deportment of the minister combined with the peculiar circumstances
attending upon the marriage, acted like a spell upon the audience,
compelling even the most reckless to yield to its influence. The silence
was rudely broken by the young husband, who, taking his bride by the
chin, by this means getting her face in position, gave her a rousing
smack on the mouth, exclaiming: "Well, Mary, how do you like gitt'n'
married?"
"I like it fust rate. I wouldn't mind gitt'n' married every day," was
her reply.
The scene that followed beggars description--such pulling and hauling
and kissing of the bride; such kissing of everybody who would submit to
being kissed, and of some who wouldn't; such screaming and laughing;
such jostling and mixing, surely never were seen before.
For an hour or more the carnival continued. At length they were tired
out by their wild play and boisterous mirth. Quiet was restored. Songs
were called for. Spencer, a good singer, gave them the song, "Who will
care for mother now?" I followed with "Old Irish Gentleman" in my best
style, my music resembling the notes of a jay bird alternated with those
of a wild goose, with an occasional note resembling the filing of a saw.
The songs, however, were received with applause about equally divided,
although I heard a pretty widow remark that she thought Spencer the
better singer, and I could not dispute her taste.
When the bride remarked that "It must be gitt'n' moughty late, hard on
to one o'clock," the company dispersed; some to their homes, others to
the picket line to relieve the guard and learn the signs of the night.
Spencer, Hatcher, and I betook ourselves to the headquarters of the
Guards, where we were soon soundly sleeping.
The next morning the Major despatched men in every direction to
ascertain the whereabouts and movements of Jordan's men. We were urgent
in our request to start that night.
"Wait until I hear from my men," he said. "I sha'n't run the risk of
having you recaptured, nor of unnecessarily sacrificing my men. I am
just as anxious as you are to have you reach your lines in safety. We
are in need of ammunition and supplies, and you can assist us in getting
them. You can also establish the fact that we are Union men, and that we
can be trusted. I want to accompany you myself, and we will start just
as soon as it is safe to do so; but you must wait until that time comes.
We have repeatedly tried to make your people understand our position,
but they do not seem to trust us."
There was altogether too much good sense in the Major's reasoning to
gainsay it, and we perforce submitted with the best grace possible.
_Diplomacy_
In the course of the day, two members of Jordan's Band came into camp
under flag of truce. Their ostensible object was to enter into a compact
with the Home Guards, by the terms of which the private property of
each should be respected. Major McCreary evinced good diplomatic ability
in the conduct of the negotiation. He insisted upon the restitution of
property taken by Jordan's men prior to the formation of the Home
Guards. He detailed with great clearness and force the manner in which
the houses of his men had been plundered by the guerrillas; how they had
not only appropriated articles of value, but had destroyed furniture and
clothing, with no other motive than that of revenge.
"When you restore to us the full value of what you have destroyed," he
said, "less the value of what we have taken from you, then we will enter
into an agreement to respect private property."
He greatly exaggerated his numerical strength, and I think was
successful in impressing upon the minds of the envoys that in position
and men he was far stronger than he really was. He also succeeded in
worming out of them information of the utmost importance as to the
location of the Band at that time.
_A Start for Our Lines_
When the interview was ended, the Major informed us that the news he had
obtained, if substantiated by the scouts when they came in, would enable
us to start that night. A little later we were told that the attempt
would be made.
Ten men, under the command of the Major, were selected as an escort, and
we started out in a state of high exhilaration. Our horses were fair
roadsters, we were armed; and judging by our feeling at that moment,
nothing less than a battalion would have seemed a formidable obstacle in
our path. In fact, I believe some of us would have rather enjoyed the
prospect of a skirmish that night. The Major had occasion to check our
rather noisy demonstrations more than once during the first hour of our
ride. The night was intensely dark. The rain came down steadily, and as
our clothes became saturated, our exuberant spirits toned down to the
level of reasonable men.
Once more, at a distance of about four miles from our starting point, we
came to the outpost of a guard. He reported that just before night he
had discovered a man skulking in the bushes beyond.
The Major immediately detailed one of his men, with orders to
reconnoitre a certain by-road, at a point known to be a rendezvous for
Jordan's men when they were in that vicinity, and to report to us a few
miles farther on. He then informed us that if we were attacked at all,
it would be near the point where he had ordered his man to report.
