given was, that their soldiers at the front required all they could
obtain. During this period, we received nothing but corn bread. Kind
friends sent us boxes of provisions from the North, which were opened
and examined by the Confederates, and if nothing objectionable was
found, and it pleased them, the party to whom a box was sent was
directed to come down and get it. Many of these were never delivered.
Every generous soul shared the contents of his box with his more
unfortunate companions. Had it not been for this provision, our life in
Libby would have been intolerable.
There was no glass in the windows, and for some time no fire in the
rooms. An application for window glass, made during the severest cold
weather, was answered by the assurance that the Confederates had none to
furnish. The worst affliction, however, was the vermin, which invaded
every department.
Each officer was permitted to write home the amount of three lines per
week; but even these brief messages were not always allowed to leave
Richmond.
A variety of schemes were adopted to improve or kill time. We played
chess, cards, opened a theater, organized a band of minstrels, delivered
lectures, established schools for teaching dancing, singing, the French
language, and military tactics, read books, published a manuscript
newspaper, held debates, and by these means rendered life tolerable,
though by no means agreeable.
An incident occurred, after we had been in prison some time, which made
a deep impression upon every one. Some of our men had been confined in a
block not far from Libby, called the Pemberton Building. An order had
been issued to remove them to North Carolina. When they left, their line
of march was along the street in our front, and when they passed under
our windows, we threw out drawers, shirts, stockings, etc., which they
gathered up; and when they raised their pale and emaciated faces to
greet their old commanders, there were but few dry eyes in Libby. Many
of them were making their last march.
Our sick were removed to the room set apart, on the ground floor, for a
hospital; and, when one died, he was put in a box of rough boards,
placed in an open wagon, and rapidly driven away over the stony streets.
There were no flowers from loving hands, and no mourning pageant, but a
thousand hearts in Libby followed the gallant dead to his place of rest.
We were seldom visited by any person. The only call I received was from
General Breckenridge, of Kentucky; I had known him before the war.
During our interview, I referred to the resources of the North and
South, and asked him upon what ground he hoped the Confederacy could
succeed. His only reply was, that, "five millions of people, determined
to be free, could not be conquered."
There being no exchange of prisoners at this time, projects of escape
were discussed from the beginning. One scheme was, for a few persons at
a time to put on the dress of a citizen, and attempt to pass the guard
as visitors. A few actually recovered their liberty in this manner.
Another plan was, to dig a tunnel to the city sewer, which was
understood to pass under the street in front of the prison, and escape
through that to the river. This project might have succeeded had not the
water interfered. The final and successful plan was as follows:
On the ground floor of the building, on a level with the street, was a
kitchen containing a fire-place, at a stove connected with which the
prisoners inhabiting the rooms above did their cooking. Beneath this
floor was a basement, one of the rooms which was used as a store-room.
This store-room was under the hospital and next to the street, and
though not directly under the kitchen, was so located that it was
possible to reach it by digging downward and rearward through the
masonry work of the chimney. From this basement room it was proposed to
construct a tunnel under the street to a point beneath a shed, connected
with a brick block upon the opposite side, and from this place to pass
into the street in the guise of citizens. A knowledge of this plan was
confided to about twenty-five, and nothing was known of the proceedings
by the others until two or three days before the escape. A table knife,
chisel, and spittoon were secured for working tools, when operations
commenced. Sufficient of the masonry was removed from the fire-place to
admit the passage of a man through a diagonal cut to the store-room
below; and an excavation was then made through the foundation wall
toward the street, and the construction of the tunnel proceeded night by
night. But two persons could work at the same time. One would enter the
hole with his tools and a small tallow candle, dragging the spittoon
after him attached to a string. The other would fan air into the passage
with his hat, and with another string would draw out the novel dirt car
when loaded, concealing its contents beneath the straw and rubbish of
the cellar. Each morning before daylight the working party returned to
their rooms, after carefully closing the mouth of the tunnel, and
skillfully replacing the bricks in the chimney.
