During the winter of 1864 certain highly interesting
operations were going on in the underground region of the
noted Libby Prison, at Richmond, Virginia, at that time the
by no means luxurious or agreeable home of some eleven
hundred officers of the United States army. These
operations, by means of which numerous captives were to make
their way to fresh air and freedom, are abundantly worthy of
being told, as an evidence of the ingenuity of man and the
amount of labor and hardship he is willing to give in
exchange for liberty.
[Illustration: LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND.]
Libby Prison was certainly not of palatial dimensions or
accommodations. Before the war it had been a tobacco
warehouse, situated close by the Lynchburg Canal, and a
short distance from James River, whose waters ran by in full
view of the longing eyes which gazed upon them from the
close-barred prison windows. For the story which we have to
tell some description of the make-up of this place of
detention is a necessary preliminary. The building was three
stories high in front, and four in the rear, its dimensions
being one hundred and sixty-five by one hundred and five
feet. It was strongly built, of brick and stone, while very
thick partition walls of brick divided it internally into
three sections. Each section had its cellar, one of them,
with which we are particularly concerned, being unoccupied.
The others were occasionally used. The first floor had three
apartments, one used by the prison authorities, one as a
hospital, while the middle one served the prisoners as a
cooking-and dining-room. The second and third stories were
the quarters of the prisoners, where, in seven rooms, more
than eleven hundred United States officers ate, slept, and
did all the duties of life for many months. It may even be
said that they enjoyed some of the pleasures of life, for
though the discipline was harsh and the food scanty and
poor, man's love of enjoyment is not easily to be repressed,
and what with occasional minstrel and theatrical
entertainments among themselves, fencing exercises with
wooden swords, games of cards, checkers and chess, study of
languages, military tactics, etc., and other entertainments
and pastimes, they managed somewhat to overcome the monotony
of prison life and the hardship of prison discipline.
As regards chances of escape, they were very poor. A strong
guard constantly surrounded the prison, and such attempts at
escape as were made were rarely successful. The only one
that had measurable success is that which we have to
describe, in which a body of prisoners played the rôle of
rats or beavers, and got out of Libby by an underground
route.
The tunnel enterprise was the project of a few choice
spirits only. It was too perilous to confide to many. The
disused cellar was chosen as the avenue of escape. It was
never visited, and might be used with safety. But how to get
there was a difficult question to solve. And how to hide the
fact that men were absent from roll-call was another. The
latter difficulty was got over by several expedients. If
Lieutenant Jones, for instance, was at work in the tunnel,
Captain Smith would answer for him; then, when Smith was
pronounced absent, he would step forward and declare that he
had answered to his own name. His presence served as sure
proof that he had not been absent. Other and still more
ingenious methods were at times adopted, and the authorities
were completely hoodwinked in this particular.
And now as regards the difficulty of entering the cellar.
The cooking-room on the first floor contained, in its thick
brick and stone partition, a fireplace, in front of which,
partly masking it, three stoves were placed for the cooking
operations of the prisoners. The floor of this fireplace was
chosen as the initial point of excavation, from which a
sloping passage might be made, under the floor of the next
room, into the disused cellar.
Captain Hamilton, a stonemason by trade, began the
excavation, removing the first brick and stone from the
fireplace. It need scarcely be said that this work was done
only at night, and with as little noise as possible. By day
the opening was carefully closed, the bricks and stones
being so ingeniously replaced that no signs of disturbance
appeared. Thick as the wall was, a passage was quickly made
through it, presenting an easy route to the cellar below.
As for this cellar, it was dark, rarely or never opened, and
contained only some old boxes, boards, straw, and the like
débris, and an abundance of rats.
The cellar reached, and the route to it carefully concealed
by day alike from the prison authorities and the prisoners
not in the secret, the question of the tunnel followed.
There were two possible routes. One of these led southward,
towards the canal; the other eastward, under a narrow
street, on the opposite side of which was a yard and stable,
with a high board fence on the street side. The opposite
side of the yard faced a warehouse.
A tunnel was commenced towards the canal. But it quickly
struck a sewer whose odor was more than the workers could
endure. It was abandoned, and a tunnel begun eastward, the
most difficult part of it being to make an opening in the
thick foundation wall. The hope of liberty, however, will
bear man up through the most exhausting labors, and this
fatiguing task was at length successfully performed. The
remainder of the excavation was through earth, and was
easier, though much the reverse of easy.
A few words will tell what was to be done, and how it was
accomplished. The tunnel began near the floor of the cellar,
eight or nine feet underground. Its length would need to be
seventy or eighty feet. Only one man could work in it at a
time, and this he had to do while crawling forward with his
face downward, and with such tools as pocket-knives, small
hatchets, sharp pieces of wood, and a broken fire-shovel.