The scout put spurs to his horse and in an instant was lost to view in
the darkness. It was curious how suddenly our desire for a fight
evaporated, when the probability arose that our wishes might be speedily
gratified; especially when the chances were so decidedly in favor of an
enemy lying in ambush, from which we should be compelled to dislodge
him.
Quietly and unostentatiously the Major communicated his plans to his
men, and everything being in readiness we resumed our march. When within
a mile of the point where the scout had been ordered to join us, we
heard a crackling and snapping in the brush at the side of the road. We
halted and breathlessly listened.
Somebody on horseback was coming our way. If it was the scout, all was
right; if not, it was certain the enemy was on the road. Silently we sat
on our horses and listened. At length the Major challenged, "Who comes
there?"
No answer. Again the Major challenged. I cocked my revolver, and the
click-click running along our line sounded ominous.
"Halloo, boys, is that you?" came out of the brush.
We recognized the voice in a moment; it was the scout's.
"Why didn't you answer when I challenged?" demanded the Major.
"I reck'ned I'd just wait and see who you was, fust," was the cool
reply.
"You ran a mighty narrow chance of being fired into."
"Yes, I calc'lated on that; but I thought I'd take the risk. It's mighty
onsartain 'bout hitt'n' a feller in the brush, dark as it is now; and
I'd ruther be shot at than fool along into Jordan's hands."
"I say," said Spencer to me, _sotto voce_, "that fellow is a cool one!"
And so he was. Think of a man's calmly calculating, rather than make a
mistake and thereby raising a false alarm, the chances of a dozen shots
being fired at him at a distance not exceeding ten rods--from a point he
all the while intended to advance toward, until near enough to recognize
voices. He was a specimen of the kind of men that made up the Home
Guards.
The scout's report was favorable. He thought there had been no enemy
around the old rendezvous for several days. This intelligence
corresponded with that already obtained by the Major. Coupled with the
state of the weather, it seemed nearly certain that we should have only
the elements to contend with that night. Again we were off.
"We must push ahead, now, at double quick. We have no time to lose,"
said the Major.
Putting our horses into a gallop, we rushed into the darkness. Splashing
through the mud, now fording creeks, now floundering through quagmires,
our little band flitted like spectres. Every hour lessened the distance
between us and the boys in blue. Daylight would find us within sight of
the stars and stripes, if no misfortune overtook us. Our horses were
reeking with perspiration. Up hill and down, on and on we galloped. At
last a house appeared in sight.
"Halt! Dismount!"
"What is this, Major?" I asked.
"The house of a friend," was the reply. "We are within five miles of
your picket lines."
Could it be possible that only five miles divided us from our old
comrades--from the "boys in blue," from telegraphic communication with
wife and children? Only five miles to liberty? We could hardly restrain
our feelings within reasonable bounds. My heart fluttered and my limbs
shook with excitement. My voice trembled so that I could scarcely
articulate.
"Why do you halt?" I querulously asked the Major.
"We must wait till daylight. It is not safe to approach the picket line
at night."
"But, Major, is there not another house nearer the line? Must we stop
here? Would it not be safer to get as near the line as possible? Is
there not a possibility that we may be attacked even here?"
I poured these questions out without giving him a chance to reply. It
seemed as if I could not stop.
"It seems like you were gitt'n' mighty uneasy just now. I reckon we'll
have to stop a time, anyhow. You might as well come in and make
yourselves comfortable. We will get warmed up, have something to eat,
let the horses blow awhile, and then perhaps we will go on to the Widow
H----'s. She lives right close to the line, but she's a Reb clean
through, and I don't like to trust her any longer than is necessary."
The Major's cool, matter-of-fact way of disposing of the matter, made me
ashamed of my excitement and petulance. I felt the more chagrined at the
display of my feelings, because Hatcher and Spencer had exhibited so
much more coolness and self-restraint, and I determined that thereafter
I should act with more discretion. So, hiding my impatience as best I
could, I dismounted and followed my companions into the house. We found
the family asleep, but a good fire burning on the capacious hearth was
a welcome sight to the drenched and shivering troopers.
