Despair and Hope--Bitten Finger--Removed to Barracks--Greater Comfort--Jack
Wells--Cruel Punishment of Tennesseeans--Story of a Spy--Help Him to
Escape--Virtue of a Coat--A Practical Joke--Unionism--Sweet
Potatoes--Enlisting in Rebel Army--Description of a Day--Happy News--Start
for Richmond--Not Tied--Night Journey--Varied Incidents--Lynchburg--Rebel
Audacity Punished--Suffering from the Cold--Arrival in Richmond.
All night long I lay in the hammock that one of the regulars had swung
by the window, and listened to the boasting below.
"Sadly I thought of the morrow."
I had little doubt now, that the full weight of their vengeance would
fall on every one who had been recaptured. And then, too, was the news
we had received, and which had induced us to make our desperate effort
to escape! We could scarcely hope that the death which had so long
stared us in the face would now be longer delayed. And _such_ a death!
No vision of glory to dazzle the sight, and hide the grim monster from
view, or wreathe him in flowers. No eye of friends beholding the last
struggle, and sure, if you acted well your part, to tell it to those
whose love and praise were more than life. Nothing but ignominy and an
impenetrable darkness, beyond which no loving eye might ever pierce!
But even as the cold horror of the scaffold and the vision of the
heartless, jeering crowd, rose once more freshly before me, I looked
out in the clear night, and up to the shining stars, and felt that I
had one Friend--that He who dwelt above the stars, and to whom I had
plighted my faith, would not forsake me, even if I had to pass through
the very "valley of the shadow of death." With the thought came a
still and heavenly peace once more--a peace that visits only those who
feel, in the midst of sorrow and fear, that there is a blissful rest
beyond the night bounding life's fleeting day!
The next morning, the jailor put me in the room I had formerly
occupied, with the remainder of my companions. He told us that a man
had put his hand over his mouth, and nearly smothered him, but added,
with great satisfaction: "I bit his finger terribly, and gave the
rascal a mark he will carry to the grave with him." However, his teeth
were not so sharp as he thought, and he only managed to inflict a
slight scratch. He had no suspicion that I was the person to whom he
referred, as his fright had prevented him from observing anything. For
a while, he was rather cross, and brought up the guards when he came
to feed us; but this soon wore off.
About the middle of the day, some officers came, and, with many
threats, asked us which way our boys intended to travel. I answered,
"I heard them say that they were going to try to get to our lines, and
that traveling in _any_ direction would bring them there, for our men
had you surrounded." They asked no more questions, but retired,
satisfied that there was no information to be gained.
Our anticipations of worse treatment in consequence of our attempted
escape were not realized. Colonel Lee thought the jail was no longer a
safe place, and ordered us to be taken to the city barracks. Our
apartment here was far more pleasant than our quarters in the jail had
been. It was large, well lighted, and provided with a fire-place,
which the chilliness of the days (it was now in October) made a great
acquisition. It also commanded a view of one of the busiest public
squares of Atlanta, and we would sit in the windows, which had no bars
across them, and watch the tide of human life that flowed before us,
for hours at a time, with an interest that only our long seclusion
from the world could have given.
Jack Wells, the commander of the barracks, had been an old United
States soldier. Being thus brought up under a more honorable system
than obtains in the South at present, he did not consider it
derogatory to his dignity to treat prisoners kindly. He would come
around to our room and talk with us by the hour--telling us great
stories of his adventures, and receiving as great in return. Most of
the time he was half drunk, and very frequently did not stop at the
half way point. In these cases, and when he was in a communicative
mood, he would tell us that he did not care a cent which side
whipped--that he only held his present position to avoid being
conscripted. But his masters knew him to be such a faithful, vigilant
officer, and he could so readily control the rude mass who occupied
the rebel portion of the barracks, that they readily forgave these
little slips of the tongue. We passed our time while here more
pleasantly than at any other place in the Confederacy; yet even here,
our path was not one of roses. The following incidents will prove
this:
The Tennesseeans were confined with us, making twenty in all. Our
provisions, which were still very scanty, were handed around in a
tray. Mr. Pierce, who is mentioned before, one time conceived his
allowance to be too small, and threw it back into the tray again. Not
a word was spoken on either side; but in a few minutes the guards came
up, and, seizing Pierce, took him out of the room into the cold hall,
and tying his hands before his knees, with a stick inserted across
under his knees and over his arms, in the way that soldiers call
"bucking," they left him there all night. This indignity was
perpetrated on an old man over sixty!
