"And faint not, heart of man! though years wane slow!
There have been those that from the deepest caves,
And cells of night and fastnesses below
The stormy dashing of the ocean waves,
Down, farther down than gold lies hid, have nurs'd
A quenchless hope, and watch'd their time and burst
On the bright day like wakeners from the grave."
--MRS. HEMANS
Noon of a sultry July day, 1864; the scorching sun looks down upon a pine
forest; in its midst a cleared space some thirty acres in extent,
surrounded by a log stockade ten feet high, the timbers set three feet
deep into the ground; a star fort, with one gun at each corner of the
square enclosure; on top of the stockade sentinel boxes placed twenty feet
apart, reached by steps from the outside; in each of these a vigilant
guard with loaded musket, constantly on the watch for the slightest
pretext for shooting down some one or more of the prisoners, of whom there
are from twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand.
All along the inner side of the wall, six feet from it, stretches a dead
line; and any poor fellow thoughtlessly or accidentally laying a hand upon
it, or allowing any part of his body to reach under or over it, will be
instantly shot.
A green, slimy, sluggish stream, bringing with it all the filth of the
sewers of Andersonville, a village three miles distant, flows directly
across the enclosure from east to west. Formerly, the only water fit to
drink came from a spring beyond the eastern wall, which flowing under it,
into the enclosure, emptied itself into the other stream, a few feet
within the dead line.
It did not suffice to satisfy the thirst of the thousands who must drink
or die, and the little corner where its waters could be reached was always
crowded, men pressing upon each other till often one or another would be
pushed against the dead line, shot by the guard, and the body left lying
till the next morning; even if it had fallen into the water beyond the
line, polluting the scant supply left for the living. But the cry of these
perishing ones had gone up into the ears of the merciful Father of us all,
and of late a spring of clear water bubbles up in their midst.
But powder and shot, famine, exposure (for the prisoners have no shelter,
except as they burrow in the earth), and malaria from that sluggish,
filthy stream, and the marshy ground on either side of it, are doing a
fearful work: every morning a wagon drawn by four mules is driven in, and
the corpses--scattered here and there to the number of from eighty-five to
a hundred--gathered up, tossed into it like sticks of wood, taken away and
thrown promiscuously into a hole dug for the purpose, and earth shoveled
over them.
There are corpses lying about now; there are men, slowly breathing out
their last of life, with no dying bed, no pillow save the hard ground, no
mother, wife, sister, daughter near, to weep over, or to comfort them as
they enter the dark valley.
Others there are, wasted and worn till scarce more than living skeletons,
creeping about on hands and feet, lying or sitting in every attitude of
despair and suffering; a dull, hopeless misery in their sunken eyes, a
pathetic patience fit to touch a heart of stone; while others still have
grown frantic with that terrible pain, the hunger gnawing at their very
vitals, and go staggering about, wildly raving in their helpless agony.
And on them all the scorching sun beats pitilessly down. Hard, cruel fate!
scorched with heat, with the cool shelter of the pine forests on every
side; perishing with hunger in a land of plenty.
In one corner, but a yard or so within the dead line, a group of officers
in the Federal uniform--evidently men of culture and refinement, spite of
their hatless and shoeless condition, ragged, soiled raiment, unkempt
hair, and unshaven faces--sit on the ground, like their comrades in
misfortune, sweltering in the sun.
"When will this end?" sighs one. "I'd sooner die a hundred deaths on the
battle-field."
"Ah, who wouldn't?" exclaims another; "to starve, roast, and freeze by
turns for one's country, requires more patriotism by far than to march up
to the cannon's mouth, or charge up hill under a galling fire of
musketry."
"True indeed, Jones," returns a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man, with
face so gaunt and haggard with famine that his own mother would scarcely
have recognized him, and distinguished from the rest by a ball and chain
attached to wrist and ankle; "and yet we bear it for her sake and for
Freedom's. Who of us regrets that we did not stay at home in inglorious
ease, and leave our grand old ship of state to founder and go to pieces
amid the rocks of secession?"
"None of us, Allison! No, no! the Union forever!" returned several voices
in chorus.