The noisy summons of the Major aroused the sleeping inmates. When they
found who we were that visited them at such an hour, they extended to us
a hearty welcome. Fresh wood was piled upon the fire, around which we
gathered in a steaming semicircle. The Major took our host aside. A few
brief questions were asked and answered.
"It's all right," he said as he joined us. "The whelps have been around,
but left yesterday. I reckon we'll stop awhile, get a bite to eat, and
then shove on to Widow H----'s."
It was yet two hours or more to daylight, and our friends could not be
blamed if they preferred their present comfortable quarters before the
fire, to muddy roads, darkness, and pelting rain. As for myself and two
companions, we were the very pictures of suppressed impatience. When our
hospitable host passed around some food and home-made coffee, we were
far too excited to partake. The sight of Major McCreary and his men,
coolly stowing away the bread and coffee, fairly made me grate my teeth
with impatience.
At length the Major, taking pity upon us, rather than following his own
better judgment, as I am firmly convinced, gave the order to remount. We
were the first to obey.
The night was still very disagreeable. The rain continued to come down
with pitiless violence, accompanied by a cold northeast wind, which,
combined with the pitchy darkness, rendered traveling the reverse of
pleasant. We were, however, too much excited with the prospect to mind
the unpleasant state of the weather. We were living on anticipation. Our
brilliant hopes overshadowed the uncomfortable present to such an extent
that even now I look back to that night's ride as one of the most
delightful episodes of a not altogether uneventful life.
An hour's ride brought us to the house of Widow H----, within half of a
mile of our picket line. It was still very dark, and altogether unsafe
to attempt to approach the pickets. We must wait for daylight. So, when
the order to dismount was given, we acquiesced with the best grace
possible.
Fastening our horses, we approached the house. A resounding
_rat-tat-tat_ brought the widow to the door. Finding the party headed by
the leader of the Home Guards, she seemed the reverse of pleased, and
was not inclined to accede to our moderate demands for shelter until
morning; but finally, with a repugnance she took no pains to conceal,
she permitted us to enter. We soon built up a good fire, and under the
influence of its cheering warmth forgot the inhospitable conduct of our
hostess. With many a jest and story we beguiled the tedious hour till
daylight.
_Among Comrades_
At the earliest dawn we were again on the road. Ahead of us, upon either
hand, as far as the eye could reach, could be seen the blue smoke of the
picket fires. We were traveling leisurely. I was conversing with
Spencer; when suddenly, upon an elevation not ten rods from us, appeared
a soldier dressed in blue, who in short, crisp tones commanded, "Halt!
Who comes there?"
The Major answered, "Friends!"
"Halt, friends! Advance one, without arms, and give the countersign."
The Major dismounted and advanced. A few moments' conversation took
place between him and the soldier, which the distance prevented us from
hearing. We soon after heard the order given by the outpost guard to
fall in, and then came the order, "Dismount! Advance, friends!"
Dismounting, we advanced, leading our horses. Upon reaching the outpost
guard I thought I recognized a familiar face. "What regiment do you
belong to?" I asked.
"The First Wisconsin Cavalry," was the reply.
"Give us your hand, old fellow!" I exclaimed, with the tears running
down my cheeks. "Let me hug you. Hurrah, boys! Do you hear that? First
Wisconsin Cavalrymen!"
Hatcher and Spencer were dancing about, crying and laughing. In fact, we
were all of us fairly crazed with joy. Our new friends did not seem at
all proud of their demonstrative guests. In truth, they rather drew back
from our demonstrations of affection.
"Who are you, anyhow?" one of them sourly asked.
"Escaped prisoners," we replied.
"Where did you make your escape?"
"Near Charleston."
"You don't pretend to say that you have come all the way from
Charleston, right through the Reb country?"
"Yes, we do pretend that very thing."
"Well, it may be so, but I don't care about being hugged"--glancing
towards us with a look expressive of mingled incredulity and disgust.
This rebuff had the effect to cool us down a bit, and when we came to
look ourselves over, we could but confess that so far as personal
appearance was concerned we were nothing to boast of. We were unshaven
and unshorn, our rags barely sufficient for decency, barefooted or
nearly so, bareheaded, and most miserably dirty. No wonder a well-clad
Union soldier resented our familiarity!