After the opening had made some progress two men could work
in it, one digging, the other carrying back the earth, for
which work frying-pans were brought into use.
Another point of some little importance was the disposal of
the dirt. This was carelessly scattered over the cellar
floor, with straw thrown over it, and some of it placed in
boxes and barrels. The whole amount was not great, and not
likely to be noticed if the officials should happen to enter
the cellar, which had not been cleaned for years.
The work here described was begun in the latter part of
January, 1864. So diligently was it prosecuted that the
tunnel was pronounced finished on the night of February 8.
During this period only two or three men could work at once.
It was, indeed, frightfully exhausting labor, the
confinement of the narrow passage and the difficulty of
breathing in its foul air being not the least of the
hardships to be endured. Work was prosecuted during part of
the period night and day, the absence of a man from
roll-call being concealed in various ways, as already
mentioned.
The secret had been kept well, but not too well. Some
workers had divulged it to their friends. Others of the
prisoners had discovered that something was going on, and
had been let into the affair on a pledge of secrecy. By the
time the tunnel was completed its existence was known to
something more than one hundred out of the eleven hundred
prisoners. These were all placed on their word of honor to
give no hint of the enterprise.
The night of February 8 was signalized by the opening of the
outward end of the tunnel. A passage was dug upwards, and an
opening made sufficiently large to permit the worker to take
a look outward into the midnight air. What he saw gave him a
frightful shock. The distance had been miscalculated; the
opening was on the _wrong_ side of the fence; there in full
sight was one of the sentinels, pacing his beat with loaded
musket.
Here was a situation that needed nerve and alertness. The
protruded head was quickly withdrawn, and the earth which
had been removed rapidly replaced, it being packed as
tightly as possible from below to prevent its falling in.
Word of the perilous error was sent back, and as the whisper
passed from ear to ear every heart throbbed with a nervous
shock. They had barely escaped losing the benefit of their
weeks of exhausting labor.
The opening had been at the outward edge of the fence. The
tunnel was now run two feet farther, and an opening again
made. It was now on the inside of the fence, and in a safe
place, for the stable adjoining the yard was disused.
The evening of the 9th was that fixed upon for flight. At a
little after nine o'clock the exodus began. Those in the
secret made their way to the cooking-room. The fireplace
passage was opened, and such was the haste to avail
themselves of it that the men almost struggled for
precedence. Rules had been made, but no order could be
kept. Silence reigned, however. No voice was raised above a
whisper; every footstep was made as light as possible. It
had been decided that fifty men should leave that night, and
fifty the next, the prison clerk being deceived at roll-call
by an artifice which had been practised more than once
before, that of men leaving one end of the line and
regaining the other unseen, to answer to the names of
others. But the risk of discovery was too great. Every man
wanted to be among the first. It proved impossible to
restrain the anxious prisoners.
Down into the cellar passed a long line of descending men,
dropping to its floor in rapid succession. Around the mouth
of the tunnel a dense crowd gathered. But here only one man
was allowed to pass at a time, on account of the bad air.
The noise made in passing through told those behind how long
the tunnel was occupied. The instant the noise ceased
another plunged in.
The passage was no easy one. The tunnel was little more than
wide enough to contain a man's body, and progress had to be
made by kicking and scrambling forward. Two or three
minutes, however, sufficed for the journey, the one who had
last emerged helping his companion to the upper air.
Here was a carriage-way fronting southward, and leading into
Canal Street, which ran along the Lynchburg Canal. Four
guards paced along the south side of the prison within plain
view. The risk was great. On emerging from the carriage-way
the fugitives would be in full sight of these guards. But
the risk must be taken. Watching the street for a moment in
which it was comparatively clear, one by one they passed out
and walked deliberately along the canal, in the direction
away from the prison, like ordinary passers. This dangerous
space was crossed with remarkable good fortune. If the
guards noticed them at all, they must have taken them for
ordinary citizens. The unusual number of passers, on that
retired street, nearly the whole night long, does not seem
to have attracted the attention of any of the guards. One
hundred and nine escaped in all, yet not a man of them was
challenged.
Canal Street once left, the first breath of relief was
drawn. Those who early escaped soon found themselves in
well-lighted streets, many of the shops still open, and
numerous citizens and soldiers promenading. No one took
notice of the fugitives, who strolled along the streets in
small groups, laughing and talking on indifferent subjects,
and, with no sign of haste, directing their steps towards
the outskirts of the city.
