was deemed inexpedient to remain during the day, as the house was
immediately on a public highway, besides the danger of such unexplained
delay exciting the suspicion of the negroes on the place. We assumed the
character of cattle-buyers, Mr. Pollard furnishing us with cattle-whips
to make the assumption plausible. Our first objective point was the
residence of Judge W.S. Pryor, in the outskirts of New Castle. After
dinner Judge Pryor rode with us some distance, and put us in charge of a
guide, who conducted us that night to Major Helm's, near Shelbyville,
where we remained during the day of the 2d, and were there joined by
four of our command in citizen's dress. That night we passed through
Taylorsville, and stopped on the morning of the 3d near Bardstown.
The night of the 4th we resumed our journey, and stopped on the morning
of the 5th at Mr. McCormack's at Rolling Fork Creek, in Nelson County,
thence through Taylor, Green (passing near Greensburg), Adair, and
Cumberland counties, crossing Cumberland River some nine miles below
Burkesville. We crossed the Cumberland, which was quite high, by
swimming our horses by the side of a canoe. Near the place of crossing,
on the south side, we stopped overnight with a private in Colonel R.T.
Jacob's Federal cavalry, passing ourselves as citizens on the lookout
for stolen horses. Next morning, in approaching the road from
Burkesville to Sparta, Tennessee, we came out of a byway immediately in
the rear of and some hundred yards from a dwelling fronting on the
Burkesville-Sparta road, and screening us from view on the Burkesville
end. As we emerged from the woodland a woman appeared at the back door
of the dwelling and motioned us back. We withdrew from view, but kept in
sight of the door from which the signal to retire was given, when after
a few minutes the woman again appeared and signaled us to come forward.
She informed us that a body of Federal cavalry had just passed, going in
the direction of Burkesville, and that the officer in command informed
her that he was trying to intercept General Morgan. We followed the
Burkesville road something like a mile, and in sight of the rear-guard.
We crossed Obey's River near the mouth of Wolf, and halted for two days
in the hills of Overton County, where we came upon forty of our men, who
had been separated from the force on the expedition into Indiana and
Ohio. These men were placed under my command, and thence we moved
directly toward the Tennessee River, striking it about fifteen miles
below Kingston, at Bridges's Ferry, December 13. There was no boat to be
used in crossing, and the river was very high and angry, and about one
hundred and fifty yards wide. We obtained an ax from a house near by,
and proceeded to split logs and make a raft on which to cross, and by
which to swim our horses. We had learned that two miles and a half below
us was a Federal cavalry camp. This stimulated us to the utmost, but
notwithstanding our greatest efforts we were three hours in crossing
over five horses and twenty-five men. At this juncture the enemy
appeared opposite, and began to fire on our men.
[Illustration: "HURRY UP, MAJOR!"]
Here General Morgan gave characteristic evidence of devotion to his
men. When the firing began he insisted on staying with the dismounted
men and taking their chances, and was dissuaded only by my earnest
appeal and representation that such a course would endanger the men as
well as ourselves. The men, by scattering in the mountains, did
ultimately make their way to the Confederacy.
General Morgan, myself, and the four mounted men crossed over a spur of
the mountains and descended by a bridle-path to a ravine or gulch upon
the opposite side, and halted in some thick underbrush about ten steps
from a path passing along the ravine. Not knowing the country, it was
necessary to have information, or a guide, and observing a log cabin
about a hundred yards up the ravine, I rode there to get directions,
leaving General Morgan and the others on their horses near the path. I
found at the house a woman and some children. She could not direct me
over the other spur of the mountain, but consented that her ten-year-old
son might go with me and show the way. He mounted behind me, and by the
time he was seated I heard the clatter of hoofs down the ravine, and,
looking, I saw a body of about seventy-five cavalry coming directly
toward me, and passing within ten steps of where the general and his men
were sitting on their horses. I saw that my own escape was doubtful, and
that any halt or delay of the cavalry would certainly result in the
discovery and capture of General Morgan. I lifted the boy from behind me
and dashed to the head of the column, exclaiming, "Hurry up, Major, or
the rebels will escape!" He responded, "Who are you?" I answered, "I
belong to the home-guard company in the bend: hurry, or they are gone."
