ONE MORE ESCAPE--"YANKING" THE TELEGRAPH WIRES--"ON TO RICHMOND!"--A
CLOSE SHAVE.
Apparently there were "no men folks" about the house at the time of our
morning visit. However, through a window, I saw the white cap of an old
lady, whose bright eyes shone through her large-rimmed specs intently on
the group that sat on her back porch.
I had taken observations every foot of our march during the morning,
with an eye single to the main chance, when the opportunity should
offer, to escape from the guard--either to run or to hide from pursuit.
Under such conditions, one's wits take on a keen edge. Directly back of
the house, but on the other side of two open fields, was the edge of a
wood that extended a long way in both directions. This wood was the
timber or inclosed land down in the "hollow" or bottom, as they term the
low lands, while the road on which we were traveling stretched in almost
a straight line over the higher ground.
Once around the corner of the house, I stopped a moment to take in the
situation. I saw at a glance that the wood was my only chance, because
cavalry could not follow me on horseback through the undergrowth, where
I could go on foot. I felt equal to both of them--except the guns.
A dividing fence ran along the fields toward the house, and quickly
scaling this, I turned for a look back, then thinking of the doubly
dangerous risk of a second capture while attempting to escape, being
actually in the enemy's army, I was nerved to desperation and made a
break for liberty, feeling that I could almost fly. I ran like a pursued
deer.
I took off my hat--I don't know why, but I always take off my hat when
anything desperate is to be attempted. I didn't stop to pray in a
fence-corner, but, in a half-stooping position, so as to keep under
cover of the fence, I ran like a deer along that old stake-and-rider
fence, and I made, I know, as good time as ever boy did in a race after
hounds. In the middle of the field an old negro man was working alone. I
stopped for a moment when I saw him, but as I was, luckily, on the
opposite side of the fence from him, he did not see me. This old moke
had a dog along with him--they all have dogs. I was more afraid of the
dog than of guns. This black apparition in my path to the woods
necessitated a slight change of direction, to avoid him, as well as the
scent of the mangy-looking old dog, that I imagined was "pointing" me.
I was soon under the hill, from where I stopped a minute to look back. I
could see only the top of the house that I had just left, and I knew
they could not see me; so, leaving the protecting shadow of the fence, I
struck boldly across the field in a direction leading furthest away from
the old coon and his dog, in a course toward headquarters, the same in
which we had been traveling. I knew, or at least imagined, that,
immediately on discovering my escape, they would naturally think that I
would return, or that I should at least try to make toward their front,
and again try to escape into the Yankee lines.
This was their mistake. My plan had been deliberately formed before hand
to do precisely the opposite thing--which was to run ahead, or toward
the Rebel headquarters, trusting to the chances of putting pursuers off
my scent, and hoping to lose my identity in the crowd among the Rebel
camps.
Like the hunted fox, my tracks zigzagged me back to the road we intended
to follow, but brought me out ahead of the house. Before risking myself
on the road a second time, I peered through the fence cautiously, from
whence I could see up and down the road for a long way. The coast was
entirely clear; and, cautiously crawling through the lower bar of the
fence, I did not run across the road; no, indeed, I _crawled_ across on
my hands and knees, like a hog, so that I might the better avoid any
chance of observation, and, in the same ignominious style, I hogged it
through the lower panel of the fence on the other side. Once safely over
the road, I quickly changed my character from the swinish quadruped to
the biped; and, without turning to look either to the right or to the
left, I crawled along that fence right alongside of the road, in as
speedy a manner as was possible.
It was more luck than good management on my part that I had been forced
back on to and over the road by the presence of the black man and his
dog. In pursuit they would naturally follow, but the old man would be
sure to swear that I had not gone in the direction that I had been
obliged to take, because he had been there all the time and had not seen
me.
While the two clever cavalrymen were probably skirmishing around on
their horses along the road, or through the fields to their front,
looking after me, I was rapidly traveling in a course directly opposite,
and they would not be likely to suspect that I had crossed the road.
There were no woods on the side of the fence or road on which I had
placed myself, and I was obliged to keep close to the fence, and
followed right alongside of the road for quite a long way.
At the bottom of the hill was a dry run; that is, there was a gravelly
bed over which a small stream should have coursed, but the water was not
there in August, 1861. The banks were, however, pretty well shaded or
covered with a light undergrowth of willows, or some such trees as
usually are seen in these situations. It was a good chance for me to get
away from the road fence, so I ran along the run-bed toward the south,
under the protection of the shady undergrowth. There were no signs of
life along this stream; it was deserted both by the water and the things
that live in and above the water.
