them on the bank
of the river, and then, after walking a few rods in the water to elude
the hounds, quietly slipped back, and hid in a dense thicket of canes
and rushes. He heard his pursuers on the bank above him, and all
around, talking of their various plans. At last they found the
clothes, and at once concluded that he had taken to the river. Then
they took the bloodhounds over to the other side, and searched for the
place of his exit from the water. The dogs could not find that, as
might be expected, and then, after a due time spent in consultation,
they concluded that he was drowned, and departing much comforted,
searched no more for him.
After spending a day of most anxious suspense, the approach of night
gave him an opportunity of leaving his hiding-place. He now cautiously
made his way down the river on the Chattanooga side. At length he
found a canoe, in which he rowed at night, and when morning came, he
would sink it, and hide in the bushes; then in the evening raise it,
and again pursue his way. Twice he passed the extempore gun-boat
Mitchel had made, but feared it was some secession craft, and
therefore crept cautiously by in the shadow of the shore, without
being discovered. At last he thought he was beyond the danger of
probable capture, and went boldly forward in the day time.
This was a fatal mistake. A band of cavalry, who were camped almost
within our lines, saw him, and procuring a boat, came out to meet him.
He was unable to escape, and thus the poor fellow was captured on the
very brink of safety. He at first tried to persuade them that he was a
Confederate, but, unfortunately, a Lieutenant Edwards, who had
assisted in capturing him the first time, happened to be present, and
at once recognized him. He was soon after taken to Atlanta, where the
rest of the party then were.