We dashed on, I riding by the major at the head of the column about half
a mile, when we came to where a dry branch crossed the road, and, as it
had been raining that day, it was easily seen from the soil that had
washed down from the side of the mountain that no one had passed there
since the rain. Seeing this, the command was halted, and the major again
demanded to know who I was. I replied that I was a member of General
Morgan's command. "Yes, ---- you! You have led me off from Morgan; I have
a notion to hang you for it." "No, that was not General Morgan. I have
served under him two years and know him well, and have no object in
deceiving you; for if it was Morgan, he is now safe." "You lie, for he
was recognized at the house where you got the ax. I would not have
missed getting him for ten thousand dollars. It would have been a
brigadier's commission to me. I will hang you for it." Up to this time I
had taken the situation smilingly and pleasantly, because I did not
apprehend violence; but the officer, livid with rage from
disappointment, directed one of his men to take the halter from his
horse and hang me to a designated limb of a tree. The halter was
adjusted around my neck, and thrown over the limb. Seeing that the
officer was desperately in earnest, I said, "Major, before you perform
this operation, allow me to make a suggestion." "Be quick about it,
then." "Suppose that _was_ General Morgan, as you insist, and I have led
you astray, as you insist, wouldn't I, being a member of his command,
deserve to be hung if I had not done what you charge me with?" He
dropped his head for a moment, looked up with a more pleasant
expression, and said, "Boys, he is right; let him alone."
[Illustration: CAPTAIN HINES OBJECTS.]
I was placed under guard of two soldiers and sent across the river to
camp, while the officer in command took his men over the mountain in
search of General Morgan, who succeeded in making good his escape. The
next evening the major returned with his command from his unsuccessful
pursuit. He questioned me closely, wanting to know my name, and if I
was a private in the command, as I had stated to him at the time of my
capture. Remembering that in prison the underclothing of Captain Bullitt
had been exchanged for mine, and that I then had on his with his name in
ink, I assumed the name of Bullitt.
On the evening of the second day in this camp the major invited me to go
with him and take supper at the house of a Unionist half a mile away. We
spent the evening with the family until nine o'clock, when the major
suggested that we should go back to camp. On reaching the front gate,
twenty steps from the front veranda, he found that he had left his shawl
in the house, and returned to get it, requesting me to await his return.
A young lady of the family was standing in the door, and when he went in
to get the shawl, she closed the door. I was then perfectly free, but I
could not get my consent to go. For a moment of time while thus at
liberty I suffered intensely in the effort to determine what was the
proper thing to do. Upon the one hand was the tempting offer of freedom,
that was very sweet to me after so many months of close confinement;
while, on the other hand was the fact that the officer had treated me
with great kindness, more as a comrade than as a prisoner, that the
acceptance of his hospitality was a tacit parole and my escape would
involve him in trouble. I remained until his return. He was greatly
agitated, evidently realizing for the first time the extent of his
indiscretion, and surprised undoubtedly at finding me quietly awaiting
him. I had determined not to return to prison, but rather than break
faith I awaited some other occasion for escape. Notwithstanding all
this, something excited suspicion of me; for the next morning, while
lying in the tent apparently asleep, I heard the officer direct the
sergeant to detail ten men and guard me to Kingston, and he said to the
sergeant, "Put him on the meanest horse you have and be watchful or he
will escape." I was taken to Kingston and placed in jail, and there met
three of our party who had been captured on the north side of the
Tennessee River at the time we attempted to cross. They were R.C.