An error occurred during the prosecution of this work that nearly proved
fatal to the enterprise. After a sufficient distance was supposed to
have been made, an excavation was commenced to reach the top of the
ground. The person working, carefully felt his way upward, when suddenly
a small amount of the top earth fell in, and through this he could
plainly see two sentinels apparently looking at him. One said to the
other, "I have been hearing a strange noise in the ground there!" After
listening a short time, the other replied that it was "nothing but
rats." The working party had not been seen. After consultation, this
opening was carefully filled with dirt and shored up. The work was then
recommenced, and after digging about fifteen feet further the objective
point under the shed was successfully reached.
This tunnel required about thirty days of patient, tedious and dangerous
labor. It was eight feet below the street, between sixty and seventy
feet in length, and barely large enough for a full-grown person to crawl
through, by pulling and pushing himself along with his hands and feet.
Among the officers entitled to merit in the execution of this work, Col.
T. E. Rose, of Pennsylvania, deserves particular mention.
When all was complete, the company was organized into two parties; the
first under the charge of Major McDonald, of Ohio, and the second was
placed under my direction. The parties having provided themselves with
citizens' clothing, which had at different times been sent to the
prison by friends in the North, and having filled their pockets with
bread and dried meat from their boxes, commenced to escape about seven
P. M., on the 9th of February, 1864; Major McDonald's party leaving
first. In order to distract the attention of the guard, a dancing party
with music was extemporized in the same room. As each one had to pass
out in the immediate presence of these Confederate soldiers, when he
stepped into the street from the outside of the line, and as the guard
were under orders to fire upon a prisoner escaping, without even calling
upon him to halt, the first men who descended to the tunnel wore that
quiet gloom so often seen in the army before going into battle. It was a
living drama; dancing in one part of the room, dark shadows disappearing
through the chimney in another part, and the same shadows re-appearing
upon the opposite walk, and the sentinel at his post, with a voice that
rang out upon the evening air, announcing: "Eight o'clock, Post No.
One," and "All is well!" and at the same time a Yankee soldier was
passing in his front, and a line of Yankee soldiers were crawling under
his feet. The passage was so small that the process of departure was
necessarily slow; a few inches of progress only being made at each
effort, and to facilitate locomotion outside garments were taken off and
pushed forward.
By this time the proceedings had become known to the whole prison, and
as the first men emerged upon the street, and quietly walked away, seen
by hundreds of their fellows, who crowded the windows, a wild
excitement and enthusiasm were created, and they rushed down to the
chimney, clamoring for the privilege of going out. It was the intention
of the parties, organized by those who constructed the tunnel, that no
others should leave until the next night, as it might materially
diminish their own chances of escape. But the thought of liberty and
pure air, and the death damp of the dark loathsome prison would not
allow them to listen to any denial. Major McDonald and myself then held
a parley, and it was arranged that the rope upon which we descended into
the basement, after the last of the two parties had passed out, should
be pulled up for the space of one hour; then it should be free to all in
prison.[A]
Having joined my fortunes with Col. T. S. West, of Wisconsin, we were
among the last of the second party who crawled through. About nine
o'clock in the evening we emerged from the tunnel, and cautiously
crossing an open yard to an arched driveway, we stepped out upon the
street and slowly walked away, apparently engaged in an earnest
conversation. As soon as we were out of range of the sentinels' guns, we
concluded it would be the safest course to turn and pass up through one
of the main streets of Richmond, as they would not suspect that
prisoners escaping would take that direction. My face being very pale,
and my beard long, clinging to the arm of Colonel W., I assumed the part
of a decrepit old man, who seemed to be in exceeding ill health, and
badly affected with a consumptive cough.
In this manner we passed beneath the glaring gaslights, and through the
crowded street, without creating a suspicion as to our real character.
We met the police, squads of soldiers, and many others, who gave me a
sympathizing look, and stepped aside on account of my apparent
infirmities. Approaching the suburbs of the town, we retreated into a
ravine, which enabled us to leave the city without passing out upon one
of the streets. While in prison I copied McClellan's war map of
Virginia, which aided us materially in this escape. Our objective points
were to cross the Chickahominy above New Bridge, then cross the
Yorkville Railroad, then strike and follow down the Miamisburg pike.
