another day, the minister conducted me some distance in person, passing
me on with ample directions to another exhorter, who was located for
that night at the house of a miller who kept a ferocious dog. I came
first to the pond and then to the mill, and got into the house without
encountering the dog. Aware of the necessity of arriving before bedtime,
I had made such speed as to find the miller's family still lingering
about the fireplace with preacher number two seated in the lay circle.
That night I slept with the parson, who sat up in bed in the morning,
and after disencumbering himself of a striped extinguisher nightcap,
electrified the other sleepers by announcing that this was the first
time he had ever slept with a Yankee. After breakfast the parson, armed
with staff and scrip, signified his purpose to walk with me during the
day, as it was no longer dangerous to move by daylight. We must have
been traveling the regular Baptist road, for we lodged that night at the
house of another lay brother. The minister continued with me a few miles
in the morning, intending to put me in the company of a man who was
going toward Casher's Valley on a hunting expedition. When we reached
his house, however, the hunter had gone; so, after parting with my
guide, I set forward through the woods, following the tracks of the
hunter's horse. The shoe-prints were sometimes plainly impressed in the
snow, and again for long distances over dry leaves and bare ground but
an occasional trace could be found. It was past noon when I arrived at
the house where the hunters were assembled. Quite a number of men were
gathered in and about the porch, just returned from the chase. Blinded
by the snow over which I had been walking in the glare of the sun, I
blundered up the steps, inquiring without much tact for the rider who
had preceded me, and was no little alarmed at receiving a rude and gruff
reception. I continued in suspense for some time, until my man found an
opportunity to inform me that there were suspicious persons present,
thus accounting for his unexpected manner. The explanation was made at a
combination meal, serving for both dinner and supper, and consisting
exclusively of beans. I set out at twilight to make a walk of thirteen
miles to the house of our old friend Esquire Hooper. Eager for the
cordial welcome which I knew awaited me, and nerved by the frosty air, I
sped over the level wood road, much of the way running instead of
walking. Three times I came upon bends of the same broad rivulet. Taking
off my shoes and stockings and rolling up my trousers above my knees, I
tried the first passage. Flakes of broken ice were eddying against the
banks, and before gaining the middle of the stream my feet and ankles
ached with the cold, the sharp pain increasing at every step until I
threw my blanket on the opposite bank and springing upon it wrapped my
feet in its dry folds. Rising a little knoll soon after making the third
ford, I came suddenly upon the familiar stopping-place of my former
journey. It was scarcely more than nine o'clock, and the little
hardships of the journey from Caesar's Head seemed but a cheap outlay for
the joy of the meeting with friends so interested in the varied fortunes
of myself and my late companions. Together we rejoiced at the escape of
Sill and Lamson, and made merry over the vicissitudes of my checkered
career. Here I first learned of the safe arrival in Tennessee of Knapp,
Man Heady, and old Tom Handcock.
After a day's rest I climbed the mountains to the Headen cabin, now
presided over by the heroine of the heifer-bell, in the absence of her
fugitive husband. Saddling her horse, she took me the next evening to
join a lad who was about starting for Shooting Creek. Young Green was
awaiting my arrival, and after a brief delay we were off on a journey of
something like sixty miles; the journey, however, was pushed to a
successful termination by the help of information gleaned by the way. It
was at the close of the last night's march, which had been long and
uneventful, except that we had surmounted no fewer than three
snow-capped ridges, that my blacksmith's shoes, soaked to a pulp by the
wet snow, gave out altogether. On the top of the last ridge I found
myself panting in the yellow light of the rising sun, the sad wrecks of
my two shoes dangling from my hands, a wilderness of beauty spread out
before me, and a sparkling field of frosty forms beneath my tingling
feet. Stretching far into the west toward the open country of East
Tennessee was the limitless wilderness of mountains, drawn like mighty
furrows across the toilsome way, the pale blue of the uttermost ridges
fading into an imperceptible union with the sky. A log house was in
sight down in the valley, a perpendicular column of smoke rising from
its single chimney. Toward this we picked our way, I in my stocking
feet, and my boy guide confidently predicting that we should find the
required cobbler. Of course we found him in a country where every family
makes its own shoes as much as its own bread, and he was ready to serve
the traveler without pay. Notwithstanding our night's work, we tarried
only for the necessary repairs, and just before sunset we looked down
upon the scattering settlement of Shooting Creek. Standing on the bleak
brow of "Chunky Gall" Mountain, my guide recognized the first familiar
object on the trip, which was the roof of his uncle's house. At Shooting
Creek I was the guest of the Widow Kitchen, whose house was the chief
one in the settlement, and whose estate boasted two slaves. The husband
had fallen by an anonymous bullet while salting his cattle on the
mountain in an early year of the war.