Church, William Church, and ---- Smith. After two days' confinement
there, we were sent under guard of twelve soldiers to the camp of the 3d
Kentucky Federal Infantry, under command of Colonel Henry C. Dunlap. The
camp was opposite the town of Loudon, and was prepared for winter
quarters. The large forest trees had been felled for a quarter of a mile
around the camp, and log huts built in regular lines for the occupation
of the troops. We were placed in one of these huts with three guards on
the inside, while the guards who delivered us there were located around
a campfire some ten steps in front of the only door to our hut, and
around the whole encampment was the regular camp guard. The next day, as
we had learned, we were to be sent to Knoxville, Tennessee, which was
then General Burnside's headquarters; and as I knew I would there be
recognized, and, on account of my previous escape, that my chances for
freedom would be reduced to a minimum, we determined to escape that
night.
It was perfectly clear, the moon about full, making the camp almost as
light as day; and as the moon did not go down until a short time before
daylight, we concluded to await its setting. The door of the cabin was
fastened by a latch on the inside. The night was cold. We had only
pretended to sleep, awaiting our opportunity. When the moon was down we
arose, one after another, from our couches, and went to the fire to warm
us. We engaged the guards in pleasant conversation, detailing incidents
of the war. I stood with my right next the door, facing the fire and the
three guards, and my comrades standing immediately on my left. While
narrating some incident in which the guards were absorbed, I placed my
right hand upon the latch of the door, with a signal to the other
prisoners, and, without breaking the thread of the narrative, bade the
guards good night, threw the door open, ran through the guards in front
of the door, passed the sentinel at the camp limits, and followed the
road we had been brought in to the mountains. The guards in front of the
door fired upon me, as did the sentinel on his beat, the last shot being
so close to me that I felt the fire from the gun. Unfortunately and
unwittingly I threw the door open with such force that it rebounded and
caught my comrades on the inside. The guards assaulted them and
attempted to bayonet them, but they grappled, overpowered, and disarmed
the guards, and made terms with them before they would let them up. All
three of these prisoners, by great daring, escaped before they were
taken North to prison.
In running from the camp to the mountains I passed two sentinel fires,
and was pursued some distance at the point of the bayonet of the soldier
who had last fired at me. All was hurry and confusion in the camp. The
horses were bridled, saddled, and mounted, and rapidly ridden out on
the road I had taken; but by the time the pursuers reached the timber I
was high up the mountain side, and complacently watched them as they
hurried by. As I ran from my prison-house I fixed my eye upon Venus, the
morning star, as my guide, and traveled until daylight, when I reached
the summit of the mountain, where I found a sedge-grass field of about
twenty acres, in the middle of which I lay down on the frozen ground and
remained until the sun had gone down and darkness was gathering. During
the day the soldiers in search of me frequently passed within thirty
steps, so close that I could hear their conjectures as to where I was
most likely to be found. I remained so long in one position that I
thawed into the frozen earth; but the cool of the evening coming on, the
soil around me froze again, and I had some difficulty in releasing
myself.
As it grew dark I descended the mountain, and cautiously approached a
humble dwelling. Seeing no one but a woman and some children, I entered
and asked for supper. While my supper was being prepared, no little to
my disappointment, the husband, a strapping, manly-looking fellow, with
his rifle on his shoulder, walked in. I had already assumed a character,
and that was as agent to purchase horses for the Federal Government. I
had come down that evening on the train from Knoxville, and was anxious
to get a canoe and some one to paddle me down to Kingston, where I had
an engagement for the next day to meet some gentlemen who were to have
horses there, by agreement with me, for sale. Could the gentleman tell
me where I could get a canoe and some one to go with me? He said the
rebels were so annoying that all boats and canoes had been destroyed to
keep them from crossing. He knew of but one canoe, owned by a good Union
man some two miles down the river. Would he be kind enough to show me
the way there, that I might get an early start and keep my engagement?
After supper my hospitable entertainer walked with me to the residence
of the owner of the canoe. The family had retired, and when the owner of
the premises came out, there came with him a Federal soldier who was
staying overnight with him. This was not encouraging. After making my
business known and offering large compensation, the owner of the canoe
agreed to start with me by daylight. During my walk down there, my guide
had mentioned that a certain person living opposite the place where the
canoe was owned had several horses that he would like to sell. I
suggested that, in order to save time and get as early a start as
possible for Kingston, the canoe-owner should take me over to see to the
purchase of these horses that night. The river was high and dangerous to
cross at night, but by promises of compensation I was taken over and
landed some quarter of a mile from the house. With an injunction to
await me, when the canoe landed I started toward the house; but when out
of sight I changed my course and took to the mountains.