"Hark!"--as the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and a prisoner who, half
crazed with suffering, had, in staggering about, approached too near the
fatal line and laid a hand upon it, fell dead--"another patriot soul has
gone to its account, and another rebel earned a thirty days' furlough."
The dark eyes of the speaker flashed with indignation.
"Poor fellows, they don't know that it is to preserve _their_ liberties we
fight, starve, and die; to save them from the despotism their ambitious
and unscrupulous leaders desire to establish over them," remarked Harold
Allison; "how grossly the masses of the Southern people have been deceived
by a few hot-headed politicians, bent upon obtaining power for themselves
at whatever cost."
"True," returned the other, drily; "but it's just a little difficult to
keep these things in mind under present circumstances. By the way,
Allison, have you a sister who married a Mr. Horace Dinsmore?"
"Yes, do you know Rose?" asked Harold, in some surprise.
"I was once a guest at the Oaks for a fortnight or so, at the time of the
marriage of Miss Elsie, Mr. Dinsmore's daughter, to a Mr. Travilla."
Harold's face grew a shade paler, but his tones were calm and quiet.
"Indeed! and may I ask your name?"
"Harry Duncan, at your service," returned the other, with a bow and smile.
"I met your three brothers there, also your sisters, Mrs. Carrington and
Miss May Allison."
The color deepened slightly on Harry's cheek as he pronounced the last
name. The pretty face, graceful form, charming manners, and sprightly
conversation of the young lady were still fresh in his memory. Having
enjoyed the hospitalities of Andersonville for but a few days, he was in
better condition, as to health and clothing, than the rest of the group,
who had been there for months.
"Harry Duncan!" exclaimed Harold, offering his hand, which the other took
in a cordial grasp and shook heartily, "yes, I know; I have heard of you
and your aunt, Miss Stanhope. I feel as if I'd found a brother."
"Thank you; suppose we consider ourselves such; a brother is what I've
been hankering after ever since I can remember."
"Agreed," said Harold. "Perhaps," he added, with a melancholy smile, "we
may find the fiction turned to fact some day, if you and one of my single
sisters should happen to take a fancy to each other; that is, if we live
to get out of this and to see home again." His tone at the last was very
desponding.
"Cheer up," said Duncan, in a low, sympathizing tone, "I think we can find
a way to escape; men have done so even from the Bastile--a far more
difficult task, I should say."
"What's your idea?"
"To dig our way out, working at night, and covering up the traces of our
work by day."
"Yes, it's the only way possible, so far as I can see," said Harold. "I
have already escaped twice in that way, but only to be retaken, and this
is what I gained," shaking his chain, and pointing to the heavy ball
attached. "Yet, if I were rid of this, and possessed of a little more
strength, I'd make a third attempt."
"I think I could rid you of that little attachment," returned Duncan; "and
the tunnel once ready, help you in the race for liberty."
The others of the group were exchanging significant nods and glances.
"I think we may let Duncan into our secret," said Jones. "We're digging a
well; have gone down six feet; three feet below the surface is soapstone,
so soft we can cut it with our jack-knives. We mean to work our way out
to-night. Will you join us?"
"With all my heart."
"Suppose we are caught in the attempt," said one.
"We can't be in much worse condition than now," observed another;
"starving in this pestiferous atmosphere filled with the malaria from that
swamp, and the effluvia from half-decayed corpses; men dying every day,
almost every hour, from famine, disease, or violence."
"No," said Harry, "we may bring upon ourselves what Allison is enduring,
or instant death; but I for one would prefer the latter to the slow
torture of starvation."
"If we are ready," said Harold, in low, solemn tones. "It is appointed to
men once to die, and after that the judgment."
"And what should you say was the needful preparation?" queried another,
half-mockingly. "'Repent ye and believe the gospel.' 'Let the wicked
forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return
unto the Lord and He will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for He will
abundantly pardon.' 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
saved.'"
Silence fell on the little group. Duncan's eyes wandered over the field,
over the thousands of brave men herded together there like cattle, with
none of the comforts, few of the necessaries of life--over the living, the
dying, the dead; taking in the whole aggregate of suffering with one
sweeping glance. His eyes filled; his whole soul was moved with
compassion, while he half forgot that he himself was one of them.