One of the guards was a malicious fellow, who delighted in teasing our
men by asking them how they liked being shut up in a prison, "playing
checkers with their noses on the windows," &c. One day, when he was
talking as usual, a Tennesseean, named Barker, replied that _he_ need
not be so proud of it, for he would some time have to work like a
slave, in the cotton-fields, to help pay the expenses of the war. The
guard reported this _treasonable_ remark to the commander. Poor Barker
was seized and taken to the punishment-room up stairs, and there
suspended by the heels till he fainted; then let down until he
revived, then hung up again. This was continued till they were
satisfied, when he was taken down, and put into a little, dark
dungeon, only about four feet square, and there kept twenty-four hours
with nothing to eat!
While in this prison, I had the heartfelt pleasure of helping one man
to escape. The guards, and, indeed, all the poorer class of
Southerners, were very illiterate. Out of twenty-six who guarded us,
only two or three could write at all, and these not enough to be of
any service. Wells wrote a hand that nobody but himself could read,
and even he not always. Therefore he often came for the prisoners to
write short articles for him. On one of these occasions I was in the
office, which was just by our room, and equally guarded, writing a
requisition for provisions. While thus engaged, a man, dressed in the
uniform of a rebel officer, was brought in for confinement in the
barracks. He appeared to be very drunk, but remonstrated so hard
against being put into the room where the remainder of the prisoners
were kept, that Wells consented to let him stay for a while in his
office. His money was not taken from him, for Wells, not knowing the
charge against him, believed he was arrested only for being drunk--an
offence with which he had a good deal of sympathy. Wells had some
business to attend to, and went out. A sergeant was with us, but he,
too, soon took his departure, leaving us alone. I was busy writing,
but, looking up, I saw the stranger approaching me. There was no trace
of drunkenness about him. I watched his movements attentively. Soon he
was standing by me.
"You are a prisoner?" he queried.
"Yes, sir."
"One they call engine-thieves?" he continued.
I again answered in the affirmative.
"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. They don't yet know who I
am, but they will learn to-morrow, and then, if I am still in their
hands, I will _die_, for I am _a spy from the Federal army_. Can't you
help me to escape?"
I was astonished at this revelation, and for a moment doubted his
character, thinking that his aim might be to betray me for a selfish
advantage. I put a few hasty questions to him, to test his knowledge
of the Federal army. The answers were satisfactory, and seeing
nothing but truth in his clear eye, I hesitated no longer, but asked:
"What can I do for you?"
He answered: "Can't you write me a pass, and sign the commander's name
to it?"
"That," I returned, "would probably be detected; but I think I can put
you on a better plan. Take that overcoat," pointing to one belonging
to Wells, and lying on the foot of a bed, "put it around you, and just
walk past the guards as independently as though you owned the entire
establishment. It is now nearly dark, and the chances are that you
will not be halted by the guard at all."
"A good idea," said he, "I'll try it."
At once folding himself in the coat, he bade me an affectionate adieu.
Eagerly I sat with beating heart in the deepening twilight, listening
for any sound that might betray the success or failure of the scheme;
but all was silence. I have since learned that the guard, seeing the
familiar coat, supposed that, of course, its owner was in it, and
allowed it to pass unchallenged! A moment after, the sergeant came in,
and I instantly engaged him in conversation, inducing him to tell some
good stories, to keep him from missing my companion, and to allow as
much time for a start as possible, before the inevitable alarm was
given. I succeeded perfectly for some five minutes, when Wells came
in, threw an uneasy glance around the room, and at once exclaimed:
"Sergeant, where is that officer?"
The sergeant protested that he knew nothing about him; that he was not
in the room when he entered.
Wells then turned to me, and demanded:
"Pittenger, where's that officer?"
"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."[8]
[8] I do not pretend to justify the falsehoods recorded in this book.
But it is better to give a _true_ narrative, and bear the censure
awarded by the reader, than to increase the guilt by omitting or
misrepresenting facts.
"Going to supper, was he! Ho! I see it! Sergeant, run to the guards,
and tell them if they let him out, I will have every one of them hung
up by the heels."
This was rather a useless punishment, considering that the prisoner
was already far away.
But the sergeant departed to muster the guards. Shortly after, Wells,
who had resumed his seat, said in a meditative tone:
"Had he a coat?"
"I suppose so, sir," I returned, "or he would not have taken it."
"Where did he get it?"