We were disarmed, placed under charge of the guard, and marched to the
headquarters of the Brigade, then commanded by Colonel Lampson, of an
Indiana regiment.
After some delay we were ushered into the presence of the Colonel. He
listened attentively to us, reducing each of our statements to writing.
After he had finished, he sat a few moments in meditation.
"You have got this thing pretty well fixed up," he finally said.
"Hatcher and Spencer each belong to regiments now mustered out of
service; and you," turning to me, "belong to the Army of the Potomac. We
have been deceived too often by you fellows."
"Who, in God's name, do you take us to be?" I asked.
"Starved-out bushwhackers or spies, or perhaps both," he answered
curtly. "Orderly, call the officer of the guard."
"Colonel, the First Wisconsin Cavalry is camped here, is it not?" I
asked.
"Yes. Do you know any of the members of that regiment?"
"I hardly know. Where is Colonel La Grange?"
"La Grange is in Wisconsin. Did you know him?"
"I did. We were in prison together. Where is Captain Clinton?"
"Captain Clinton is here. Orderly, go and say to Captain Clinton that I
desire him to report to me in person, immediately."
Clinton had been engaged with me in our tunneling enterprise at Macon,
and was one of my most intimate friends. He had been exchanged but a
short time before we left Charleston.
In a few moments I heard him speak to the Orderly in an excited voice:
"Get out of the way and let me in! I'll bet it's Captain Kellogg!"
Almost at the same moment he opened the door. I stood facing him as he
entered.
"I told you it was him! It's Kellogg! It's Kellogg!"
By this time we were in each other's arms, both of us sobbing like
children. Then leaving me, he first caught Spencer and then Hatcher.
"There--there!" broke in Colonel Lampson; "you appear to know these
men."
"_Know them?_ I should rather think I did. _Know them?_ Didn't Kellogg
and I dig tunnels together? Didn't we starve together in Rebel prisons?
I should rather think I do _know them_!"
"Well, then, take them and take care of them," said the old Colonel,
swallowing hard and trying to keep his eyes from overflowing. "I beg
your pardon, gentlemen," he said, turning to us; "but we have been
imposed upon so often, and"--here his voice became thick and husky.
Turning savagely to Clinton, he exclaimed: "Take them, I tell you, and,
d---- you! feed them well, and see that they have some decent clothes.
God bless my soul! I--I like to have sent them to the guard house!"
Under the guidance of Captain Clinton, we left the quarters of the
Colonel, men once more.
"Out of the jaws of death,
Out of the gates of Hell."
Our first care was for our true friends, the Home Guards. We represented
to General McCook, commanding the division, the facts of their case, and
before leaving Calhoun had the satisfaction of seeing them on their road
back to Jasper, with a government wagon loaded with commissary and
quartermaster's stores--clothing, arms, and ammunition--escorted by a
squad of cavalry. What became of them afterwards, we were never able
definitely to ascertain. Spencer informed me some time since, that the
Confederates, shortly afterward, came upon them in force and that the
most of them were killed. But I most sincerely hope that his information
may not have been reliable, and that they are living in peace in the
homes they so gallantly defended.
The Home Guards taken care of, the telegraph was brought into
requisition, and messages to our homes and friends were soon flashing
along the wires.
Then the First Wisconsin Cavalry took possession of us. We were invited
into the quarters of Major Henry Harnden. We went in dirty, ragged, and
barefooted; we came out, a half hour later, once more clad in the noble
livery of the United States army. We were supplied with every necessary
in their power to grant us, money not excepted. One day only, we
remained with our hospitable entertainers, and then took the first train
for Chattanooga.
_The Mystery Solved_
Only one thing marred our perfect happiness--the mysterious
disappearance of Vliet and Gough. Had they been with us, our cup of
happiness would have been indeed full. What their fate had been, we
could only conjecture. It seemed certain that they had not reached our
lines; if they had, the newspapers would surely have published the
tidings. In imagination we could see them toiling along on their weary
way, without compass or map; or perhaps recaptured, and again the
inmates of a prison pen, all their toils and struggles for freedom in
vain.
We arrived in Chattanooga about dark, and were compelled to lay over
until morning, before taking the cars for Nashville. There were two
hotels in the place, both of which were crowded with guests. We found a
place on the bar-room floor of one, on which to spread our blankets, and
were soon soundly sleeping.