On the day following my arrival I was conducted over a ridge to another
creek, where I met two professional guides, Quince Edmonston and Mack
Hooper. As I came upon the pair parting a thicket of laurel, with their
long rifles at a shoulder, I instantly recognized the coat of the latter
as the snuff-colored sack in which I had last seen Lieutenant Lamson. It
had been given to the man at Chattanooga, where these same guides had
conducted my former companions in safety a month before. Quince
Edmonston, the elder, had led numerous parties of Yankee officers over
the Wacheesa trail for a consideration of a hundred dollars, pledged to
be paid by each officer at Chattanooga or Nashville.
[Illustration: SURPRISED AT MRS. KITCHEN'S.]
Two other officers were concealed near by, and a number of refugees,
awaiting a convoy, and an arrangement was rapidly made with the guides.
The swollen condition of the Valley River made it necessary to remain
for several days at Shooting Creek before setting out. Mack and I were
staying at the house of Mrs. Kitchen. It was on the afternoon of a
memorable Friday, the rain still falling in torrents without, that I
sat before the fire poring over a small Sunday-school book,--the only
printed book in the house, if not in the settlement. Mack Hooper was
sitting by the door. Attracted by a rustling sound in his direction, I
looked up just in time to see his heels disappearing under the nearest
bed. Leaping to my feet with an instinctive impulse to do likewise, I
was confronted in the doorway by a stalwart Confederate officer fully
uniformed and armed. Behind him was his quartermaster-sergeant. This was
a government party collecting the tax in kind, which at that time
throughout the Confederacy was the tenth part of all crops and other
farm productions. It was an ugly surprise. Seeing no escape, I ventured
a remark on the weather: only a stare in reply. A plan of escape flashed
through my mind like an inspiration. I seated myself quietly, and for an
instant bent my eyes upon the printed pages. The two soldiers had
advanced to the corner of the chimney nearest the door, inquiring for
the head of the family, and keeping their eyes riveted on my hostile
uniform. At this juncture I was seized with a severe fit of coughing.
With one hand upon my chest, I walked slowly past the men, and laid my
carefully opened book face down upon a chest. With another step or two I
was in the porch, and bounding into the kitchen I sprang out through a
window already opened by the women for my exit. Away I sped bareheaded
through the pelting rain, now crashing through thick underbrush, now up
to my waist in swollen streams, plunging on and on, only mindful to
select a course that would baffle horsemen in pursuit. After some miles
of running I took cover behind a stack, within view of the road which
Mack must take in retreating to the other settlement; and sure enough
here he was, coming down the road with my cap and haversack, which was
already loaded for the western journey. Mack had remained undiscovered
under the bed, an interested listener to the conversation that ensued.
The officer had been assured that I was a friendly scout; but, convinced
of the contrary by my flight, he had departed swearing he would capture
that Yankee before morning if he had to search the whole settlement. So
alarmed were we for our safety that we crossed that night into a third
valley and slept in the loft of a horse-barn.
On Sunday our expedition assembled on a hillside overlooking Shooting
Creek, where our friends in the secret of the movement came up to bid us
adieu. With guides we were a party of thirteen or fourteen, but only
three of us officers who were to pay for our safe conduct. Each man
carried his supply of bread and meat and bedding. Some were wrapped in
faded bed-quilts and some in tattered army blankets; nearly all wore
ragged clothes, broken shoes, and had unkempt beards. We arrived upon a
mountain-side overlooking the settlement of Peach Tree, and were
awaiting the friendly shades of night under which to descend to the
house of the man who was to put us across Valley River. Premature
darkness was accompanied with torrents of rain, through which we
followed our now uncertain guides. At last the light of the cabin we
were seeking gleamed humidly through the trees. Most of the family fled
into the outhouses at our approach, some of them not reappearing until
we were disposed for sleep in a half-circle before the fire. The last
arrivals were two tall women in homespun dresses and calico sunbonnets.