Its course led me a long way from the road. After successfully passing a
house, which was near the top of the hill, at a safe distance,
unobserved, I got into a second wood and lay down on the ground for a
much-needed rest.
I did not dare to stop long in any one place, knowing only too well
that, when my guard should report that he had lost his prisoner, the
Rebel cavalry about headquarters would be sent out to search for me,
with probable orders to all guarded points to keep an especial lookout
for a person of my description. I could not stay in the wood, though I
could best conceal myself there, because I knew that I would famish. I
was already in real distress for want of a drink of water, and, as I lay
there in the wood, my brain began to conjure up all sorts of torments. I
imagined that the dry bed of the stream over which I had been stumbling
was mocking me with an appearance of moisture.
If any who chance to read this have ever had a couple of hours violent
exercise in a dusty country, on a hot August day, and longed for a drink
of water, they may appreciate my misery. I don't imagine that I can
convey in words any conception of the suffering, the intense suffering
one may experience for a drop of water, when they can't get it. The
experience will almost drive one wild. I believe this, because, on more
than one occasion, I have seen the demon of this anguish look into my
eyes with the wild glare of the frenzied maniac.
The drizzling rain of the morning had given way to a sultry, close noon,
and as I lay panting in the shade of the wood, the sun hung out like a
huge, blazing copper ball, and poured down his fiercest heat. I thought
of the beautiful, clear, cold spring on the hill-side back of my
father's house, in Pennsylvania, where I had so often, when a boy, been
sent for a bucket of water, and had so reluctantly obeyed, thinking it a
great hardship to be compelled to throw out a whole bucket of _good_
water just because it wasn't fresh and cold. I would have given anything
in the world for just one chance to be a better boy at home, and
solemnly pledged myself never to kick again on my turn at going for
water.
I called up involuntarily all the soda fountains I had ever seen in the
cities, and became frenzied over the idea that I began to hear in my
mind the buzzing noise of the little sprays of water that were always to
be heard dashing against the glass case. Unable to stand it any longer,
I got up and made a break for water, determined that I must find it at
any risk.
In this condition of mind I trotted along slowly, like a hunted wolf,
with his tongue hanging out. Let's see. I've compared myself to a monkey
riding on the rear end of a horse; a deer stalking behind the fence; a
fox with zigzag tracks being chased by a dog; a hog under a fence; and
now it's a chased wolf. I hope to exhaust Noah's Ark before I complete
the story, and am trying to keep the score in view.
I found a pool of water on the outer edge of the wood. There had been a
spring about there some place at some time. If there had been any hogs
about they would have found it first and utilized it as a bath; as it
was, it was partly covered with a greenish slime. I had spent some time
in Texas, where it only rains once in seven years, and had learned,
while traveling about that country, that the green scum is considered an
indication of _good water_. That's a fact. A Texan will always prefer to
take a drink from a pool on which there is this scum. So, in my
distress, for the want of a drink--of anything, so it was water or
something wet--I eagerly skimmed a place large enough to poke my nose
and mouth into, and sucked into my parched throat a long drink of the
warm stuff.
I had also learned another drinking trick in Texas, which is--always to
hold your breath as long as possible after taking a drink of what they
call water, in order to conceal as far as possible the taste in the
mouth which necessarily follows the nauseous dose.
But we must hurry along and get out of the woods with the story. I
reached, after considerable dodging, a railroad. I judged it was the
Manassas road, leading from Alexandria past Fairfax Station back toward
Manassas. I was not sure of my location, but I was glad enough to strike
a railroad-track, because I knew that cavalry could not travel on ties
as fast as I could, and I hoped, too, that it would afford me some
chance to get away from the cussed country more rapidly.
I didn't dare walk the track, but I followed along it for quite a long
way. At one point, where there was a long, straight line, I discovered
some distance ahead a soldier on guard. I imagined it was a bridge or
culvert guard, and I knew that I could not pass that point. While
getting ready to go around them, I observed that the telegraph wire,
which had become destroyed and was repaired at one point, was quite low;
the men who had done the work had evidently not been able to climb a
pole, and had left it hanging over the bushes. The sight of the wire in
this shape, put into my head the idea that it would be well enough to
destroy their communication right there, and prevent the use of _that_
means of spreading information about a spy being loose in their camps.