How much were the consolations of God needed here! how few, comparatively,
possessed them. But some there were who did, and were trying to impart
them to others. Should he stay and share in this good work? Perhaps he
ought; he almost thought so for a moment; but he remembered his country's
need; he had enlisted for the war; he must return to active service, if he
could.
Then his eye fell upon Harold. Here was a noble life to be saved; a life
that would inevitably be lost to friends, relatives, country, by but a few
weeks' longer sojourn in this horrible place. Duncan's determination was
taken: with the help of God the morning light should find them both free
and far on their way towards the Union lines.
"We'll try it, comrades, to-night," he said aloud.
"So we will," they answered with determination.
A man came staggering towards them, gesticulating wildly and swearing
horrible oaths.
"He is crazed with hunger, poor fellow," remarked Harold.
Duncan was gazing steadily at the man who had now sunk panting upon the
ground, exhausted by his own violence. Evidently he had once possessed
more than an ordinary share of physical beauty, but vice and evil passions
had set their stamp upon his features, and famine had done its ghastly
work; he was but a wreck of his former self.
"Where have I seen that face?" murmured Harry, unconsciously thinking
aloud.
"In the rogues' gallery, perhaps. Tom Jackson is his name, or one of his
names; for he has several aliases, I'm told," remarked some one standing
near.
"Yes, he's the very man!" exclaimed Harry. "I have studied his photograph
and recognize him fully, in spite of famine's ravages. The wretch! he
deserves all he suffers: and yet I pity him."
"What! the would-be assassin of Viamede?" and Harold started to his feet,
the hot blood dyeing his thin cheeks.
"The same. You feel like lynching him on the spot; and no wonder. But
refrain; _they_ would bid you, and he is already suffering a worse fate
than any you could mete out to him."
"God forgive me!" groaned Harold, dropping down again and hiding his face
in his hands, "I believe there was murder in my heart."
"The story? what was it?" asked Jones. "Tell it, Duncan; anything to help
us to a moment's forgetfulness."
The others joined in the request, and Duncan gave the full particulars of
the several attempts Jackson had made upon the lives of Mr. Travilla and
Elsie.
Allison never once lifted his face during the recital, but the rest
listened with keen interest.
"The fellow richly deserves lynching," was the unanimous verdict, "but, as
you say, is already suffering a far worse fate."
"And yet no worse than that of thousands of innocent men," remarked Jones
bitterly. "Where's the justice of it?"
"Do you expect even-handed justice here?" inquired another.
"Perhaps he may be no worse in the sight of God, than some of the rest of
us," said Harold, in low, grave tones; "we do not know what evil
influences may have surrounded him from his very birth, or whether,
exposed to the same, we would have turned out any better."
"I'm perishing with thirst," said Jones, "and must try pushing through
that crowd about the spring."
He wandered off and the group scattered, leaving Harold and Duncan alone
together.
The two had a long talk: of home, common friends and acquaintance; of the
war, what this or that Federal force was probably now attempting; what
future movements were likely to be made, and how the contest would end;
neither doubting the final triumph of the government.
"And that triumph can't be very far off either," concluded Harry. "I think
the struggle will be over before this time next year, and I hope you and I
may have a hand in the winding up."
"Perhaps you may," Allison rejoined a little sadly; "but I, I fear, have
struck my last blow for my native land."
"You are not strong now, but good nursing may do wonders for you,"
answered Harry cheerily. "Once within the Union lines, and you will feel
like another man."
"Ah, but how to get me there? that's the tug of war," said Harold, but
with a smile and in tones more hopeful than his words. "Duncan, you are a
Christian?"
"Yes, Allison; Jesus Christ is the Captain of my salvation; in whom I
trust, and in whose service I desire to live and die."
"Then are we brothers indeed!" and with the words their right hands joined
in a more cordial grasp than before.
The sun was nearing the western horizon when at length Harold was left
alone. He bowed his head upon his knees in thought and prayer, remaining
thus for many minutes, striving for a spirit of forgiveness and compassion
towards the coward wretch who would have slain one dearer to him than
life.
At last, as the shadows of evening were gathering over the place, he
lifted a pale, patient face; and rising, made his way slowly and with
difficulty towards the spot where Jackson lay prostrate on the ground,
groaning and crying like a child.