They slid timidly in at the door, with averted faces, and then with a
rush and a bounce covered themselves out of sight in a bed, where they
had probably been sleeping in the same clothing when we approached the
house. Here we learned that a cavalcade of four hundred Texan Rangers
had advanced into Tennessee by the roads on the day before. Our guides,
familiar with the movements of these dreaded troopers, calculated that
with the day's delay enforced by the state of the river a blow would
have been struck and the marauders would be in full retreat before we
should arrive on the ground. We passed that day concealed in a stable,
and as soon as it was sufficiently dark we proceeded in a body to the
bank of the river, attended by a man and a horse. The stream was narrow,
but the current was full and swift. The horse breasted the flood with
difficulty, but he bore us all across one at a time, seated behind the
farmer.
We had now left behind us the last settlement, and before us lay only
wild and uninhabited mountains. The trail we traveled was an Indian path
extending for nearly seventy miles through an uninhabited wilderness.
Instead of crossing the ridges it follows the trend of the range,
winding for the most part along the crests of the divides. The
occasional traveler, having once mounted to its level, pursues his
solitary way with little climbing.
Early in the morning of the fourth day our little party was assembled
upon the last mountain overlooking the open country of East Tennessee.
Some of us had been wandering in the mountains for the whole winter. We
were returning to a half-forgotten world of farms and fences, roads and
railways. Below us stretched the Tellico River away toward the line of
towns marking the course of the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad. One
of the guides who had ventured down to the nearest house returned with
information that the four hundred Texan Rangers had burned the depot at
Philadelphia Station the day before, but were now thought to be out of
the country. We could see the distant smoke arising from the ruins.
Where the river flowed out of the mountains were extensive iron-works,
the property of a loyal citizen, and in front of his house we halted for
consultation. He regretted that we had shown ourselves so soon, as the
rear-guard of the marauders had passed the night within sight of where
we now stood. Our nearest pickets were at Loudon, thirty miles distant
on the railway, and for this station we were advised to make all speed.
[Illustration: THE MEETING WITH THE SECOND OHIO HEAVY ARTILLERY.]
For half a mile the road ran along the bank of the river, and then
turned around a wooded bluff to the right. Opposite this bluff and
accessible by a shallow ford was another hill, where it was feared that
some of the Rangers were still lingering about their camp. As we came to
the turn in the road our company was walking rapidly in Indian file,
guide Edmonston and I at the front. Coming around the bluff from the
opposite direction was a countryman mounted on a powerful gray mare. His
overcoat was army blue, but he wore a bristling fur cap, and his rifle
was slung on his back. At sight of us he turned in his saddle to shout
to some one behind, and bringing his gun to bear came tearing and
swearing down the road, spattering the gravel under the big hoofs of the
gray. Close at his heels rode two officers in Confederate gray uniforms,
and a motley crowd of riders closed up the road behind. In an instant
the guide and I were surrounded, the whole cavalcade leveling their guns
at the thicket and calling on our companions, who could be plainly heard
crashing through the bushes, to halt. The dress of but few of our
captors could be seen, nearly all being covered with rubber talmas; but
their mounts, including mules as well as horses, were equipped with
every variety of bridle and saddle to be imagined. I knew at a glance
that this was no body of our cavalry. If we were in the hands of the
Rangers, the fate of the guides and refugees would be the hardest. I
thought they might spare the lives of the officers. "Who are you? What
are you doing here?" demanded the commander, riding up to us and
scrutinizing our rags. I hesitated a moment, and then, throwing off the
blanket I wore over my shoulders, simply said, "You can see what I am."
My rags were the rags of a uniform, and spoke for themselves.
Our captors proved to be a company of the 2d Ohio Heavy Artillery, in
pursuit of the marauders into whose clutches we thought we had fallen.
