Capturing a Locomotive: A History of Secret Service in the Late War.
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Title: Capturing a Locomotive: A History of Secret Service in the Late War.
Author: William Pittenger
Release date: July 17, 2011 [eBook #36752]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE: A HISTORY OF SECRET SERVICE IN THE LATE WAR. ***
Produced by David Edwards, Moti Ben-Ari and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE
[Illustration: A RAILROAD CHASE.
_Frontispiece._]
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE:
A HISTORY
OF
SECRET SERVICE
IN THE LATE WAR.
BY
REV. WILLIAM PITTENGER.
"Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well;
Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell,
Rode the six hundred.
* * * * *
"They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of death
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them--
Left of six hundred."
TENNYSON'S _Charge of the Light Brigade_.
WASHINGTON:
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE.
1885.
Copyright, 1881, by REV. WILLIAM PITTENGER.
TO
THE SURVIVING COMRADES
OF THE
CHATTANOOGA RAILROAD EXPEDITION,
AND TO
THE FAMILIES OF THOSE WHO PERISHED IN THE
SAME ADVENTURE,
=This Record of their Daring and Suffering=
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.
NAMES OF THE ADVENTURERS.
EXECUTED.
J. J. ANDREWS, _Leader_ Citizen of Kentucky.
WILLIAM CAMPBELL Citizen of Kentucky.
GEORGE D. WILSON Co. B, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
MARION A. ROSS Co. A, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
PERRY G. SHADRACK Co. K, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
SAMUEL SLAVENS Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
SAMUEL ROBINSON Co. G, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
JOHN SCOTT Co. K, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
ESCAPED IN OCTOBER.
W. W. BROWN[1] (_Engineer_) Co. F, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM KNIGHT[2] Co. E, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
J. R. PORTER[3] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
MARK WOOD[4] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
J. A. WILSON[5] Co. C, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
M. J. HAWKINS[6] Co. A, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
JOHN WOLLAM[7] Co. C, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
D. A. DORSEY[8] Co. H, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
EXCHANGED IN MARCH.
JACOB PARROT[9] Co. K, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
ROBERT BUFFUM[10] Co. H, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM BENSINGER[11] Co. G, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM REDDICK[12] Co. B, Thirty-third Reg't Ohio Vols.
E. H. MASON[13] Co. K, Twenty-first Reg't Ohio Vols.
WILLIAM PITTENGER[14] Co. G, Second Reg't Ohio Vols.
RESIDENCES IN 1881.
[1] Perrysburg, Ohio.
[2] Minnesota.
[3] Carlisle, Arkansas.
[4] Dead.
[5] Hoskins, Wood County, Ohio.
[6] Topeka, Kansas.
[7] Unknown.
[8] Jefferson, Wisconsin.
[9] Kenton, Ohio.
[10] Dead.
[11] McCombs, Hancock County, Ohio.
[12] Unknown.
[13] Unknown.
[14] Woodbury, N. J. A member of the New Jersey Conference
of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
PREFACE.
War has a secret as well as a public story. Marches and battles are open
to the popular gaze; but enterprises of another class are in their very
nature secret, and these are scarcely less important and often much more
interesting than the former. The work of spies and scouts, the
enterprises that reach beyond the lines of an army for the purpose of
surprise, the councils of officers, the intrigues by means of which
great results often flow from apparently insignificant causes, and all
the experiences of hospitals and prisons,--these usually fill but a
small place on the historian's page, though they are often of romantic
interest, and not unfrequently decide the course and fate of armies. The
enterprise described in these pages possesses all the unity of a drama,
from the first plunge of the actors into the heart of the enemy's
country, through all their adventures and changing fortunes, until the
few survivors stood once more under the old flag! No single story of the
war combines so many of the hidden, underground elements of the contest
against rebellion as this. Disguise and secrecy, the perils of a forlorn
hope, the exultation of almost miraculous success, the sufferings of
prisoners, and the gloom of despair are all mingled in a varied and
instructive war-picture.
In telling the story all fictitious embellishments have been rejected.