Sitting down beside the miserable creature, he spoke to him in gentle,
soothing tones. "You have been here a long time?"
"The longest year that ever I lived! but it won't last much longer," and
he uttered a fearful oath.
"Are you expecting to be exchanged?"
"Exchanged! no. What do those fellows at Washington care about our lives?
They'll delay and delay till we're all starved to death, like hundreds and
thousands, before us;" and again he concluded with a volley of oaths and
curses, bestowed indiscriminately upon the President and Congress, Jeff
Davis, Wirtz, and the guard.
Harold was shocked at his profanity. "Man," said he solemnly, "do you know
that you are on the brink of the grave? and must soon appear at the bar of
Him whose holy name you are taking in vain?"
"Curse you!" he cried, lifting his head for a moment, then dropping it
again on the ground; "take your cant to some other market, I don't believe
in a God, or heaven or hell: and the sooner I die the better; for I'll be
out of my misery."
"No; that is a fatal delusion, and unless you turn and repent, and believe
on the Lord Jesus Christ, death can only plunge you into deeper misery.
You have only a little while! Oh, I beseech you, don't cast away your last
chance to secure pardon, peace and eternal life!"
"You're 'casting your pearls before swine,'" returned the man, sneeringly.
"Not to say that I'm a hog exactly, but I've not a bit more of a soul than
if I was. Your name's Allison, isn't it?"
"It is."
"D'ye know anybody named Dinsmore? or Travilla?"
"Yes; and I know who you are, Jackson, and of your crimes against them. In
the sight of God you are a murderer."
"You tell me to repent. I've repented many a time that I didn't take
better aim and blow his brains out; yes, and hers too. I hoped I had, till
I saw the account in the papers."
Harold's teeth and hands were tightly clenched, in an almost superhuman
effort to keep himself quiet; and the man went on without interruption.
"He'd nearly made a finish of me, but I was smart enough to escape them,
bloodhounds and all. I got over the border into Texas; had a pretty good
time there for awhile--after I recovered from that awful blood-letting;
but when secession began, I slipped off and came North. You think I'm all
bad; but I had a kind of love for the old flag, and went right into the
army. Besides, I thought it might give me a chance to put a bullet through
some o' those that had thwarted my plans, and would have had me lynched,
if they could."
Harold rose and went away, thinking that verily he had been casting his
pearls before swine.
Jackson had, indeed, thrown away his last chance; rejected the last offer
of salvation; for, ere morning, life had fled. Starved to death and gone
into eternity without God and without hope! his bitterest foe could not
have desired for him a more terrible fate.
There was no moon that night, and the evening was cloudy, making a
favorable condition of affairs for the prisoners contemplating an escape.
As soon as the darkness was dense enough to conceal their movements from
the guard, the work of tunneling began.
It was a tedious business, as they had none of the proper tools, and only
one or two could work at a time at the digging and cutting away of the
stone; but they relieved each other frequently at that, while those on the
outside carried away in their coats or whatever came to hand, the earth
and fragments of stone dislodged, and spread them over the marshy ground
near the creek.
Duncan, returning from one of these trips, spoke in an undertone to Harold
Allison, who with a rude file made of a broken knife-blade, was patiently
endeavoring to free himself from his shackles.
"Jackson is dead. I half stumbled over a corpse in the dark, when a man
close by (the same one that told us this afternoon who the fellow was--I
recognized the voice) said, 'He's just breathed his last, poor wretch!
died with a curse on his lips.' 'Who is he?' I asked; and he answered,
'Tom Jackson was one of his names.'"
"Gone!" said Harold, "and with all his sins upon his head."
"Yes; it's awful! Here, let me work that for awhile. You're very tired."
The proffered assistance was thankfully accepted, and another half-hour of
vigorous effort set Harold's limbs free. He stretched them out, with a low
exclamation of gratitude and relief.
At the same instant a whisper came to their ears. "The work's done at
last. Jones is out. Parsons close at his heels. Cox behind him. Will you
go next?"
"Thanks, no; I will be the last," said Duncan; "and take charge of Allison
here, who is too weak to travel far alone."
"Then I'm off," returned the voice. "Don't lose a minute in following me."
"Now, Allison," whispered Harry, "summon all your strength and courage,
old fellow."