The farmer on the gray mare was the guide of the expedition, and the two
men uniformed as rebel officers were Union scouts. The irregular
equipment of the animals, which had excited my suspicion most, as well
as the animals themselves, had been hastily impressed from the country
about the village of Loudon, where the 2d Ohio was stationed. On the
following evening, which was the 4th of March, the day of the second
inauguration of President Lincoln, we walked into Loudon and gladly
surrendered ourselves to the outposts of the Ohio Heavy Artillery.
ESCAPE OF GENERAL BRECKINRIDGE
BY JOHN TAYLOR WOOD
As one of the aides of President Jefferson Davis, I left Richmond with
him and his cabinet on April 2, 1865, the night of evacuation, and
accompanied him through Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia, until his
capture. Except Lieutenant Barnwell, I was the only one of the party who
escaped. After our surprise, I was guarded by a trooper, a German, who
had appropriated my horse and most of my belongings. I determined, if
possible, to escape; but after witnessing Mr. Davis's unsuccessful
attempt, I was doubtful of success. However, I consulted him, and he
advised me to try. Taking my guard aside, I asked him, by signs (for he
could speak little or no English), to accompany me outside the
picket-line to the swamp, showing him at the same time a twenty-dollar
gold piece. He took it, tried the weight of it in his hands, and put it
between his teeth. Fully satisfied that it was not spurious, he escorted
me with his carbine to the stream, the banks of which were lined with a
few straggling alder-bushes and thick saw-grass. I motioned him to
return to camp, only a few rods distant. He shook his head, saying,
"_Nein, nein_." I gave him another twenty-dollar gold piece; he chinked
them together, and held up two fingers. I turned my pockets inside out,
and then, satisfied that I had no more, he left me.
Creeping a little farther into the swamp, I lay concealed for about
three hours in the most painful position, sometimes moving a few yards
almost _ventre a terre_ to escape notice; for I was within hearing of
the camps on each side of the stream, and often when the soldiers came
down for water, or to water their horses, I was within a few yards of
them. Some two hours or more passed thus before the party moved. The
wagons left first, then the bugles sounded, and the president started on
one of his carriage-horses, followed by his staff and a squadron of the
enemy. Shortly after their departure I saw some one leading two
abandoned horses into the swamp, and recognized Lieutenant Barnwell of
our escort. Secreting the horses, we picked up from the debris of the
camp parts of two saddles and bridles, and with some patching and tying
fitted out our horses, as sad and war-worn animals as ever man bestrode.
Though hungry and tired, we gave the remains of the camp provisions to a
Mr. Fenn for dinner. He recommended us to Widow Paulk's, ten miles
distant, an old lady rich in cattle alone.
The day after my escape, I met Judah P. Benjamin as M. Bonfals, a French
gentleman traveling for information, in a light wagon, with Colonel
Leovie, who acted as interpreter. With goggles on, his beard grown, a
hat well over his face, and a large cloak hiding his figure, no one
would have recognized him as the late secretary of state of the
Confederacy. I told him of the capture of Mr. Davis and his party, and
made an engagement to meet him near Madison, Florida, and there decide
upon our future movements. He was anxious to push on, and left us to
follow more leisurely, passing as paroled soldiers returning home. For
the next three days we traveled as fast as our poor horses would permit,
leading or driving them; for even if they had been strong enough, their
backs were in such a condition that we could not ride. We held on to
them simply in the hope that we might be able to dispose of them or
exchange them to advantage; but we finally were forced to abandon one.
On the 13th we passed through Valdosta, the first place since leaving
Washington, in upper Georgia, in which we were able to purchase
anything. Here I secured two hickory shirts and a pair of socks, a most
welcome addition to my outfit; for, except what I stood in, I had left
all my baggage behind. Near Valdosta we found Mr. Osborne Barnwell, an
uncle of my young friend, a refugee from the coast of South Carolina,
where he had lost a beautiful estate, surrounded with all the comforts
and elegances which wealth and a refined taste could offer. Here in the
pine forests, as far as possible from the paths of war, and almost
outside of civilization, he had brought his family of ladies and
children, and with the aid of his servants, most of whom had followed
him, had built with a few tools a rough log cabin with six or eight
rooms, but without nails, screws, bolts, or glass--almost as primitive a
building as Robinson Crusoe's. But, in spite of all drawbacks, the
ingenuity and deft hands of the ladies had given to the premises an air
of comfort and refinement that was most refreshing. Here I rested two
days, enjoying the company of this charming family, with whom Lieutenant
Barnwell remained. On the 15th I crossed into Florida, and rode to
General Finnegan's, near Madison. Here I met General Breckinridge, the
late secretary of war of the Confederacy, alias Colonel Cabell, and his
aide, Colonel Wilson,--a pleasant encounter for both parties. Mr.
