ANOTHER ESCAPE, ETC.
As I lay me down to sleep on the front porch of the little old house,
close beside an armed Rebel soldier, and not very distant from two other
aroused troopers, I realized in a manner that I can not describe that I
was not only a prisoner, but that I was most likely suspected of being a
spy who had been captured in the very act of escaping from their own
into their enemy's lines. I felt all the worse from the reflection that
my unfortunate predicament resulted solely from a want of caution or
discretion; that had I been content to suffer more patiently the delays
and annoyances which were necessarily to be encountered while tramping
in the darkness through the fields and briar bushes in avoiding the
highways, I might have passed the danger line a moment later, to have
reached our own lines safely enough a little later in the night. I had
actually passed all the Rebel pickets, both of infantry and cavalry. I
learned from the talk of the men into whose hands I had run myself, that
they were merely a detached scouting party, who were at that particular
point at night, as I surmised, to receive communications from their
friends who were inside our lines during the daytime.
This arrangement was for the accommodation and convenience of _their_
spies in our army--enabling them to come out to this rendezvous under
cover of the night to deliver their mail or supply information.
I gathered these facts from the big fellow who had me in charge, who, it
was courteously observed by the officer, "would make me as comfortable
as possible," after the manner of a jailor the night before a hanging.
The outpost was not only a branch postoffice for the Rebel couriers, but
there was a previously-arranged system of signals with some one at the
college, by which any important advances or other movement of our forces
could have been quickly announced, and that would have been well
understood by the party stationed there to observe this.
As I have said, I fully determined in my own mind not to go back to the
Rebel headquarters as a suspected spy. The forged endorsement, or
request for a pass, which I had voluntarily relinquished to the Rebel
officer, while it seemed to allay any suspicions that might have been
aroused in his mind, had the opposite effect with me.
It was the one little piece of paper out of my hands that was sure to be
closely scrutinized by the officers. It would supply documentary
evidence not only of my guilt as a spy, but of forging a Rebel General's
endorsement.
I had not yet seen any chance to make away with the other dreadful death
warrant, in the form of the stolen telegram that was concealed under the
lining of my hat.
While passing into the house from the road I might have thrown my hat
down, but I knew they would hunt it up for me, and, in handling it, be
sure to discover the concealed papers. I could not get them out of the
hat, even in the dark, without attracting attention that might result in
an exposure; and, besides all this, I knew full well that any pieces of
white paper, if torn into ever so small fragments and scattered on the
ground, would be sure to attract notice and be gathered up at daylight.
I was suspected, and, as such, every action and movement was being
closely scrutinized and noted. My only hope was to delay the exposure
that must eventually come; that I must keep still and trust to luck for
escape; or, if an opportunity offered me, while pretending to sleep, I
could eat and swallow the papers.
The horses of the troopers were already bridled and saddled and hitched
to the fence-post. It occurred to me, in my despair upon seeing this,
that, if I could only succeed in throwing these people off their guard
for a moment, I might find an opportunity to seize one of their own
horses, upon which I could ride defiantly and wildly down the road into
the darkness, trusting to night and the horse to carry me beyond reach
of their pursuit.
These were only a few of the many thoughts that rushed through my brain
that night, as I lay there on the porch, so near home and friends on one
side, and so close to death and the gallows on the other. It is said
that a drowning person will think of the events of a life-time in one
short moment. I had _hours_ of agony that night that can never, never be
described.
As I lay there looking up into the sky, perhaps for the last time, I
thought I'd soon have an opportunity of finding out whether there were
other worlds than ours. I was, indeed, going to that bourne from which
no traveler ever returns.
The clouds, which had darkened the sky a little in the early part of the
evening, were now slowly rolling by. I lay as still as death for an hour
perhaps, watching the movements of the clouds; and thinking of my
friends at home.
I wondered what each and every one was doing at that particular time,
and imagined that most of my youthful associates were having a happy
evening somewhere, while I, poor fool, was lying out on a Virginia porch
in this dreadful fix, without a friend to counsel or advise with, while
I might just as well have been at home and happy with the rest of them.
If they thought of me at all, it probably was as a prisoner still about
Harper's Ferry; but I would never, perhaps, have the satisfaction of
knowing that my work in the Rebel camps had been understood. While
cogitating in this frame of mind the moon began to show through the
breaking clouds, and, as suddenly as if a face had appeared to my
vision, the Southern moon looked straight down on my face, flooding the
porch for a moment with a stream of mellow light.