Getting to one side of the bushes, I easily got hold of the wire from my
position on the ground, and, hauling it as far as possible to one side,
after hastily glancing up and down the road to see that no one was near
to observe me, I "yanked," or by a dexterous "twist of the wrist," which
a wire-man understands, I was able to break the wire, which, the minute
the tension was removed, suddenly flew apart, making the adjoining poles
resound with the vibration. I was frightened at the consequence of my
act and dodged hastily into the shelter of the wood.
[Illustration: I "YANKED," OR BY A DEXTEROUS "TWIST OF THE WRIST," I WAS
ABLE TO BREAK THE WIRE.]
It was possible for me, as an expert telegrapher, to have drawn the ends
of the wire together, and, by simply tapping them together, to have sent
by this simple method a message of defiance to General Beauregard. I
suspect that this story would be enlivened somewhat by such a trick, but
it don't come in here. It was successfully played _afterward_ while I
was on Stoneman's raid to Richmond's outskirts; but the truth is, that I
was too badly scared to think of such a thing at this time. The
accident, if I may so term it, served me a good turn in one or two ways;
first, it destroyed communication for the time, and it brought about a
valuable means to the end of assisting my escape, but it was not a safe
place to loiter.
It occurred to me that I might be able to pass the bridge, and thus get
over the stream safely, by assuming the role of a telegraph line
repairman, carrying some loose wire. The wires were being frequently
broken by the rough pounding of the poles by mule drivers, and repairmen
were no doubt often being sent out to fix up the breaks. In this
capacity I knew I would be looked upon as belonging to a sort of
privileged class, as they now are, riding free on the rear end of the
railway trains, while we all know a telephone man will walk right
through the best and biggest house to get on to the roof to fix a break,
as if he had an inborn right to go anywhere he chose.
Breaking from one of the hanging ends of the wire a long piece, I coiled
it in shape that linemen carry, and putting it over my neck, I started
boldly down the track. I had no climbers, but I was able to personate an
amateur repairman who had been suddenly pressed into the service, on
account of a great emergency, who must travel rapidly as possible in
search of a broken wire.
My story passed me safely over the bridge and past the guards stationed
at several points on the track. I traveled rapidly in the direction
farthest from the break. By the same bold trick I was able to get
through several camps that were close by the tracks.
There were no trains running on that part of the road at that time, or I
should have, probably, been tempted to boldly stop an engine and get on;
as I had often seen linemen on the Pennsylvania Railroad thus picked up
from the road by accommodating engineers. I knew, of course, that the
trick would not last long; that the moment the wires had separated the
operators would know of some sort of a break out on their line, and
would at once take the necessary steps to test for the location of the
accident; and, of course, men would be sent out as speedily as possible
to repair the damage. I ran the additional risk, too, of meeting with
some of those _bona fide_ linemen, who would question my authority.
In the manner in which I have tried to describe, the greater part of
this eventful day was spent, until along about an hour before sundown,
when I came to a road crossing the railway. I now seemed to have gotten
through, or beyond, Manassas, in the rear of the Rebel Army, toward
Richmond, as there were no further guards at the crossings. I
discovered, by encouraging a trackman in a short talk, that the road
crossing the tracks led off in a direct course to Falmouth and
Fredericksburg and Richmond. After a little further inquiry as to a
suitable house at which to apply for something to eat, I left the track,
taking the dusty summer road "on to Richmond."
I felt, as I walked along this narrow road, which was seemingly cut
through a thicket of small saplings, so common in that country, that I
had escaped, and was safe once more. My belief was, that I had not only
eluded pursuit but that I had put those whom I knew would be sent to
find me on the wrong scent.
I was tired, _very_ tired, and as I had eaten nothing at all since the
hasty breakfast at the bushwhacker's house, when I didn't have appetite
enough to swallow a mouthful, I was, of course, hungry. I hadn't a cent
of money, either, and what could I do but beg, and this I _would not
do_. Again my good angel came to my relief by suggesting a ruse, to
further aid my escape and, at the same time, perhaps, create a sympathy
for myself.
I had, in assuming the character of a lineman, thrown away my coat, in
order to relieve myself of the burden of carrying it along in the hot
sun, and to further carry out the impression that I was a workingman
without a coat.
I had walked so much and so rapidly that my left foot had become
swollen, so that I was obliged to go along at a limping gait. I took
advantage of this accident to further add to the change in my
appearance, by assuming a lameness that apparently obliged me to depend
upon the use of two sticks to hobble along.