Benjamin had been in the neighborhood, but, hearing that the enemy were
in Madison, had gone off at a tangent. We were fully posted as to the
different routes to the seaboard by General Finnegan, and discussed with
him the most feasible way of leaving the country. I inclined to the
eastern coast, and this was decided on. I exchanged my remaining horse
with General Finnegan for a better, giving him fifty dollars to boot.
Leaving Madison, we crossed the Suwanee River at Moody's Ferry, and took
the old St. Augustine road, but seldom traveled in late years, as it
leads through a pine wilderness, and there is one stretch of twenty
miles with only water of bad quality, at the Diable Sinks. I rode out of
my way some fifteen miles to Mr. Yulee's, formerly senator of the United
States, and afterward Confederate senator, hoping to meet Mr. Benjamin;
but he was too wily to be found at the house of a friend. Mr. Yulee was
absent on my arrival, but Mrs. Yulee, a charming lady, and one of a
noted family of beautiful women, welcomed me heartily. Mr. Yulee
returned during the night from Jacksonville, and gave me the first news
of what was going on in the world that I had had for nearly a month,
including the information that Mr. Davis and party had reached Hilton
Head on their way north.
Another day's ride brought us to the house of the brothers William and
Samuel Owens, two wealthy and hospitable gentlemen, near Orange Lake.
Here I rejoined General Breckinridge, and we were advised to secure the
services and experience of Captain Dickinson. We sent to Waldo for him,
and a most valuable friend he proved. During the war he had rendered
notable services; among others he had surprised and captured the United
States gunboat _Columbine_ on the St. John's River, one of whose small
boats he had retained, and kept concealed near the banks of the river.
This boat with two of his best men he now put at our disposal, with
orders to meet us on the upper St. John.
We now passed through a much more interesting country than the two or
three hundred miles of pines we had just traversed. It was better
watered, the forests were more diversified with varied species,
occasionally thickets or hummocks were met with, and later these gave
place to swamps and everglades with a tropical vegetation. The road led
by Silver Spring, the clear and crystal waters of which show at the
depth of hundreds of feet almost as distinctly as though seen through
air.
We traveled incognito, known only to good friends, who sent us stage by
stage from one to another, and by all we were welcomed most kindly.
Besides those mentioned, I recall with gratitude the names of Judge
Dawkins, Mr. Mann, Colonel Summers, Major Stork, all of whom overwhelmed
us with kindness, offering us of everything they had. Of money they were
as bare as ourselves, for Confederate currency had disappeared as
suddenly as snow before a warm sun, and greenbacks were as yet unknown.
Before leaving our friends, we laid in a three weeks' supply of stores;
for we could not depend upon obtaining any further south.
On May 25 we struck the St. John's River at Fort Butler, opposite
Volusia, where we met Russell and O'Toole, two of Dickinson's command,
in charge of the boat; and two most valuable and trustworthy comrades
they proved to be, either in camp or in the boat, as hunters or
fishermen. The boat was a man-of-war's small four-oared gig; her outfit
was scanty, but what was necessary we rapidly improvised. Here General
Breckinridge and I gave our horses to our companions, and thus ended my
long ride of a thousand miles from Virginia.
Stowing our supplies away, we bade good-by to our friends, and started
up the river with a fair wind. Our party consisted of General
Breckinridge; his aide, Colonel Wilson of Kentucky; the general's
servant, Tom, who had been with him all through the war; besides
Russell, O'Toole, and I,--six in all. With our stores, arms, etc., it
was a tight fit to get into the boat; there was no room to lie down or
to stretch. At night we landed, and, like old campaigners, were soon
comfortable. But at midnight the rain came down in bucketfuls, and
continued till nearly morning; and, notwithstanding every effort, a
large portion of our supplies were soaked and rendered worthless, and,
what was worse, some of our powder shared the same fate.