No pains have been spared to ascertain the exact truth, and the reader
will find names, dates, and localities so fully given that it will be
easy to verify the prominent features of the account.
In narrating those events which fell under his own eye, the writer has
waived all scruples of delicacy, and used the first personal pronoun.
This is far more simple and direct, while an opposite course would have
savored of affectation.
This is not a revision or new edition of the little volume published by
the present writer during the rebellion. DARING AND SUFFERING, like a
number of similar sketches published in newspapers, magazines, and
pamphlets, was a hasty narrative of personal adventure, and made no
pretence of completeness. CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE is broader and more
historic; a large amount of valuable material is now employed for the
first time; and the story is approached in an entirely different manner.
No paragraph of the old book is copied into the new.
WOODBURY, NEW JERSEY January, 1882.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION 9
II.--MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION 27
III.--COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS 36
IV.--A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED 65
V.--UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES 75
VI.--A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE 93
VII.--A NIGHT IN THE WOODS 120
VIII.--IN THE ENEMY'S POWER 136
IX.--OTHER CAPTURES 153
X.--A HORRIBLE PRISON 170
XI.--LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON 182
XII.--THE FIRST TRAGEDY 197
XIII.--A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL 205
XIV.--THE CROWNING HORROR 221
XV.--PRISON RELIGION 228
XVI.--LIBERTY OR DEATH? 244
XVII.--ROMANTIC ESCAPES 262
XVIII.--FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF 274
XIX.--FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND 293
XX.--LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER 308
XXI.--SICKNESS AND LIBERTY 326
APPENDIX:
No. I.--EXTRACTS FROM THE REPORT OF JUDGE-ADVOCATE-GENERAL
HOLT TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR 341
No. II.--A SOUTHERN ESTIMATE 345
No. III.--A FRENCHMAN'S VIEW OF THE CHATTANOOGA
RAILROAD EXPEDITION 350
No. IV.--OLD SCENES REVISITED 352
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. The Chase _Frontispiece._
2. GENERAL O. M. MITCHEL 11
3. MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION 32
4. WILLIAM PITTENGER 42
5. MAP OF CHATTANOOGA AND ITS RAILROAD CONNECTIONS 58
6. CAPTURE OF A TRAIN 71
7. WILLIAM A. FULLER 87
8. D. A. DORSEY 156
9. A TERRIBLE DESCENT 172
10. LIBERTY OR DEATH! 255
11. W. W. BROWN 264
12. DORSEY AND HAWKINS IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS 272
13. SAVED AT SEA 290
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION.
As the writer looked up from the manuscript page on a warm March
afternoon of 1862, a very busy, and occasionally an amusing scene was
presented. I was seated on a gentle, wooded slope which led down to the
clear and quiet stream of Stone River, in Tennessee. Not being at that
time "on duty," I had strolled away from the tents which whitened the
level fields above, and was passing an hour in the pleasant task of
preparing "war correspondence" for the _Steubenville Herald_. Now and
then I lifted my eyes to watch the work in progress a few yards farther
down the stream. A large bridge, burned by the enemy on their retreat a
few weeks before, was now being rapidly repaired, or rather rebuilt. The
chief director of the work was General O. M. Mitchel, of astronomical
fame, in whose division I then served. He was in every respect an able
officer, and understood the construction of railroad bridges as well as
observing the stars, or moulding raw recruits into veteran soldiers. But
all his skill and science did not save him from becoming a little
ridiculous at times. The Union soldier found no difficulty in loving his
commander and laughing at him at the same instant. General Mitchel was
now most impatient to complete this bridge, and thus maintain a
northern line of communication, while he penetrated farther into the
South. Being now, for the first time, possessed of an independent
command, he wished to signalize himself by some great blow struck at the
most vulnerable point in the enemy's line. He could, therefore, scarcely
endure the necessary delay caused by burnt bridges, and worked like a
beaver, and chafed and fretted, and caused the men of his command to
perform more hard labor than was agreeable. As I saw him running from
place to place, urging on the idlers, and taking hold of any piece of
work that presented itself as if he had been a common laborer, shouting
and scolding, but always knowing just what ought to be done, and making
surprising progress, I could not help admiring the man, even while I
laughed at some exhibitions of superfluous zeal. Mitchel's scientific
education, his practical experience, and his inventive genius stood him
in good stead, as was proved by the rapid growth of the bridge before
me. The soldiers almost idolized their skilful and zealous commander,
but this did not deprive them of the soldier's privilege of grumbling
without stint at his restless activity. He was to be found along the
guard lines at almost any hour of the night, and woe to the sleepy
sentinel who failed to give the proper challenge or to "turn out"
promptly. No severe punishments had yet been inflicted, but some of the
indolent had been terribly frightened, and were accustomed to declare
that "Old Mitchel" had been watching the stars so long that he could not
sleep at night himself, and was not willing that anybody else should!