"Off the foot of that bed."
Wells sprang to his feet as quickly as though he had been galvanized,
kicking over the chair on which he had been sitting, and exclaimed:
"_My coat!_ sure as----! worth eighty dollars! The villain!" then
pressing his head between his hands, sat down again, but, as if
thinking better of it, ejaculated, "Well, if that ain't a cool joke!"
and burst into a loud laugh, which ended the scene.
There are some facts connected with the Union sentiment in the South,
which I would like to publish, if I dared; but I cannot do it in full,
for it might be the means of exposing persons who befriended us, to
the vengeance of the tyrant rebels. I will only say that there exists
in Atlanta a society of over four hundred members,[9] who are still
devoted to the cause of union and liberty; who endure in patient faith
all the cruel persecutions heaped on them by the slavery-loving
aristocrats who now rule their beautiful land. From members of this
society many prisoners as well as myself, received money and other
needed articles, which were of the greatest value to us. These were
given at great risk to the donors, for _there_ to give a Union soldier
money is a serious criminal offence. One man I know was confined for
four months on the mere suspicion of having aided the Shiloh prisoners
in this manner.
[9] My impression of Southern feeling is very different from
Vallandigham's. But the Union men were my friends. Were they his?
Sweet potatoes were very abundant in Atlanta, and with the money Union
friends supplied us, we bought a great many, roasting them in the
ashes of the large fire-place that made our room so comfortable. They
added materially to our rations, and rendered our living here more
tolerable. In fact, had it not been for that universal Confederate
pest, with which all, from the least to the greatest, seemed
supplied--sometimes termed the "rebel body guard"--and from which, for
the want of clean clothes, no exertions of ours could free ourselves,
we might have passed our time not unpleasantly.
We still continued our devotions in the morning and evening, and trust
that God blessed them to us. We met with occasional hindrances. Some
of our own party seemed to consider that our release from the dark
cells of a criminal prison did away with the necessity of continued
prayer. The Confederates also annoyed us very much by interruptions,
while thus engaged in seeking help from above. On these occasions,
Wells was our friend. He declared that he could not stand praying
himself, and so invariably stayed away; but that if it did us any
good, we were welcome to it, and ought not to be disturbed. The
opposition we met with was of short continuance. As soon as they found
us firmly resolved on our own course, they did as all cavilers do in
similar circumstances--let us alone. Thus even there we enjoyed many
pleasant moments, which will ever be remembered as a green oasis in
the parched desert of prison-life.
While here, the Confederates wanted some of us to enlist in their
army. They tried particularly hard to get the regulars, Wells
declaring that he would rather have the two, than any half dozen of
his own men. They pretended not to be unfavorable to the scheme, but
delayed complying with it for a time, to see what the ultimate
prospects of an exchange might be.
The cartel of exchange had been agreed upon long before; yet these
men, who had no charge against them, were still held. They believed
that it was because they were with us, and that the rebels feared to
let them go, as they would most certainly convey to our government
intelligence as to our whereabouts, condition, and treatment. This
view appeared still more probable, when I learned, since returning to
Washington, that the Confederate government had _officially_ denied
hanging any of the party. They have never yet acknowledged it.
The time wore wearily away here, as it had done before. The delay,
since the death of our friends, had now been so long extended, that we
began to believe that our lives might be spared. This conviction was
strengthened as the months rolled on.
At last a court-martial was convened--the first since the
ever-memorable one at Knoxville, and we awaited its action with the
utmost anxiety. A week of sickening suspense passed by, and no summons
came for us. Then the court adjourned, and we breathed freer. It now
seemed probable that they did not intend to prosecute the feeble
remnant of our party any further; and, passing from the extreme of
despair to that of hope, we began to indulge once more the blissful
expectation of being permitted to revisit the scenes of our loved
North, and stand beneath the "old flag," which we honored and
reverenced as the embodiment of liberty with law--the emblem of the
highest national life. But our time for freedom had not yet come.
The weeks rolled on. Few things occurred worthy of note. That same
monotony which makes prison-life so dreary, robs it of interest when
recorded. We would rise in the morning from our hard bed, and wash
ourselves, pouring the water upon each others' hands, and eat our
scanty breakfast; then loll listlessly around, seeking in vain for
anything which might relieve the almost unendurable tedium. When
dinner came, which was of the same quality as the breakfast, we would
eat it, and then try desperately to kill time until dark, when the gas
was lit--not from any favor to us, but that the guard could watch us
from the ever-open door, and see that we were working no plots to get
out.