I had been obliged to take off my tight left shoe, and around the
swollen foot I tenderly tied the greater portion of my shirt, which I
had, of course, first torn off the narrative end. In this shape, walking
between two sticks, with my foot tied up as if it had recently gone
through a surgical operation, I jogged along down the sandy, dusty road
which was leading toward Fredericksburg and Richmond.
Along in the evening I ran into a clearing, at the far end of which was
nestled a little old-fashioned house. It was one of those country
farmhouses where the roof extends down beyond the house and forms a
lower shed or porch roof, which runs along, both at the back and the
front, the whole length of the house.
Opening on to the roof were two dormer windows of the old-fashioned
kind, that we don't often see nowadays.
I marched boldly--if limpingly--through the picket gate, up the straight
path in front of the house door, and, assuming to be suffering
dreadfully from my "wound," I asked the old man--another old
bushwhacker--for a drink of water. He didn't fly around with any great
alacrity to wait on the "poor soldier,"--that isn't the style of
hospitality for poor whites in Virginia--but the old cuss did order a
colored boy to bring some water.
"Right away; do you hyar?"
I was just dying for a chance to operate on the old fellow's sympathy,
with a view to "accepting his hospitality" for the night, or to the
extent of a supper, at least, but I had come up to his door a poor
wounded soldier on foot, and the second-class Virginia gentleman has no
use for a poor man, even if he should be a wounded Rebel soldier, who
had come all the way from Texas to defend his home, etc., etc.
If I had ridden up to his house as a blatant Rebel officer, on
horseback, everything his house contained would have been officiously
placed at my disposal without a word of question.
As it was, the old rascal began to ask questions, and was so
disagreeable, too, in his manner, that a young man, who had come up from
the barn, and who I judged to be his son, found it necessary to answer
for me, and in a way that put the old man down.
Being thus encouraged by the son, the old lady took a hand in behalf of
the "poor soldier," and endeavored in a kind, motherly way to make me
more comfortable. I had told them that I had been slightly wounded in
the foot, but the wound did not properly heal, and I had been tired and
sick lying about the hospital camp, and had determined on my own account
to get out to the country some place, for a day or two. I was particular
to impress on the mind of the sour old man, that I was not a
beggar--that I'd pay for all I got, etc. Now, I didn't have a cent of
money, and if that old man had demanded a settlement after supper, I
should have been sadly left; but I was going to stay all night, and
return to camp _for a pass_ the next day. The old man had said that they
all had their orders from the army officers not to entertain _any_
soldiers who couldn't produce passes. To this I replied that, "I had
thoughtlessly overlooked the matter, but could easily fix _that_ the
next morning, when I'd return."
We had a _good_ supper; the old lady's sympathies were aroused, and she
set out her little delicacies for the
"Poor Texas boy, who was so far from home."
I was just hungry enough to have eaten everything they had prepared for
the whole family; but, as I was on my good behavior, you know, by a
mighty effort and struggle with the inner man I was able to postpone my
appetite. There was only the old man, his wife, and the big lubberly
son, and a colored mammy in the house. They were evidently "poor white
trash," but they owned one slave, so old that she was like a broken-down
horse or cow--very cheap.
I heard the old man talking earnestly to the son, and I imagined, of
course, that the conversation was about myself--at such a time one's
fears are aroused by every little incident.
"Trifles light as air, become proofs as strong as Holy Writ."
"Oh, no; you're mistaken, Father! Why, the poor fellow can't walk."
"But," replied the gruff voice of the old man, "he don't know where his
regiment is."
Without further words the young fellow walked off. When the old man came
back to the porch, where I had been sitting telling the old lady a
sorrowful tale about my home, etc., he began:
"Where did you say you got your wound?"
"Why, it was a trifling hurt on the instep; it only became troublesome
because I couldn't keep from using my foot."
Then the old lady chipped in with:
"Shall I send Mammy to help you bathe it with warm water, before you go
to bed?"
I declined this with profuse thanks, and begged that they would not
trouble themselves about it; it was a mere trifle.
After some more questions from the old man, which I was able to parry, I
was ready for bed, glad enough to get away from him, and determined to
clear out as soon as possible. They put me into a room which was in the
attic, which extended across the width of the house; from this room
there were windows opening on to the roof before described (two dormer
windows), one in front and the other directly opposite, opening onto the
roof of the porch. Before getting ready to lie down, I took a good look
at the surroundings from both of these windows. I had become so
accustomed to this, going to bed in the enemy's country, not knowing the
condition in which I should find myself when I'd waken, that it became a
sort of a habit with me to take my bearings, that I might be able to
escape in case of fire.