But the discipline of the troops steadily improved, and the hearty
commendation of their commander, who knew how to praise as well as
blame, made amends for seeming harshness.
[Illustration: GENERAL O. M. MITCHELL.
(From Harper's Magazine.)
Page 11.]
As I watched the working-parties, my attention was attracted to one
strong-looking soldier who was obviously shirking. Before many minutes
General Mitchel saw him too. The man pretended to lift and work,
while really doing nothing, and thus became a great hindrance, for his
example was contagious. Stealthily the general stole towards him, and
when I saw him take a piece of rotten wood in his hand I looked for a
scene. It came. He dealt the idler a sudden blow that covered him all
over with rotten wood, and nearly took him from his feet, but did him no
real injury. The fellow turned furiously to avenge himself on his
assailant, but stood abashed when he saw the face of his commander, and
heard the exclamation, "Go to work, you lazy rascal!" The spectators
enjoyed the man's look of blank amazement greatly, and the work went
forward more promptly than ever. But in a few moments the tables were
turned. Large framed masses of timber were first floated near the
position they were to occupy in the bridge, at the end of the
trestle-work, and then, with ropes and pulleys, were slowly and
painfully hoisted into place. One of these was approaching the
perpendicular, and the general, in his eagerness, ran to the end of a
log, which extended over the water, and began to encourage the laborers
by loud cries of, "Heave, O! heave, O!" as they pulled at the ropes.
Another party of workmen passed by the shore end of the log on which
Mitchel stood, carrying a load of timber. Just as they reached the
log,--the lazy man among them, now lifting as much as any other,--I
could not see just how it was done, but probably by a quick motion of
the foot, the general's log was turned so suddenly that he had no choice
but to plunge in the water. I expected a fearful explosion of
indignation, and perhaps the summoning of a guard to arrest the
offender, but was greatly surprised to see Mitchel, as soon as the
splash enabled me to see at all, stand up in the water, which was not
more than two feet deep, and without even turning towards the shore,
continue calling, "Heave, O! heave, O!" as vigorously as ever. There was
some laughing, but the soldiers had great respect for such coolness and
presence of mind. The general made no effort to discover the author of
his sudden immersion, though he must have known that it was not
accidental. "'Old Stars' can take a joke," was the approving remark of a
soldier close to my side.
I had just finished reading to a friend the newspaper article I had been
writing, when Captain Mitchel, a distant relative of the general's, and
commander of one of the companies in the Second Ohio Regiment,--the
regiment in which I served,--came and sat down by me, and asked what
news I had been writing to the papers. This was always a matter of great
interest to the officers and soldiers of our volunteer armies, for the
public letter served to give the families at home a great deal of news,
and thus to fill out the accounts conveyed by private letters. I read
the sketch over to him, and it suggested a general conversation on the
prospects of the war. These we regarded as eminently favorable.
McClellan was about to move towards Richmond with an overwhelming force,
and we expected him to easily capture the rebel capital. Buell, who had
been with us in our march through Kentucky, had gone Southwest to join
Grant. That they would, when united, be able to drive the enemy far down
the Mississippi, even if they did not open that river to the Gulf,
seemed equally sure. But where were we going, that we, with only ten
thousand men and an adventurous general, were being hurried Southeast?