I was lying partly on my side at the time, my head resting on my arm for
a pillow, as was my habit; my hat, which yet contained the tell-tale
papers, was under my face. I was almost startled from my reverie, as if
by an apparition, and, looking around hastily, I saw standing, like an
equestrian statue, on the road the mounted sentry, while along side of
me, but to my back, was _seated_ another fellow apparently wide-awake,
who looked wonderingly at me as I raised my head so suddenly. I was
closely guarded, and my heart sank within me as I again dropped my head
to my favorite position on my pillowing arm.
The moon still shone clear, and as I looked with heavy, moist, downcast
eye, I became suddenly thrilled through my whole being on discovering by
the light of that indulgent old moon that right alongside of my hat was
an open knot-hole in the floor of the porch.
I'm not a spiritualist or even a believer in the supernatural, but I
must assert, upon my conviction, that some unseen influence must have
directed and placed that ray of moonlight at that particular time, for
the express purpose of enabling me to safely deposit the tell-tale
papers. If it had not been for the timely rift in the clouds, I would
never have discovered the little opening in the floor. Another fact
which confirms me in my theory of the supernatural influence is, that,
immediately after I had been so strangely shown the place of
concealment, the light faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and for
some time afterward the surroundings became obscure in the darkness.
There may have been, but I don't think there was another hole in that
porch floor, and this one was quite insignificant.
In the darkness I could barely insert my two fingers into the opening,
as Mercutio says in the play:--"No, 'tis not as deep as a well, nor so
wide as a church door: but 'tis enough, 'twill serve."
I don't think a hunted rat or fox was ever more grateful for a hole than
I was for this; it was my only chance to get rid of the papers
unobserved, and I at once took the hint from the sky and began silently
to finger them out of my hat.
Unfortunately, they were quite bulky; the official paper which had given
a tabulated statement of the epidemic and absence of twenty-five per
cent. of the Confederate Army, was on foolscap paper, which _would_
rattle everytime it was moved; but by turning or scraping my shoes on
the boards every time I touched the papers deadened the sound, I was
enabled, after a good deal of nervous twitching, to get them into a roll
sufficiently small to poke down the hole. That's what I thought; but
when I attempted to drop them the wad wouldn't fit; and, to add to my
consternation, the guard at this point was being relieved. I lay still
for awhile in a tremor of excitement lest I should be detected; it
occurred to me, also, that though the moon had kindly shown me the way
to get rid of my burden of proof, the sun might, also, in the hours
following, expose, from the front part of the house, the presence of a
roll of white paper under the porch. I had not satisfied myself that the
opening at the front was closed. To prevent the roll of white paper
being too conspicuous, I tore from my hat the black silk lining, and, at
a favorable opportunity, I re-rolled the little paper into the black
silk stuff in a smaller package, which allowed of its being deposited in
the Rebel signal station, and "let her drop." It reached the ground
about two feet below, and, being dark in color, was assimilated so
closely with the black earth as not to attract any notice, even if there
had been an opening to daylight. This package out of my mind and off my
hands safely, I breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and thankfulness,
and uttered a solemn prayer: "That I'd be hanged if I ever touched
another paper."
When I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked around and saw
daylight breaking, my heart again sank within me as I realized my
position.
Through a misty, drizzling daylight in August, I saw preparations of the
rebel outposts to "pack off," and was hurriedly ordered to get up behind
one of the troopers whose horse would "tote double," and instead of a
gallant dash down the road to our lines, followed by howling and
shooting pursuers, I was being "toted," back to the Rebel Army, "on
behind."
It seems very funny now to have to describe my inglorious position, as
compared with the novelist's idea of a dash for liberty. I was riding
lady fashion on the rear end of a rebel cavalryman's horse, holding on
around his waist for dear life, like a girl at a picnic, as we trotted
ingloriously back toward the headquarters of the Rebel Army. It was
quite unbecoming I know, and if I had been in a camp meeting crowd I
should have enjoyed the ride; just at this particular time I was obliged
to be satisfied with the facilities, and pretended that it was fun. I
was smart enough not to allow those people to discover, by any words or
actions of mine, that I objected to going back in this way; though I
would have given worlds to have had a chance to delay them, in hopes of
relief coming up from the Union Army that would compel them to give me
up in order to save themselves.