This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for under the soft
inspiration of the gaslight, conversation flowed more freely, and all
the incidents of our past lives were rehearsed to attentive listeners.
To vary the subject, an argument would be started on science,
politics, or religion, and warmly discussed. When the talk would flag,
which was frequently not till the midnight bells were striking in the
town, we would offer up our devotions, and lie down to sleep, and
often to indulge in the most delightful dreams of freedom, friends,
and home. In the morning we waked again, and the same round was
recommenced. Thus days glided into weeks, and weeks passed into
months. The light golden hues of autumn deepened into the dead and
sombre colors of early winter, and still we were in Atlanta. Our weak
faith, judging what would be from what had been, could scarcely
conceive that we would ever be anywhere else! A heavy, dead
indifference, like the lack of sensibility which the repeated
infliction of pain produces in our physical natures, took possession
of us. We almost ceased even to hope!
But at last there came a day of rejoicing. A number of officers
visited the barracks, and inquired which was the room occupied by the
Federal prisoners. On being shown around to our apartment, they told
us to fall into line, and then said they had glad news for us.
"You have all been exchanged, and all that now remains is for us to
send you out of our territory."
They then came along the lines, and shook hands with us, offering
congratulations on the happy termination of our trials, and wishing us
much joy on our arrival at home.
Our feelings may be better imagined than described. There was an
overwhelming rush of emotions which forbade utterance--happy
joy--exhilarating, 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 unexpected release. 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 a _contraband_ source, an article clipped
from the "_Cincinnati Commercial_," giving notice of the arrival of
Porter and Wollam at Corinth, in a very wretched and famished
condition. This was most gratifying to us, but of the others we had,
as yet, received no reliable information. The Provost-marshal told us
that three of them had been shot and left in the woods, but judging by
the source, we considered the account very doubtful, and still
cherished the hope that the whole story was a fabrication.[10] Thus we
were in suspense as to their fate. But still, beyond all this, the
prospect of speedily gaining our liberty, was enough to make our
hearts overflow with gratitude to that Being who had so wonderfully
preserved us through all our trials. I was so agitated that when Wells
asked me to write a requisition for provisions for our journey, I
could not do it, and had to transfer the task to more steady hands. It
was six in the morning when we received the news, and we were to start
for "home--_via_ Richmond"--at seven in the evening. We spent the
intervening time in arranging what clothes we had, and preparing for
the journey. And as the time for departure drew near, we again lit the
gas, and built a fire, the ruddy blaze of which was itself an emblem
of cheerfulness, to take a farewell view of the room in which we had
spent so many not altogether unhappy hours. Often afterward did we
think of that bright hour of expectation, during the dreary lapse of
succeeding months, which we were still doomed to pass in the South.
[10] It was a malicious falsehood. All were safe.
We had obtained quite a number of pieces of carpet, which served as
blankets, but were forbidden to take these with us, being told that we
would be run directly through, and would soon be where blankets were
plenty. We however managed to secrete two very small pieces, which
were afterwards of great advantage to us. They did not tie us now for
the first time in all our travels. This was truly remarkable, and
afforded strong confirmation to our hopes.
All was now in readiness for our departure, and we took a long, and, I
trust, a last look at Atlanta--at least while it remains in rebel
possession. The guards fell in on each side of us, and we wended our
silent way along the dark streets. Wells, even drunker than usual,
accompanied us to the cars, where he hiccoughed an affectionate
farewell. White, the sergeant who was with me when our spy escaped,
commanded our escort. He was one of the best-natured rebels I ever
saw, and, like his superior, did not care which side came out best, so
long as he was not hurt. The guard was only ten in number, while we,
including the Tennesseeans, were twenty--a great falling off in
precaution from their former custom.
We were crowded into rude box-cars, and soon began to suffer severely
with the cold, for the night air was most piercing. It was the 3d of
December, and we had only summer clothing, which was, in addition,
very ragged. At about three o'clock in the morning we arrived at
Dalton. We were not to go through Chattanooga.
The stars were sparkling in light and frosty brilliancy when we
stopped. The other train, on which we were to continue our journey,
had not yet arrived, and the keen and icy wind cut almost through us.
We stood shivering here, and suffering extremely from the cold, for
something like an hour, when, to our great relief, the expected train
arrived. We were more comfortably fixed in it, and managed to doze
away the time till daybreak.