After resting and breathing pure air, the first time for more than four
months, we resumed our journey, agreeing not to speak above a whisper,
avoiding all houses and roads, and determining our course by the North
Star. In crossing roads, we traveled backwards, that the footsteps might
mislead our pursuers.
We soon came in sight of the main fortifications around Richmond, and
instantly dropping upon the ground we lay for a long time, listening and
watching for the presence of sentinels upon that part of the line. Being
satisfied that there were none in our immediate front, in the most
silent and cautious manner, we crossed over the fortification and
pursued our way through a tangled forest. Coming to a piece of low
ground, tired and exhausted, we lay down to rest. Our attention was
soon attracted by the presence of a series of excavations; and on a
close examination we found we were resting upon the battle-field of Fair
Oaks, and among the trenches in which the Confederates had buried our
dead; and, although it was the midnight hour, a strange feeling of
safety stole over me, and I felt as if we were among our friends. It was
the step and voice of the living that we dreaded.
At early dawn (Wednesday) we crossed a brook, and went upon a hillside
of low, thick pines to conceal ourselves, and rest during the day. The
Valley of the Chickahominy lay before us. While in this concealment, we
saw a blood-hound scenting our steps down to the place where we jumped
over the brook; it then went back and returned two or three times, but
finally left without attempting to cross the little stream. Late in the
evening, we went to the river and worked till after midnight to make or
find a crossing. The water was deep and cold, and, failing to accomplish
our purpose, we turned back to a haystack, and, covering ourselves with
hay, rested until the first light of morning (Thursday).
Going back to the river, we followed down its course until we found a
tree which had fallen nearly across the stream. Discovering a long pole,
we found that it would just touch the opposite shore from the limbs of
this tree. Hitching ourselves carefully along this pole, we reached the
left bank of the Chickahominy River.
We now felt as if escape was possible; but, hearing a noise like the
approach of troops, for we were satisfied that the enemy's cavalry must
be in full pursuit, we fled into a neighboring forest. As we approached
the center of a thicket, my eye suddenly caught the glimpse of a man
watching us from behind the root of a fallen tree. I concluded that we
had fallen into an ambush; but our momentary apprehension was joyfully
relieved by the discovery that this new-made acquaintance was Colonel W.
B. McCreary, of Michigan, and with him Major Terrence Clark, of
Illinois, who had gone through the tunnel with the first party that went
out, and were now passing the day in this secluded place. The Colonel
was one of my intimate friends, and when he recognized me he jumped to
his feet and threw his arms around me in an ecstasy of delight.
By this time the whole population had been informed of the escape, and
the country was alive with pursuers. We could distinctly hear the
reveille of the rebel troops, and the hum of their camps. Thus
reinforced, we agreed to travel in company. It was arranged that one of
the four should precede, searching out the way in the darkness, and
giving due notice of danger.
At dark we left our hiding place, and cautiously proceeded on our way.
Late at night we crossed the railroad running from Richmond to White
House, our second objective point. Here Colonel West saw a sentinel
sitting close by the railroad, asleep, with his gun resting against his
shoulder. Just before daybreak we went into a pine woods, after
traveling a distance of more than twenty miles, and, weary and tired,
we lay down to rest.
The morning (Friday) broke clear and beautiful, but with its bright
light came the bugle notes of the enemy's cavalry, who were in the pines
close by us. We instantly arose and fled away at the top of our speed,
expecting every moment to hear the crack of the rifle, or the sharp
command to halt. We struck a road and about faced to cross it, the only
time that we looked back. We pursued our rapid step until we came to a
dense chaparral, and into this we threaded our way until we reached an
almost impenetrable jungle. Crawling into the center, we threw ourselves
upon the ground completely exhausted. A bird flew into the branches
above us as we lay upon our backs, and the words burst from my lips:
"Dear little bird! Oh, that I had your wings!"
As soon as friendly darkness again returned, we moved forward, weary,
hungry, and footsore, still governed in our course by the North Star.
During all this toilsome way, but few words passed between us, and these
generally in low whispers. So untiring was the search, and so thoroughly
alarmed and watchful were the population, that we felt that our safety
depended upon a bare chance. Again making our way from wood to wood, and
avoiding farm houses as best we might, till the light of another morning
(Saturday), we retired to cover in the shade of a thick forest.