[Illustration: I WAS BEING "TOTED" BACK TO THE REBEL ARMY.]
I had two chances for my life: I could not be expected to fight the
whole Rebel Army single-handed and escape unhurt; the only thing to do,
was, so to conduct myself that I might throw them off their guard and
quietly get away, and thus have an opportunity to try again to reach our
lines. The other alternative was, that if this chance of escape did not
appear, that I might so conduct myself toward my captors as to win their
confidence, and have the forged pass disposed of and not be carried to
Beauregard. If conducted to headquarters, I might, by cunning stories,
try to impress on the minds of those who would have my examination in
charge the truth of the story that "I had become lost in the night,
while searching for the house in which my sick friend was reported to
have been left."
This was plausible enough, and I hoped from the general demoralization
prevailing after the battle, that they might be careless, or at least
indifferent, enough to let me off easy on this statement.
The forged endorsement on the pass, which had gone out of my hands, was
the serious _evidence_ against me, coupled with the fact of having been
captured while trying to go to the enemy.
There was, also, of course, always before me the great danger of a
discovery of my identity as the Fort Pickens Spy.
I had ample opportunity to consider all these things as we trotted along
back over that portion of the road that I had tramped out in so
lighthearted a manner the night previously. The soldier who "escorted"
me was a jolly, good fellow, and felt disposed to make my ride as
comfortable as possible, but as there were eight in the squad beside the
officer in command, we had to keep up with the rest and, as our old nag
was a rough trotter, it was a little bit uncomfortable at times. They
seemed to be in a hurry to get away. Perhaps something may have happened
while I was asleep that made it necessary for them to whoop things up a
little that ugly morning.
The unpleasant jolting of the horses, and the rattling of the sabers and
horses' tramping feet, prevented an easy flow of language--in fact, I
could not talk at all; it required all my time and attention to keep my
place on the rear of the saddle. I did not dare to drop off the horse,
because the officer in charge had been careful enough to place us in
front.
We reached a bridge on which was stationed a picket, who halted us; the
officer rode up, dismounted, and gave the necessary countersign and
ordered us forward.
I had only seen the bridge at night, and from the other side, where I
had discovered a soldier with a gun walking about, when I broke for the
field and flanked him. We were halted for a moment while the rebel
officer of the guard, with our officer, walked a little distance to one
side to consult with some others, who were in a drowsy way, lounging
about a camp-fire.
I looked about to gain some idea of the topography of the country over
which I had traveled in the night.
Several officers approached us, accompanied by our commander. I was
requested to dismount, when our officer politely introduced me to the
other, saying:
"The Colonel is anxious to know how in the world you could have gotten
by his picket on this bridge last night."
"Yes," says the Colonel, "I've had men on post here who declare that no
one passed them during the night."
I was taken all aback, because I had told the party who had captured me
that I had followed the road right along.
"Well," said I, "I walked right over this bridge last night, and saw no
one here at all."
What a whopper that was; but I knew that I'd got to go through with it.
Turning abruptly away from us, both the officers walked off a short
distance and brought a sergeant forward to hear my statement; luckily
for me, he admitted that at a certain hour he had been obliged to leave
the bridge in charge of one man alone; but he insisted that it was for a
short time only. After this admission the sergeant and his officer had
some interesting talk, in rather an emphatic tone of voice, in which my
officer and our squad seemed to take a lively interest. They evidently
felt that they had found a weak spot in the infantry line of pickets,
and rather enjoyed the honor of having caught the fish that had gotten
through the net.
After this little affair had been so happily passed, to my great relief,
they all seemed to be in good humor with themselves and with me, and
were rather inclined to give me credit for having passed through their
infantry successfully. As my escort's horse was having to carry double,
and could not be expected to travel as fast as the others, the officer
in command directed a second man to stay with us, while himself and the
rest of the body-guard rode ahead.
They assumed that, being again inside of their picket-line there was no
danger of my getting out to the Yankees--if I had wanted to try to
escape from them.
We were directed to hurry to a certain house, where they would order
breakfast, and very considerately urging us to hurry along, so we could
have it hot. I was apprehensive, from this talk of a breakfast in a
house, that I should be landed back into the old bushwhacker's shanty,
where I had taken a greasy supper the night before, and had been put to
bed in his barn.