In the morning, we found that our three days rations, which were to
last us to Richmond, were scarcely enough for a breakfast. However, we
ate what we had, and trusted to buying a few necessaries with the
remaining money which our Union friends had given us. When that
failed, we had still a sure resource that never failed--endurance of
hunger.
During the day, we discussed the question whether it would not be
best, at nightfall, to try making our escape, as we were within forty
miles of our own lines. It would be an easy task. The guards were
perfectly careless, and at any time we could have had as many guns as
they had. They sat on the same seats with us, and slept. Frequently
those guarding the doors would fall asleep, and we would wake them as
the corporal came around, thus saving them from punishment. The most
complete security seemed to pervade them, utterly forbidding the idea
that _they_ thought they were taking us onward for any other purpose
than that of exchange. Once the sergeant laughingly told us that we
could escape if we wished, for we had the matter in our own hands; but
that he thought it would be more pleasant to ride on around, than to
walk across on our own responsibility. This very security lulled our
suspicions, and, combined with what the Marshal and other officers had
told us in Atlanta, induced us to shrink from undertaking a journey,
almost naked and barefoot as some of us were, over the mountains and
in the snow, which now began to appear.
In the afternoon, we passed the town of Knoxville, now a place of
loathing and hatred to us; then the town of Greenville, which we
noticed as being the residence of our heroic companion, Captain Fry;
then on into the lower part of Western Virginia. It was nightfall when
we entered this State, and a beautiful night it was. The moon shone
over the pale, cold hills with a mellow, silver radiance, which made
the whole landscape enchanting. On, on, we glided, over hill and
plain, at the dead of night, and saw, in the shifting scenery of the
unreal-looking panorama without, a representation of the fleeting
visions of life--like us, now lost in some dark, gloomy wood, or
walled in by the encroaching mountain side, and now catching a
magnificent view of undulating landscapes, far away in the shadowy
distance. Thus, through the silent night, we journeyed on, and morning
dawned on us, still steaming through the romantic valleys of Virginia.
The next day was a wet, dreary one. Our car leaked, our fire went out,
and we were most thoroughly uncomfortable. The evening found us at the
mountain city of Lynchburg, which is literally "set on a hill." Here
we discovered that we had missed the connection, and would have to
wait for twenty-four hours. We were very sorry for this, as we were in
a great hurry to get to our own lines, and had been talking all the
way about what we should do when we arrived at Washington. But there
was no help for it, and we marched up to the barracks with as good
grace as possible.
We here found a large, empty-looking room, with some of the refuse of
the Confederate army in it. There was an immense stove in the center
of the room, but, being without fire, it was of no particular
benefit. We resigned ourselves to another night of freezing, with the
consoling thought that we would not have many more of such to endure.
I paced the floor till nearly morning, and witnessed a good many
amusing incidents. Many of the Confederates were quite drunk, and
disposed to be mischievous. One of them diverted himself by walking
about on the forms of those who were trying to sleep. Soon he came
around to Bensinger. He endured the infliction patiently the first
time; but as the sot came again, Bensinger was on the look-out, and,
springing to his feet, gave him a blow that laid him out on the floor.
Some of his companions rushed forward to resent the infliction; but,
finding that nobody was frightened, they gave over.
Here, in Virginia, I met the most spiteful and venomous secessionists
I had yet seen.
One of them--a prisoner--said that he had advocated raising the black
flag, asserting that if it "had been done at first, the war would have
been over long since."
"No doubt of it," I replied; "the whole Southern race would have been
exterminated long before this."
This way of ending the war had not entered his mind, and he became
very indignant at the suggestion.
All the next day was cold and gloomy. After noon, we succeeded in
obtaining some wood for the big stove, with permission to make a fire
in it, which was soon done, and a genial glow diffused over the whole
room, in time to warm us before taking our departure for Richmond.
We started a while before dark, seated in good, comfortable cars--the
best we enjoyed on the route. But we only ran a short distance to a
junction, where we were again to change cars. The next train had not
yet arrived, and we built a large fire, as it still continued bitterly
cold. We could easily have escaped, for the passengers mingled with us
around the fire, and we even went to a considerable distance away to
procure fuel. But so confident were we of a speedy exchange, that we
did not make the effort, and the golden opportunity passed unimproved.
Oh! how greatly we afterward regretted that we had not at least made
the attempt. Soon the other train arrived, and a few hours placed us
in Richmond--the goal to which every Union soldier is turning his
eyes, though he would not wish to reach it in the manner we did.