As to what followed, there are almost as many adventures to
relate as there were persons escaped. We shall confine
ourselves to the narrative of one of them, Captain Earle,
from whose story the particulars above given have been
condensed. With him was one companion, Captain Charles E.
Rowan.
They had provided themselves with a small quantity of food,
but had no definite plans. It quickly occurred to them,
however, that they had better make their way down the
peninsula, towards Fortress Monroe, as the nearest locality
where Union troops could probably be found. With the polar
star for guide they set out, having left the perilous
precincts of the city in their rear.
To travel by night, to hide by day, was their chosen plan.
The end of their first night's journey found them in the
vicinity of a swamp, some five miles from Richmond. Here,
hid behind a screen of brushwood and evergreen bushes, they
spent the long and anxious day, within hearing of the noises
of the camps around the city, but without discovery.
A day had made a gratifying change in their situation. The
day before they had been prisoners, with no apparent
prospect of freedom for months. This day they were free,
even if in a far from agreeable situation. Liberty solaced
them for the weariness of that day's anxious vigil. How long
they would remain free was the burning question of the hour.
They were surrounded with perils. Could they hope to pass
through them in safety? This only the event could tell.
The wintry cold was one of their difficulties. Their meagre
stock of food was another. They divided this up into very
small rations, with the hope that they could make it last
for six days. The second night they moved in an easterly
direction, and near morning ventured to approach a small
cabin, which proved to be, as they had hoped, occupied by a
negro. He gave them directions as to their course, and all
the food he had,--a small piece of pone bread.
That day they suffered much, in their hiding place, from
the cold. That night, avoiding roads, they made their way
through swamp and thicket, finding themselves in the morning
chilled with wet clothing and torn by briers. Near morning
of the third night they reached what seemed to be a swamp.
They concluded to rest on its borders till dawn, and then
pass through it. Sleep came to them here. When they wakened
it was full day, and an agreeable surprise greeted their
eyes. What they supposed to be a swamp proved to be the
Chickahominy River. The prospect of meeting this stream had
given them much mental anxiety. Captain Rowan could not
swim. Captain Earle had no desire to do so, in February. How
it was to be crossed had troubled them greatly. As they
opened their eyes now, the problem was solved. There lay a
fallen tree, neatly bridging the narrow stream! In less than
five minutes they were safely on the other side of this
dreaded obstacle, and with far better prospects than they
had dreamed of a few hours before.
By the end of the fourth night they found that their six
days' stock of food was exhausted, and their strength almost
gone. Their only hope of food now lay in confiscating a
chicken from the vicinity of some farm-house, and eating it
raw. For this purpose they cautiously approached the
out-buildings of a farm-house. Here, while secretly scouting
for the desired chicken, they were discovered by a negro.
They had no need to fear him. There is no case on record of
a negro betraying an escaped prisoner into the hands of the
enemy. The sympathy of these dusky captives to slavery could
be safely counted upon, and many a fugitive owed to them his
safety from recapture.
"Glad to see you, gemmen," he cried, courteously. "You's
Yankee off'cers, 'scaped from prison. It's all right wid me,
gemmen. Come dis way; you's got to be looked arter."
The kindly sympathy of this dusky friend was so evident that
they followed him without a thought of treachery. He led
them to his cabin, where a blazing fire in an old-fashioned
fireplace quickly restored that sense of the comfort of
warmth which they had for days lost.
Several colored people were present, who surrounded and
questioned them with the warmest sympathy. A guard was
posted to prevent surprise, and the old mammy of the family
hastened to prepare what seemed to them the most delicious
meal they had ever tasted. The corn-bread _pones_ vanished
down their throats as fast as she could take them from the
hot ashes in which they were baked. The cabbage, fried in a
skillet, tasted like ambrosia. The meat no game could
surpass in flavor, and an additional zest was added to it by
their fancy that it had been furnished by the slave-holder's
pantry. They had partaken of many sumptuous meals, but
nothing to equal that set before them on the hospitable
table of their dusky hosts. They were new men, with new
courage, when they at length set out again, fully informed
as to their route.
On they went through the cold, following the difficult
paths which they chose in preference to travelled roads,
while the dogs,--for the peninsula seemed to them to be
principally peopled by dogs,--by their unceasing chorus of
barks, right, left, and in front, kept them in a state of
nervous exasperation. Many times did they turn from their
course through fear of detection from these vociferous
guardians of the night.
On the fifth day they were visited, in their place of
concealment, by a snow-storm. Their suffering from cold now
became so intolerable that they could not remain at rest,
and they resumed their route about four o'clock. Two hours
they went, and then, to their complete discouragement, found
themselves back again at their starting-point, and cold,
wet, tired, and hungry into the bargain.