I was not sure of the road, nor would I recognize the house, as I had
seen it only at night when approaching it from the other side. I felt
relieved when we turned out of the broad road into one not so well
traveled, which led to the left or south, in the direction of Fairfax or
the railroad. To a question as to our destination, my man said: "We are
to go to Headquarters, I reckon, but we are to stop up here for a rest
and feed."
Sure enough, after passing only a short distance up the side road, we
came in sight of an old tumble-down looking house on one side of the
road, while across from it was the identical barn that I had crawled out
of a few hours earlier. The house and necessary outbuildings of the farm
were located between these two roads. I discovered by the daylight,
also, that there were quite a number of rebel soldiers encamped in a
wood close to this fork of the roads; there was, probably, a brigade of
them, or at least a couple of regiments, bivouacking there, as I judged
from the smoke of their numerous camp-fires. They were preparing their
early breakfasts. These troops, I learned from my companion on our
horse, were detailed for the Rebel advance picket duty, and were
scattered in detachments all along the front in the best shape to
protect their line.
Riding up to the gate, I jumped off the horse with alacrity, and seeing
the old bushwhacker in the door, I rushed up to him as if I had found a
long-lost father, and began to tell him how glad I was to be safely back
there again.
"But," said the old scoundrel, "why didn't you stay here last night?"
"Why, I couldn't sleep in that old barn for the rats, and so I got out;
and as I didn't want to waken you all up, I walked off quietly alone,
but I got started on the wrong road in the night and came near getting
into the Yankee's hands."
"Too bad," said the old rascal, with a sneer and a knowing wink to a
group of officers who had gathered around there for a breakfast and had
heard my story from our officer. I saw at once that I was a goner, and
that my story wouldn't go down here; but, keeping a stiff upper lip, I
assumed an air of cheerfulness that I did not at all feel in my heart. I
was disturbed, too, to observe that my commander was being questioned
earnestly by several officers, who would every now and then glance
significantly at me; from their gestures and manner I knew instinctively
that my case was being discussed, and every sign indicated that the
verdict would go against me.
This sort of a reception was not calculated to whet my appetite for the
breakfast awaiting us. The Georgetown tutor, whom I have termed "my
Rebel," was a perfect gentleman, and whatever may have been his own
convictions as to my being a spy, he most considerately concealed from
me any indications, and refrained from the expression of a suspicion as
to the truthfulness of my story. He assumed in my presence that I was a
straight refugee; and I inferred, from his intercourse with the officers
whom he had met at this old house, that he had defended me as against
their suspicions.
A young enlisted man from one of the regiments camped about there had
been brought to the house to confront me on my "Maryland story," he
being a Marylander. It was supposed he would be able to detect any
inaccuracies in my account of Maryland; but I soon satisfied him, and
showed the officers who had gathered about that I knew as much about
Maryland and Baltimore as he did, and more about the Rebel country. I
had fully crammed myself on that subject, in anticipation of being
questioned on it.
I have often thought since that, had I fallen into the hands of those
infantry officers, after having successfully passed through their lines,
they would have been tempted to hang me without trial, and the old
bushwhacker would have been glad to have acted hangman. He looked like a
veritable Jack Ketch. They well knew that the report of the cavalry
officer to headquarters would expose the weakness of their line.
I took occasion at the first opportunity to have a little talk with my
officer, to ascertain what he intended to do with me. With a sigh of
relief, he said:
"Why, sir, I shall have to leave the matter entirely with the officer
who gave you this pass."
That wasn't very comforting, but I didn't say that I felt it was the
very worst thing that could befall me; but, instead, I spoke up: "That
will be all right. I shall be glad to get away from this place as soon
as possible."
"Oh, yes; we will see you safely to our headquarters."
Then giving some directions to the sergeant of his squad to get ready to
move, he turned again to me and said, kindly:
"I am sorry that I have no horse for you, sir; and, as we are now
detained considerably, I will ride on ahead. These two men will come on
more leisurely with you."
That was one good point--the chances for escape were increased
three-fourths, or in direct ratio to the reduction of my body-guard, or
escort from eight to two.