There was no enemy in our front now, but we could not continue to march
in that direction very long without finding foes enough. We were
striking directly between the great armies of the Rebellion, and, if we
went on far enough, would totally sever their connection. At this point
in the conversation Mitchel exhibited some constraint, as if afraid of
saying too much. I declared my own opinion, which I shared with the
greater part of the army, that we were bound for Chattanooga, and
possibly for Atlanta, but that the rebels would be sure to run in heavy
bodies of troops by rail, and give us all the fighting we wanted before
reaching even the former place.
"Possibly they may," said Mitchel; "but there are ways of looking out
for that."
"How?" I asked, with interest, for I knew that he was usually well
informed and very intelligent.
He smiled, and said that "I might find out some time."
His manner, much more than his words, piqued my curiosity. Besides,
there was another matter I had resolved to question him about at the
first opportunity. A few days before several of the best soldiers of our
regiment had suddenly disappeared. Four of the missing men were from the
company to which I belonged, and two others from Mitchel's company. They
had been seen in close and apparently confidential conversation with the
regimental officers, and then, without any leave-taking, were gone! No
one of the private soldiers could tell anything about their destination.
In a moment the hints of Mitchel connected themselves, in my mind, with
the absence of these men. Had not some secret enterprise been set on
foot in which they were engaged? If there was any such scheme, I would
like to find it out, and, if still possible, take a part in it. In
addition to this motive for curiosity, one of the absent men was a young
cousin of mine, in whose welfare I was deeply interested.
"Mitchel," I said, turning sharply on him, "I understand that Frank
Mills and those other men have been sent into the enemy's lines to
perform some important and dangerous service. I want you to tell me all
about it."
As soon as I uttered the words I knew I was right. Mitchel was silent
for a moment, and then asked who had told me so much.
"No matter about that," I returned. "You can trust me fully. Tell me
what you know."
"I will," he answered, "for I am anxious about the boys myself, and
want to talk the matter over with some friend. I am not sure that we did
right in letting them go."
Rising, we strolled up the stream until we reached a solitary place far
away from the bridge and the noisy workmen. Then getting a seat on a
large rock, I listened to Captain Mitchel's story. This conversation is
one of the most important epochs of my life. So strange and romantic
were the particulars to which I listened, that it was difficult at first
to give them perfect credence.
Said Mitchel, "Do you remember a Mr. Andrews, a Kentuckian, who was
about our camp last fall?"
At first I did not, but a moment after, I recollected seeing a
fine-looking, well-dressed man standing on the street-corner in the town
of Prestonburg, up in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. He held
carelessly on his arm a beautiful Winchester rifle, which I, in common
with many others, had examined with great admiration. I therefore
answered Mitchel's question in the affirmative, though I thought he was
beginning rather far away from the subject in hand. He continued,--
"Some of you maintained that he was a rebel citizen, and possibly a spy,
who was only pretending to be a unionist because our army was at hand."
I said that such had been my own opinion when I first saw him, for he
was the very ideal of a magnificent Southern gentleman, but that I had
afterwards learned that though he was a spy and secret agent, it was on
the Union side, and that he was high in the confidence of our officers,
adding that I had seen the same man in our camp again, but had not
spoken to him after the first occasion.
"Well," continued Mitchel, "he was, and is, a spy, and has been of great
service to us. But I sometimes fear that we may have trusted him a
little too far. Our boys are now in Georgia with him."
I sprang up from my seat. This was startling news. It had, indeed, been
asserted by the camp-fires--where all events are discussed, and where
conjectures too often pass for facts--that the missing men had turned
spies, but I had scouted the idea. I thought that at most they might
have been sent on ahead of us a short distance, to seize some important
post in connection with similar details from other regiments, and
supported by cavalry. But we were a hundred and fifty miles from the
nearest point of the Georgian State line.
I looked at my companion in astonishment, and exclaimed, "What on earth
are they doing in Georgia?"
"Andrews has taken them there," he said, "disguised as Southern
citizens, with the intention of capturing a railroad train. He has also
engaged a Southern man, who is an engineer on the same railroad, to run
their locomotive, and when they get their train they will start for our
line and burn every bridge they pass over. They will cut all the
telegraph wires, and thus leave the enemy in helpless rage behind them."