For eight days I traveled by night, taking my course by the stars, lying
up in the mountains by day, and getting food early in the evening
wherever I could find a place where there were no men. On the 27th of
December I reached the Confederate lines near Dalton, Georgia.
COLONEL ROSE'S TUNNEL AT LIBBY PRISON
BY FRANK E. MORAN
Among all the thrilling incidents in the history of Libby Prison, none
exceeds in interest the celebrated tunnel escape which occurred on the
night of February 9, 1864. I was one of the 109 Union officers who
passed through the tunnel, and one of the ill-fated 48 that were
retaken. I and two companions--Lieutenant Charles H. Morgan of the 21st
Wisconsin regiment, who has since served several terms in Congress from
Missouri, and Lieutenant William L. Watson of the same company and
regiment--when recaptured by the Confederate cavalry were in sight of
the Union picket posts. Strange as it may appear, no accurate and
complete account has ever been given to the public of this, the most
ingenious and daring escape made on either side during the civil war.
Twelve of the party of fifteen who dug the tunnel are still living,
including their leader.
Thomas E. Rose, colonel of the 77th Pennsylvania Volunteers, the
engineer and leader in the plot throughout,--now a captain in the 16th
United States Infantry,--was taken prisoner at the battle of
Chickamauga, September 20, 1863. On his way to Richmond he escaped from
his guards at Weldon, N.C., but, after a day's wandering about the pine
forests with a broken foot, was retaken by a detachment of Confederate
cavalry and sent to Libby Prison, Richmond, where he arrived October 1,
1863.
[Illustration: COLONEL THOMAS E. ROSE.]
Libby Prison fronts on Carey street, Richmond, and stands upon a hill
which descends abruptly to the canal, from which its southern wall is
divided only by a street, and having a vacant lot on the east. The
building was wholly detached, making it a comparatively easy matter to
guard the prison securely with a small force and keep every door and
window in full view from without. As an additional measure of safety,
prisoners were not allowed on the ground-floor, except that in the
daytime they were permitted to use the first floor of the middle
section for a cook-room. The interior embraced nine large
warehouse-rooms 105 x 45, with eight feet from each floor to ceiling,
except the upper floor, which gave more room, owing to the pitch of the
gable roof. The abrupt slant of the hill gives the building an
additional story on the south side. The whole building really embraces
three sections, and these were originally separated by heavy blank
walls. The Confederates cut doors through the walls of the two upper
floors, which comprised the prisoners' quarters, and they were thus
permitted to mingle freely with each other; but there was no
communication whatever between the three large rooms on the first floor.
Beneath these floors were three cellars of the same dimensions as the
rooms above them, and, like them, divided from each other by massive
blank walls. For ready comprehension, let these be designated the east,
middle, and west cellars. Except in the lofts known as "Streight's room"
and "Milroy's room," which were occupied by the earliest inmates of
Libby in 1863, there was no furniture in the building, and only a few of
the early comers possessed such a luxury as an old army blanket or a
knife, cup, and tin plate. As a rule, the prisoner, by the time he
reached Libby, found himself devoid of earthly goods save the meager and
dust-begrimed summer garb in which he had made his unlucky campaign.
At night the six large lofts presented strange war-pictures, over which
a single tallow candle wept copious and greasy tears that ran down over
the petrified loaf of corn-broad, Borden's condensed-milk can, or
bottle in which it was set. The candle flickered on until "taps," when
the guards, with unconscious irony shouted, "Lights out!"--at which
signal it usually disappeared amid a shower of boots and such other
missiles as were at hand. The sleepers covered the six floors, lying in
ranks, head to head and foot to foot, like prostrate lines of battle.