As they stood there, expressing in very plain language their
opinion of Dame Fortune, a covered cart approached. Taking
it for granted that the driver was a negro, they hailed him;
but to their dismay found that they had halted a white man.
There was but one thing to do. They told him that they were
Confederate scouts, and asked him for information about the
Yankee outposts. A short conference ensued, which ended in
their discovering that they were talking to a man of strong
Union sympathies, and as likely to befriend them as the
negroes. This was a hopeful discovery. They now freely told
him who they really were, and in return received valuable
information as to roads, being told in addition where they
could find a negro family who would give them food.
"If you can keep out of the way of rebel scouts for
twenty-four hours more," he continued, "you will very likely
come across some of your own troops. But you are on very
dangerous ground. Here is the scouting-place of both armies,
and guerillas and bushwackers are everywhere."
Thanking him, and with hearts filled with new hope, the
wanderers started forward. At midnight they reached the
negro cabin to which they had been directed, where, to their
great relief, they obtained a substantial meal of
corn-bread, pork, and rye coffee, and, what was quite as
acceptable, a warming from a bright fire. The friendly black
warned them, as their late informant had done, of the danger
of the ground they had yet to traverse.
These warnings caused them to proceed very cautiously, after
leaving the hospitable cabin of their sable entertainer. But
they had not gone far before they met an unexpected and
vexatious obstacle, a river or creek, the Diascon, as the
negroes named it. They crossed it at length, but not without
great trouble and serious loss of time.
It was now the sixth night since their escape. Hitherto
Captain Rowan had been a model of strength, perseverance,
and judgment. Now these qualities seemed suddenly to leave
him. The terrible strain, mental and physical, to which they
had been exposed, and their sufferings from cold, fatigue,
and hunger, produced their effect at last, and he became
physically prostrate and mentally indifferent. Captain
Earle, who retained his energies, had great difficulty in
persuading him to proceed, and before daybreak was obliged
to let him stop and rest.
When dawn appeared they found themselves in an open country,
affording poor opportunities for concealment. They felt
sure, however, that they must be near the Union outposts.
With these considerations they concluded to make their
journey now by day, and in a road. In truth, Rowan had lost
all care as to how they went and what became of them, and
his companion's energy and decision were on the decline.
Onward they trudged, mile by mile, with keen enjoyment of
the highway after their bitter experience of by-ways, and
somewhat heedless of consequences, though glad to perceive
that no human form was in sight. Nine o'clock came. Before
them the road curved sharply. They walked steadily onward.
But as they neared the curve there came to their ears a most
disquieting sound, the noise of hoofs on the hard road-bed,
the rattle of cavalry equipments. A force of horsemen was
evidently approaching. Were they Union or Confederate? Was
freedom or renewed captivity before them? They looked
quickly to right and left. No opportunity for concealment
appeared. Nor was there a moment's time for flight, for the
sound of hoof-beats was immediately followed by the
appearance of mounted and uniformed men, a cavalry squad,
still some hundreds of yards away, but riding towards them
at full gallop.
The eyes of the fugitives looked wistfully and anxiously
towards them. Thank Heaven! they wore the Union blue! Those
guidons which rose high in the air bore the Union colors!
They were United States cavalry! Safety was assured!
In a minute more the rattling hoofs were close at hand, the
band of rescuers were around them; eager questions, glad
answers, heartfelt congratulations filled the air. In a very
few minutes the fugitives were mounted and riding gladly
back in the midst of their new friends, to be banqueted,
feasted, and fêted, until every vestige of their hardships
had been worn away by human kindness.
As to their feelings at this happy termination of their
heroic struggle for freedom, words cannot express them. The
weary days, the bitter disappointments, the harsh treatment
of prison life; the days and nights of cold, hunger, and
peril, wanderings through swamps and thorny thickets, hopes
and despairs of flight; all were at an end, and now only
friends surrounded them, only congratulating and
commiserating voices met their ears. It was a feast of joy
never to be forgotten.
A few words will finish. One hundred and nine men had
escaped. Of these, fifty-five reached the Union lines.
Fifty-four were captured and taken back to prison. Some of
the escaped officers, more swift in motion or fortunate in
route than the others, reached the Union lines on their
third day from Richmond. Their report that others were on
the road bore good fruit. General Butler, then in command
at Fortress Monroe, sent out, on alternate days, the
Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry and the First New York Rifles
to patrol the country in search of the escaping prisoners,
with tall guidons to attract their attention if they should
be in concealment. Many of the fugitives were thus rescued.
The adventures of two, as above given, must serve for
example of them all.