My imagination took fire at the picture his few words had sketched. A
train surprised by a handful of bold men in the heart of the enemy's
territory; the passengers and train hands forced to get out under threat
of instant death, and possibly a desperate fight before this was
accomplished; then the wires cut, so that no lightning message could be
flashed ahead; the secret confederate--whom there might be a show of
compelling by force to mount the engine--set to his work; the train
rushing on its way through a hostile country, past the towns and camps
of the enemy, but rendered secure by the two elements of surprise and
speed; the great bridges (like those at Green and Stone Rivers and other
places, which had cost us weary delays and hard work in repairing),--all
these bursting into flames as they were passed, and possibly other
damage done before the daring adventurers returned in triumph to our own
lines. I knew enough of war to understand, at a glance, the great
military importance of thus severing railroad communications, for had I
not seen our whole division brought to a halt, and General Mitchel
rendered almost furious with impatience over a single burnt bridge?
Besides, it required no particular insight to reveal the immense moral
effect upon an enemy of such a bold stroke far in the centre of his
territory. It would tend to diffuse distrust and fear through all the
rebel armies if they were thus made to feel that no place in their whole
country was safe from the presence and the blows of a daring adversary.
"Well, what do you think of it?" said Mitchel, as he saw my
preoccupation.
"Why, it is the grandest thing I ever heard of!" was my enthusiastic
reply. "I wish I was with them. But do you think that spy can be
trusted? Spies are all the time betraying the confidence of one party or
the other, and if he should be false to us, he has the lives of our boys
in his hands. I have heard that he has been over the lines several
times, and if he has been a secret rebel all the while, it would be a
nice stroke of business for him to lead down a party of our best men and
deliver them to the rebels."
"I have no fear of the fidelity of Andrews," said Mitchel. "He has been
too well proved. But I am not so sure that he will be able to carry
through all that he has undertaken, or that our boys can preserve their
disguise until they reach the right point and are ready for the blow. If
they should be detected while pretending to be rebels, it is not at all
unlikely that they will be treated as spies and hung up. I wish they
were back in camp again. But if they get through all right and burn the
bridges, we will make for Chattanooga as fast as our legs can carry us.
This is one of the reasons that makes the general so anxious to have
that bridge done. If we should hear to-morrow, as we may at any moment,
that those Southern bridges are smashed, it would be a race for
Chattanooga with all the odds in our favor. But you must not breathe a
word of this to one of the soldiers, or especially write of it to the
papers, or to any of the relatives of the poor fellows, till they are
back with us,--if they ever come back! Give me your candid opinion, was
it right to let them take such a risk?"
Without the slightest hesitation I declared that it was right, giving
the reasons that seemed most weighty. War is full of risks. In an
obscure skirmish, or by a chance shot from the picket-line, the most
valuable life may be put out. Now, if by a little additional risk a few
men can do the work of thousands,--the work that if done in the ordinary
mode would certainly cost a score times as many lives as are
imperilled,--the risk is worth taking. Of course, it would not be right
to send men on such an enterprise without their consent, but in the
Union army it was never necessary to force men into any dangerous
enterprise. Volunteers were always plenty enough.
I asked, further, how many men were engaged, and learned with additional
astonishment that the detachment from our own regiment--only eight
men--was all. This force seemed totally inadequate to the greatness of
the work, but I understood that the risk of detection would multiply
with the increase of numbers. The very smallest number that could serve
was, therefore, selected. If they succeeded, few were better than many.
After a long conversation, Mitchel and I returned to the working-party
down the river. The burnt remnants of the old railroad bridge and the
rapidly rising timbers of the new had now a deeper interest than ever.