Saturday night the journey was resumed as usual. It was my turn to act
the part of picket and pilot. While rapidly leading the way through a
forest of low pines, I suddenly found myself in the presence of a
cavalry reserve. The men were warming themselves by a blazing fire, and
their horses were tied to trees around them. I was surprised and
alarmed; but recovering my self-possession, I remained motionless, and
soon perceived that my presence was unobserved. Carefully putting one
foot behind the other I retreated out of sight, and rapidly returned to
my party. Knowing that there were videttes sitting somewhere at the
front in the dark, we concluded to go back about two miles to a
plantation, and call at one of the outermost negro houses for
information. We returned, and I volunteered to make the call while the
others remained concealed at a distance.
I approached the door and rapped, and a woman's voice from within asked,
"who was there?" I replied, that "I was a traveler and had lost my way,
and wished to obtain some information about the road." She directed me
to go to another house, but I declined to do so, and after some further
conversation the door was opened, and I was surprised to find a large,
good-looking negro standing by her side, who had been listening to the
interview. He invited me to come in, and as soon as the door was closed,
he said: "I know who you are; you're one of dem 'scaped officers from
Richmond." Looking him full in the face, I placed my hand firmly upon
his shoulder, and said: "I am, and I know you are my friend." His eyes
sparkled as he repeated: "Yes, sir; yes, sir; but you musn't stay here;
a reg'ment of cavalry is right thar'," pointing to a place near by,
"and they pass this road all times of the night." The woman gave me a
piece of corn-bread and a cup of milk, and the man accompanying me, I
left the house, and soon finding my companions, our guide took us to a
secluded spot in a canebrake, and there explained the situation of the
picket in front. It was posted on a narrow neck of land between two
impassable swamps, and over this neck ran the main road to Williamsburg.
The negro proved to be a sharp, shrewd fellow, and we engaged him to
pilot us round this picket. After impressing us in his strongest
language with the danger both to him and to us of making the least
noise, he conducted us through a long canebrake path, then through
several fields, then directly over the road, crossing between the
cavalry reserve and their videttes, who were sitting upon their horses
but a few rods in front, and then took us around to the pike about a
mile beyond this last post of the rebels. After obtaining important
information from him concerning the way to the front, and giving him a
substantial reward, we cordially took his hand in parting. If good deeds
are recorded in Heaven, this slave appeared in the record that night.
The line of the pike was then rapidly followed as far as Diascum river,
which was reached just at light Sunday morning. To cross this river
without assistance from some quarter was found impossible. We tried to
wade through it, but failed in this attempt. We were seen by some of the
neighboring population, which largely increased our danger and
trepidation; for we had been informed by our guide that the enemy's
scouts came to this point every morning. After awhile we succeeded in
reaching an island in the river, but could get no farther, finding deep
water beyond. We endeavored to construct a raft but failed. The water
being extremely cold, and we being very wet and weary, we did not dare
attempt to swim the stream; and expecting every moment to see the
enemy's cavalry, our hearts sank within us. At this juncture a rebel
soldier was seen coming up the river in a row-boat with a gun.
Requesting my companions to lie down in the grass, I concealed myself in
the bushes close to the water to get a good view of the man. Finding his
countenance to indicate youth and benevolence, I accosted him as he
approached.
"Good morning; I have been waiting for you; they told me up at those
houses that I could get across the stream, but I find the bridge is
gone, and I am very wet and cold; if you will take me over, I will pay
you for your trouble."
The boat was turned into the shore, and as I stepped into it I knew that
boat was mine. Keeping my eye upon his gun, I said to him, "there are
three more of us," and they immediately stepped into the boat. "Where do
you all come from?" said the boatman, seeming to hesitate and consider.
We represented ourselves as farmers from different localities on the
Chickahominy. "The officers don't like to have me carry men over this
river," he said, evidently suspecting who we were. I replied, "that is
right; you should not carry soldiers or suspected characters." Then
placing my eyes upon him, I said, "pass your boat over!" it sped to the
other shore. We gave him one or two greenbacks, and he rapidly returned.