Early in the morning a soldier came into our hotel, and commenced to
tell of two escaped prisoners who had arrived the evening before, and
who were stopping at the other hotel.
We listened to him with bated breath; then we started thither on a run.
I am sure that the bystanders must have thought us either intoxicated
or crazy. Upon reaching the hotel we forced our way through the crowd
that filled the office and bar room, until we reached the counter.
"Where are they?" I pantingly asked.
"Where are who?" asked the landlord.
"The escaped prisoners--the two men that came last night."
"There's a good many came last night. How do you suppose I know which
two men you mean?"
"The men we want are escaped prisoners of war--came in last night with a
picket guard."
"Oh, yes. Now I know who you mean. Here, Jake, show these gentlemen up
to No. 19."
We followed the waiter up to the room. The door opened in answer to our
rap, and--Glory Hallelujah! there were Gough and Vliet! To describe the
scene is simply impossible. I never was so happy before, and I never
expect to be again.
When we had become calm enough to talk, the mystery of our separation
was solved. At the time we halted in the brush to investigate the noise
made by the hog, Vliet, as the reader will recollect, was followed by
Hatcher. It so happened that Hatcher stopped near a white stump. When
Hatcher started on, Vliet mistook the white stump for him, and thus did
not notice our forward movement or follow us.
After a considerable time, while he waited in silence, he discovered his
mistake. The two then started after us, as nearly as they could guess at
the direction we had taken, and unfortunately missed us. When we went
back to look for them, we must have passed each other in the brush. They
had taken a more northerly direction than we followed, and reached our
lines at Chattanooga one day after our arrival at Calhoun.
All the members of our party were together once more. Our desperate
attempt had been successful. We had traversed over three hundred miles
in the heart of the South; pierced the Confederate egg, from shell to
shell. Our trials were over, and we were on our way home.
_Again in the Field_
Receiving orders to that effect, I proceeded at once to my home in
Wisconsin, made a short visit there, and went thence to Madison. There
I obtained an order from the War Department assigning enough drafted men
to fill our regiment to the maximum, and with them proceeded to the
field, then lying on the Jerusalem Plank Road, near City Point. Here I
found many changes. The regiment was commanded by Major Kerr, who was a
Lieutenant when I left. Nearly every officer on duty when I left the
regiment the previous May, was either promoted, killed, or mustered out.
It seemed lonesome.
I presided that night at dress parade. When it was dismissed, there were
many anxious inquiries by the men, who wanted to know who "that
white-headed old fellow" was, that was commanding "our regiment?" Six
months of Southern prison life had turned my head white, and reduced my
weight from a hundred-and-seventy-five to a hundred-and-fifteen pounds.
In the following February (1865), General Bragg having been ordered to
Washington with a portion of his command, the balance of the Iron
Brigade was reorganized by adding to the Sixth and Seventh Wisconsin an
independent battalion of the Second Wisconsin, and the Ninety-first New
York Heavy Artillery, under command of Colonel Tarbell; the brigade thus
numbering about thirty-five hundred men. I was assigned to its command,
and had the satisfaction of participating in the last campaign,
witnessing the final ending of the War of the Rebellion, at Appomattox,
on the ninth of April, 1865. Among the troops laying down arms at this
surrender, was the Thirteenth Georgia, the same regiment that had
captured me on the fifth day of May, 1864.
_A Belated Report_
During my absence from the army, General Cutler had again been wounded,
and placed in command of a recruiting camp in Michigan. I did not have
the pleasure of meeting him again until the war was over. Happening, one
day, to be in the office of General Lucius Fairchild, then Secretary of
State, I found that the latter was temporarily absent in the Governor's
office. When he returned and saw me, he seemed somewhat excited, and
told me that there was a man in the executive office, inquiring for me.
The reader will recollect that the last order I received from General
Cutler was, "Take plenty of orderlies and report frequently."
On entering the Governor's office, I saw General Cutler, who advanced
toward me with his hand extended and eyes suspiciously moist. He tried
to speak. His usually stern face became more stern, his chin quivered,
he grasped my hand more firmly. At length he blurted out: "_You've been
a terrible long time reporting!_"
In which opinion I have no doubt the reader will share, applying it to
the long story now happily ended.