The completion of this bridge and the burning of some others far in the
South were the two events for which that whole division, whose tents
dotted the meadows behind us, was unconsciously waiting. My head was
full of conjectures and plans as I walked back through the twilight to
join my messmates in the tent. I could talk to no one of what I had
heard, but as I lay awake that night a most important resolution took
shape. I was weary of the slow movement of the army, and of the monotony
of a private soldier's service. While trying carefully to do all my
duty, and winning a fair degree of approval from my officers, I yet had
no taste for military affairs. If by a little extra hazard I could do
more for the country, while getting rid of distasteful routine and
entering into a new sphere of work, I was more than willing to accept
all the hazard involved. It was too late to take part in the present
attempt, but I resolved to be prepared for any opportunity of the kind
that might again offer.
Accordingly, in the forenoon of the next day I went up to regimental
headquarters and told Colonel L. A. Harris, of the Second Ohio, that I
had a favor to ask of him. Major (since General) Anson G. McCook, in
whose company I had served during the first three months of the war, was
also present. I told them I had ascertained that some of our men had
been sent out on secret service lately, and that if any similar details
should be made in the future, I wanted the opportunity of being
included. Major McCook, while saying some kind things about me,
intimated a doubt whether my defective vision--I was very
near-sighted--might not be a hindrance on any perilous service. Colonel
Harris, however, took a different view of the matter, saying he thought
that if I dressed in citizen's clothes, and wore my spectacles (as I was
accustomed to do even in the ranks), no person in the South would
suspect me of being a soldier, and I was thus only the better fitted for
any secret service. McCook did not press his objection, and after
learning the reason for my request and trying in vain to find the source
of my information, Colonel Harris said,--
"Pittenger, I don't know that we will ever send any more men out of camp
in this manner, but I will give my promise that if we do, you shall be
the first man called upon."
This was perfectly satisfactory. I returned to my duty, and in the
routine of camp-life waited for several days in impatient anxiety. I
dreamed at night of burning bridges and startling adventures. Duty on
picket and in the camp lines, however, with other excitements, began to
weaken the impression, as day after day rolled by with no recurrence of
the subject. But one day it was told me by a friend that one of the
missing men, a member of Company C, was back again in his usual place in
line. For some time attempts to get him to say where he had been, and
whether alone or in company, were in vain. He would speak no word by
which any one could divine the nature of his errand while away from us,
or the degree of success he had met with. I was much disquieted by his
return alone, but having no special acquaintance, I did not like to try
to get any information directly from him. But I soon learned that he had
gone as far as Chattanooga and had turned back,--some of his comrades
afterwards thought because he became so sensible of the difficulties of
his attempt that he resolved to go no further in it,--a determination
which he had a perfect right to make, and which in no way impugned his
character as a soldier. His own explanation, afterwards given, which I
saw no reason to doubt, was more dramatic. He said that he had gone in
disguise as far as Chattanooga, but had there been recognized by a rebel
soldier, who was an old acquaintance, and who knew that he belonged to
the Union army. This man heard him telling his false story in a public
place without contradicting him, but as soon as he could do so
unobserved, drew him aside and declared that he remembered him, and knew
he was down there disguised for some bad purpose; but that if he would
pledge himself to return immediately to the Union lines, he would, for
the sake of their former friendship, refrain from denouncing him,
otherwise his own sense of duty would require him to report all he knew
to the commander of the post. Under such circumstances our comrade
judged it most prudent to give and keep the pledge required.
At length the bridge over Stone River was completed, and there was great
rejoicing as the first train, laden with army supplies, passed over it
from Nashville. Next morning the order was given to the whole division
to prepare three days' rations. This was invariably the signal for a
decided movement. Our lost comrades were still away, and no word had
reached the rank and file of the army of any unusual occurrence
southward. The uneasiness of General Mitchel and the regimental officers
of the Second Ohio, and especially of Captain Sarratt, who commanded the
company to which I belonged, and my friend, Captain Mitchel, was
apparent to any careful observer.
Just before the march began, while we were standing in line early the
next morning, with the camp all broken up, our knapsacks swung, and our
haversacks filled with rations, waiting only for the word "forward,"
Captain Mitchel came over to me and uttered a sentence, in a half
whisper, that went through me like an electric shock. His message was
simply this: "Mills is back, and has gone up to headquarters to report."