I didn't "dress" my wound exactly, or undress myself for bed; in fact,
there was nothing that I could strip off but the trousers, one shoe and
a hat. With these all on, I lay down on top of the old-fashioned, cord
bedstead, and, as described by some of the smart sayings that we used
for texts in our copy-books at school--"Consider each night how you have
spent the past day, and resolve to do better the next." Its awfully easy
to get up these texts, but it's sometimes a little bit troublesome to
apply the same thing to every-day life. I "resolved" easily enough to do
better the following day--if I could. I wanted to get out of that
country very badly, because I knew, as before stated, that the whole
Rebel Army at Manassas would be on guard for spies at once.
My one hope was to get to Richmond and escape by some other route. While
"resolving" further in my mind how to get along down that road in the
morning, without this old man getting after me for my supper and lodging
bill, I almost fell asleep. I was so tired that I could scarcely keep
awake, yet I was afraid to trust myself in sleep.
The folks in the house had all been in bed some time; the lights were
out, and everything became ominously quiet. My quick ear detected horses
neighing and tramping, and an occasional voice in the night air reached
my ear; but, as the sound seemed to die away so soon, I began to think
myself mistaken, and was about to surrender myself to sleep, when
aroused again by what was unmistakably horses galloping along the road.
I quickly, but painfully, jumped up from the bed, and stole quietly over
to the front window just in time to see a troop of horsemen come up.
They were about to ride rapidly past when one of the fellows in the rear
file called out: "Here's a house."
There was the jangling that always follows a sudden halt of cavalry,
especially when following each other closely on a dark night. Some
voices, in the nature of interrogations from an officer to his command,
and a halt was made some little distance down the road past the house.
Two of the men wheeled and rode toward the front of the house, and,
after looking about the grounds, talking in a tone of voice that did not
admit of my getting distinctly the purport of the remarks, they both
galloped back together to the command, which they had left standing in
the road. I breathed freer, hoping they had decided to let us alone.
It would never do for that old man to have a chance to explain, in his
way, my presence in the house. I felt devoutly thankful for the lucky
escape I had again made, and had about concluded in my own mind to clear
out silently, without the Virginia formality of saying good-by to my
host, when I saw, with horror, that the whole troop had turned about and
were walking their horses slowly back toward the house. I stood by the
front dormer window of the old house, and you may imagine how eagerly I
watched their every movement.
The officer in command halted his troop and, calling a trooper by name,
said:
"Sergeant, you go up to the house and ask if they have seen any
strangers along this road."
That was enough for me. I left that window as suddenly as if a gun had
been pointed at me, and ran across the little room to the back window;
it was open, the night being so warm, the sash held up by the customary
window-stick. I got myself through the window with celerity and was
about to let myself slide down the roof slowly to the eaves, so that I
might catch on there and allow myself to further gently drop down on to
one of the supporting posts, where I could slide down to the ground.
Stretching myself out in a feeling way on the roof, still holding on to
the window sill, almost afraid to let go, when down came the window-sash
striking me across the wrist so suddenly and severely that I involuntary
let go my hold and, of course, slid down the roof feet foremost like a
sled on an iced track, landing kerslop over the side on to the ground.
In my sudden descent I had caught hold of a lot of Virginia creepers
that were trained up to the side of the back porch and had pulled them
down with me, and lay for an instant all tangled up in them.
[Illustration: LANDING KERSLOP OVER THE SIDE ONTO THE GROUND]
If there is anything that will startle a man or a woman it is the sudden
fall of a window-sash, because, in most cases, it makes such an infernal
noise and does so little damage; but, in this case, luckily for me,
perhaps, my poor hand was made to answer the purpose of a buffer and
deadened the sound of the falling sash, otherwise it might have fallen,
as sashes always do, and the noise have attracted the notice of the
cavalrymen, who were on the road at the other side of the house. My
quick shute from the up-stairs of the little old house to the ground was
softened a little by the mass of vines that I had carried down with me.
The house only stood between me and a troop of pursuing cavalrymen.
Quickly realizing my precarious predicament, I gathered myself up, and,
for a poor wounded crippled Texan with two canes, I made most elegant
time, considering the darkness, straight back to the barnyard into the
wood beyond. What happened at the house I never learned, as I did not
stop to hear another word spoken.