I was inside the Rebel pickets again, and _they_ had been made more
alert, and would be more watchful after their carelessness of the night
previous. This, with the fact that I had been scrutinized by so many
soldiers on that morning ride through their lines and camps, would make
any attempt to escape in that direction doubly dangerous; therefore I
concluded I should try to quietly get away from these two soldiers at
the first favorable opportunity; if I succeeded, I should not dare to
attempt passing _that_ picket-line a second time, especially in
daylight.
It was quite a relief to me to say good-by to the old bushwhacker and
his crowd of Rebs from my seat on the rear end of the horse. He had
something to say about "not coming back that way again," as we rode off.
They detained our companion a moment or two, while I imagined they
poured into his head some cautions or directions about taking care of
me. When he caught up to us, he said, laughingly: "Them fellows think
you are a bad man."
This was thought to be too funny for anything; and to keep up the joke,
I grabbed my man around the stomach and called on him to surrender to me
at once, or I'd pull his hair.
We trotted along the road in this laughing humor for a mile or so; my
heart was not in the laughing mood, but I, like the broken-hearted and
distressed comedian on the stage, was playing a part, and, in a greater
sense than theirs, my "living" depended upon my success in acting the
character well.
At one point in the road my comrade had dismounted for awhile, and
kindly gave me the bridle-rein to hold. I was then in possession of the
horse, he was afoot, his gun standing by a fence-corner, and himself on
the other side of the fence. This was a pretty good chance for a
horse-race with the other fellow, who was still mounted, but he had the
advantage of holding a carbine and a belt full of pistols, while I was
unarmed. I wasn't afraid of _his_ guns. I took in the situation at once,
and would like very much to be able give the reader a thrilling account
of a race inside the Rebel lines, but the hard facts are--I was afraid
to undertake it. I had discovered at the foot of the hill, near a stream
of water, in the direction in which we were going, the smoke of a camp,
and probably a road guard was over the little bridge.
These soldiers, I knew, would halt me with a volley from their muskets,
especially if I should come tearing down with an armed Rebel shouting
after me. On the other side, toward the out lines, the course would lead
me back into the Rebel camps and past the old bushwhacker's house we had
recently left, and I preferred going to headquarters to getting back
into their clutches again.
When my man remounted and I surrendered the reins to him, I observed
that, if I had wanted to have gone back, or to run off with his horse, I
could have done it, and at least had a race with our companion; they had
not thought of the danger at all, and were both tickled at this evidence
of my good intention; neither of them had seen the infantry guard ahead
of us, which was the _only_ obstacle to my attempting to carry out this
"good intention."
We trotted and walked further down the hill and passed inside the guard;
in going up the next hill, I proposed relieving the horse by walking a
little; this was readily granted, and I slipped off on to the road and
stretched my legs in training for a run, if a chance offered. I remarked
jokingly to the soldiers, who rode along leisurely, that they had better
watch me close; that, as we were now inside of about three lines of
pickets, or road guards, being such a dangerous fellow, I might fly back
over their heads into the Yankee's lines.
This sort of pleasantry seemed to keep them in an easy frame of mind,
and they began to act as if they were ashamed of the fact, that two
heavily-armed men on horseback should be necessary to guard one unarmed
boy on foot. One of the men discovered a house standing back from the
road, at which they proposed getting water for their horses and
ourselves, so we all turned into the little road leading right up to the
place.
Our first inquiry was met at the kitchen door, in answer to his request
for a cup to drink from, by a real neat, young, colored gal, whose
laughing, happy face showed a mouthful of beautiful teeth while the red
struggling through the black showed a beautiful cherry color in her
lips.
Both the boys were attracted, and began immediately, in the true
Southern chivalrous style, to make themselves agreeable to the "likely
gal." I didn't have anything to say. The other two fellows kept up the
fun for quite a little while, becoming every moment more and more
interested, and actually became jealous of each other. I saw that this
was likely to be my opportunity and encouraged the performance. While
they were both dismounted and "resting" on the old back porch buzzing
the gal, I carelessly observed that I'd go around to a little out
building. They had gained so much confidence in me that my proposition
was assented to without a word, or even a nod; and the boys both sat
still, while I unconcernedly walked around the corner of the house.
How long they sat there and talked I do not know, and what became of the
two good boys in gray will never be told by me.
As far as their history is concerned in this story, it closes with this
scene on the back porch of the old house.