We knew we were discovered, and that the enemy's cavalry would very soon
be in hot pursuit, therefore we determined, after consultation, to go
into the first hiding place, and as near as possible to the river. The
wisdom of this course was soon demonstrated. The cavalry crossed the
stream, dashed by us, and thoroughly searched the country to the front,
not dreaming but we had gone forward. We did not leave our seclusion
until about midnight, and then felt our way with extreme care. The
proximity to Williamsburg was evident from the destruction every where
apparent in our path. There were no buildings, no inhabitants, and no
sound save our own weary footsteps; desolation reigned supreme. Stacks
of chimneys stood along our way like sentinels over the dead land.
For five days and six nights, hunted and almost exhausted, with the
stars for our guide, we had picked our way through surrounding perils
toward the camp-fires of our friends. We knew we were near the outposts
of the Union troops, and began to feel as if our trials were nearly
over. But we were now in danger of being shot as rebels by scouting
parties of our own army. To avoid the appearance of being spies, we took
the open road, alternately traveling and concealing ourselves, that we
might reconnoiter the way. About two o'clock in the morning, coming near
the shade of a dark forest that overhung the road, we were startled,
and brought to a stand, by the sharp and sudden command, "Halt!" Looking
in the direction whence it proceeded, we discovered the dark forms of a
dozen cavalrymen drawn up in line across the road. A voice came out of
the darkness, asking, "who are you?" We replied, "we are four
travelers!" The same voice said, "if you are travelers, come up here!"
Moving forward the cavalry surrounded us, and carefully looking at their
coats, I concluded they were gray, and was nerving myself for a
recapture. It was a supreme moment to the soul. One of my companions
asked, "are you Union soldiers?" In broad Pennsylvania language the
answer came, "well we are!" In a moment their uniforms changed to
glorious blue, and taking off our hats we gave one long exultant shout.
It was like passing from death unto life. Our hearts filled with
gratitude to Him whose sheltering arm had protected us in all that
dangerous way. Turning toward Richmond, I prayed in my heart that I
might have strength to return to my command.
I was afterwards in Sherman's advance to Atlanta; the March to the Sea
and through the Carolinas; entered Richmond with the Western army; and
had the supreme satisfaction of marching my brigade by Libby Prison.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] NOTE.--One hundred and nine prisoners escaped through this
tunnel that night, of whom fifty-seven reached our lines.
INDEX.
PAGE.
March from Buckhannon West Virginia to Rich Mountain 18
Battle of Rich Mountain 24
Beverly and Huttonville 26
Incidents at Cheat Mountain Pass 28
Camp at Elk Water 43
The flag of truce 46
Capture of De Lagniel 52
The flood 61
The advance and retreat of Lee 67
Ride to a log cabin in the mountains 68
Moonlight and music 69
The Hoosiers stir up the enemy 72
The expedition to Big Springs 75
The accomplished colored gentleman 78
At Louisville Kentucky 84
March to Bacon Creek 86
Incidents of the camp 87
Trouble in the regiment 91
A little unpleasantness with the Colonel 97
A case of disappointed love 99
The advance to Green River 103
The march to Nashville 109
A Southern lady wants protection 112
John Morgan on the rampage 114
Incidents at Nashville 116
March to Murfreesboro 118
The dash into North Alabama 124
General O. M. Mitchell 127
Rumors of the battle at Shiloh 131
Affair at Bridgeport 135
The rendezvous of the Bushwhackers 138
The negro preacher 141
Provost Marshal of Huntsville 142
Pudin' an' Tame 146
Grape-vines from Richmond 151
Garfield and Ammen 156
Two Pious men meet at Pittsburgh Landing 162
Uncle Jacob tells a few stories 163
De coon am a great fiter 167
General Ammen as a teacher 168
The murder of General Robert McCook 169
The race for the Ohio River 175
The battle of Perryville, Kentucky 176
Pursuit of Bragg 182
The Army of the Cumberland 185
Incidents on the way to Nashville 186
Colonel H. C. Hobart 192
The advance on Murfreesboro 198
The battle of Stone River 201
A ride over the battle-field 210
The absentees 217
T. Buchanan Reid, the poet 225
The Chiefs 235