"Duncan, you are a true and noble friend! God reward you. Let me be last."
"No, in with you, man! not an instant to spare;" and with kindly force he
half lifted his friend into the well, and guided him to the mouth of the
tunnel.
Allison crept through it as fast as his feeble strength would permit,
Duncan close behind him.
They emerged in safety, as the others had done before them; at once
scattering in different directions.
These two moved on together, for several minutes, plunging deeper and
deeper into the woods, but presently paused to take breath and consider
their bearings.
"Oh, the air of liberty is sweet!" exclaimed Duncan, in low, exultant
tones; "but we mustn't delay here."
"No; we are far from safe yet," panted Allison, "but--'prayer and
provender hinder no man's journey'; Duncan, let us spend one moment in
silent prayer for success in reaching the Union lines."
They did so, kneeling on the ground; then rose and pressed forward with
confidence. God, whose servants they were and whose help they had asked,
would guide them in the right direction.
"What a providence!" exclaimed Duncan, grasping Harold's arm, as they came
out upon an opening in the wood. "See!" and he pointed upward, "the
clouds have broken away a little, and there shines the North Star: we can
steer by that."
"Thank God! and, so far, we have been traveling in the right direction."
"Amen! and we must press on with all speed; for daylight will soon be upon
us, and with it, in all probability, our escape will be discovered and
pursuit begun."
No more breath could be spared for talk, and they pushed on in silence,
now scrambling through a thicket of underbrush, tearing their clothes and
not seldom lacerating their flesh also; now leaping over a fallen tree,
anon climbing a hill, and again fording or swimming a stream.
At length Harold, sinking down upon a log, said, "I am utterly exhausted!
Can go no farther. Go on, and leave me to follow as I can after a little
rest."
"Not a step without you, Allison," returned Duncan, determinedly. "Rest a
bit, and then try it again with the help of my arm. Courage, old fellow,
we must have put at least six or eight miles between us and our late
quarters. Ah, ha! yonder are some blackberry bushes, well laden with ripe
fruit. Sit or lie still while I gather our breakfast."
Hastily snatching a handful of oak leaves, and forming a rude basket by
pinning them together with thorns, he quickly made his way to the bushes,
a few yards distant, while Harold stretched himself upon the log and
closed his weary eyes.
He thought he had hardly done so when Duncan touched his arm.
"Sorry to wake you, Allison, but time is precious; and, like the beggars,
we must eat and run."
The basket was heaped high with large, delicious berries, which greatly
refreshed our travelers.
"Now, then, are you equal to another effort?" asked Duncan, as the last
one disappeared, and he thrust the leaves into his pocket, adding, "We
mustn't leave these to tell tales to our pursuers."
"Yes, I dare not linger here," returned Allison, rising but totteringly.
Duncan threw an arm about him, and again they pressed forward, toiling on
for another half-hour; when Allison again gave out, and sinking upon the
ground, begged his friend to leave him and secure his own safety.
"Never!" cried Duncan, "never! There would be more, many more, to mourn
your loss than mine. Who would shed a tear for me but Aunt Wealthy? Dear
old soul, it would be hard for her, I know; but she'd soon follow me."
"Yes, you are her all; but there's a large family of us, and I could
easily be spared."
Duncan shook his head. "Was your brother who fell at Ball's Bluff easily
spared? But hark! what was that?" He bent his ear to the ground. "The
distant bay of hounds! We must push on!" he cried, starting up in haste.
"Bloodhounds on our track? Horrible!" exclaimed Harold, also starting to
his feet, weakness and fatigue forgotten for the moment, in the terror
inspired by that thought.
Duncan again gave him the support of his arm, and for the next half-hour
they pressed on quite rapidly; yet their pursuers were gaining on them,
for the bay of the hounds, though still distant, could now be distinctly
heard, and Allison's strength again gave away.
"I--can--go no farther, Duncan," he said, pantingly; "let me climb up yon
tall oak and conceal myself among the branches, while you hurry on."
"No, no, they would discover you directly, and it would be surrender or
die. Ah, see! there's a little log cabin behind those bushes, and who
knows but we may find help there. Courage, and hope, my boy;" and almost
carrying Harold, Duncan hurried to the door of the hut.