For the general good, and to preserve something like military precision,
these ranks (especially when cold weather compelled them to lie close
for better warmth) were subdivided into convenient squads under charge
of a "captain," who was invested with authority to see that every man
lay "spoon fashion."
[Illustration]
No consideration of personal convenience was permitted to interfere with
the general comfort of the "squad." Thus, when the hard floor could no
longer be endured on the right side,--especially by the thin men,--the
captain gave the command, "Attention, Squad Number Four! Prepare to
spoon! One--two--spoon!" And the whole squad flopped over on the left
side.
The first floor on the west of the building was used by the Confederates
as an office and for sleeping-quarters for the prison officials, and a
stairway guarded by sentinels led from this to Milroy's room just above
it. As before explained, the middle room was shut off from the office by
a heavy blank wall. This room, known as the "kitchen," had two stoves in
it, one of which stood about ten feet from the heavy door that opened on
Carey street sidewalk, and behind the door was a fireplace. The room
contained also several long pine tables with permanent seats attached,
such as may be commonly seen at picnic grounds. The floor was constantly
inundated here by several defective and overworked water-faucets and a
leaky trough.
A stairway without banisters led up on the southwest end of the floor,
above which was a room known as the "Chickamauga room," being chiefly
occupied by Chickamauga prisoners. The sentinel who had formerly been
placed at this stairway at night, to prevent the prisoners from entering
the kitchen, had been withdrawn when, in the fall of 1863, the horrible
condition of the floor made it untenable for sleeping purposes.
The uses to which the large ground-floor room east of the kitchen was
put varied during the first two years of the war; but early in October
of 1863, and thereafter, it was permanently used and known as the
hospital, and it contained a large number of cots, which were never
unoccupied. An apartment had been made at the north or front of the
room, which served as a doctor's office and laboratory. Like those
adjoining it on the west, this room had a large door opening on Carey
street, which was heavily bolted and guarded on the outside.
[Illustration: LIBBY PRISON IN 1865]
The arrival of the Chickamauga prisoners greatly crowded the upper
floors, and compelled the Confederates to board up a small portion of
the east cellar at its southeast corner as an additional cook-room,
several large caldrons having been set in a rudely built furnace; so,
for a short period, the prisoners were allowed down there in the daytime
to cook. A stairway led from this cellar to the room above, which
subsequently became the hospital.
Such, in brief, was the condition of things when Colonel Rose arrived at
the prison. From the hour of his coming, a means of escape became his
constant and eager study; and, with this purpose in view, he made a
careful and minute survey of the entire premises.
From the windows of the upper east or "Gettysburg room" he could look
across the vacant lot on the east and get a glimpse of the yard between,
two adjacent buildings which faced the canal and Carey street
respectively, and he estimated the intervening space at about seventy
feet. From the south windows he looked out across a street upon the
canal and James River, running parallel with each other, the two streams
at this point being separated by a low and narrow strip of land. This
strip periodically disappeared when protracted seasons of heavy rain
came, or when spring floods so rapidly swelled the river that the latter
invaded the cellars of Libby. At such times it was common to see
enormous swarms of rats come out from the lower doors and windows of the
prison and make head for dry land in swimming platoons amid the cheers
of the prisoners in the upper windows. On one or two occasions Rose
observed workmen descending from the middle of the south-side street
into a sewer running through its center, and concluded that this sewer
must have various openings to the canal both to the east and west of the
prison.
The north portion of the cellar contained a large quantity of loose
packing-straw, covering the floor to an average depth of two feet; and
this straw afforded shelter, especially at night, for a large colony of
rats, which gave the place the name of "Rat Hell."
[Illustration: MAJOR A.G. HAMILTON.]
In one afternoon's inspection of this dark end, Rose suddenly
encountered a fellow-prisoner, Major A.G. Hamilton, of the 12th Kentucky
Cavalry. A confiding friendship followed, and the two men entered at
once upon the plan of gaining their liberty. They agreed that the most
feasible scheme was a tunnel, to begin in the rear of the little
kitchen-apartment at the southeast corner of Rat Hell. Without more ado
they secured a broken shovel and two case-knives and began operations.