While standing in my place in the ranks I could give no answer, nor
could I ask any question, but my mind was full of surmises. Had the
adventurers succeeded, and were we now on our way to do our part in the
great plan,--to strike swift and far into the South, while the enemy's
communications were broken? That would involve hard fighting and
stirring scenes not far ahead. Had they failed? If so, there would
probably be other attempts,--that is, if the secret had been kept,--and
then I would have a part in the risk and the adventure. At any rate, I
was exceeding glad of Mills's return, and I knew that I would find out
all about it as soon as I could get to talk with him alone. As Company
K--Mitchel's--was next my own in the line, that opportunity, even on the
march, would not be long delayed.
Soon the command to march was given, and the column moved southward
towards Shelbyville, about twenty-five miles distant. Before noon I
dropped out of my place, sought and found Mills, and as we plodded
along, in the loose order allowed on long marches, we had no difficulty
in remaining together, and yet far enough from other soldiers to talk in
perfect security. The whole history of my relative's adventures was
fully laid open before me. I found that all Mitchel had narrated was
perfectly accurate, but the enormous obstacles to be encountered by such
an expedition were now brought much more plainly into view. Mills said
that he and his companions had first of all exchanged their uniforms for
citizen's clothes, and made provision for the safety of their arms and
personal effects in the camp. Then, under the direction of Andrews, they
had scattered in the mountains, to the eastward of our camp,
representing themselves as refugees from the oppressions of the Union
troops in Kentucky, and had journeyed thus to Chattanooga. That town had
been reached in about four days. My friend pictured in lively colors the
manner in which he had been compelled to verbally abuse the Union cause,
and join in praise of the leaders and principles of Secession. The squad
to which he belonged had no particular difficulty in passing themselves
as good rebels. The man who first returned had been less fortunate. At
Chattanooga they took passage on the cars for Atlanta, and in due time
reached that place, where they scattered themselves among the several
hotels and lived plentifully (they had an abundant supply of money) for
three days longer. Each hour Andrews anticipated the arrival of that
Confederate engineer of whom Mitchel had spoken to me. But he did not
come. All possible inquiries were guardedly made concerning him, for it
was not safe to appear too inquisitive.
"How did you feel while thus waiting in suspense?" I asked.
"I felt as if I wanted to be back in camp, and had no business to be in
that town any longer," replied Frank. "To hear the curses and threats
made against everything that belonged to the Union, and to be obliged to
keep perfectly quiet, or to agree with them, was more than I could
easily endure. And the folks about the hotel were more anxious every day
to know who I was, and I had to tell them lies without number. I
resolved not to stand it much longer."
"Were you really afraid of being found out, Frank?" I queried. "Did you
consider yourself in much danger?"
With great emphasis he answered, "No money could hire me to put myself
in such a position again. I would have run away if we had been obliged
to stay much longer."
This man was as brave as any human being. I had seen him perfectly cool
and serene under circumstances of great danger, when every one else in
the company betrayed some sign of fear. I did not suspect him of
exaggerating the perils of the situation in which he was placed, and,
having a deep personal interest in the matter, I put the question
bluntly,--
"If men should be wanted to try this thing again, would you not go?"
"Never!" was the unequivocal response. "If Andrews and Mitchel want
bridges burned, they can go themselves and burn them! I will do my duty
as a soldier, but as to going out among those----"
The terms applied, and the energy given to the accompanying description
of the horror of being alone among blood-thirsty enemies, feeling that,
sleeping or waking, a rope was around one's neck, just ready to be
tightened on the utterance of a single careless word, it is not
necessary to transcribe here.
"But why did not that man come to help you? Did you find out anything
about him?"
"Andrews told us, on the third day after we had reached Atlanta, that he
had heard through some of the railway officials that the engineer had
been transferred to the Mobile and Ohio Railroad to help in running
troops to Corinth" (this was a short time before the battle of Shiloh).
"But my own opinion is that the man got scared and had himself
transferred there to get out of a bad scrape."
"But how did Andrews take this disappointment?"
"He was very much cast down. He asked each of us if we had ever been
engineers or firemen. But no one had ever occupied such a position. He
hated terribly to give up; but, as nothing more could be done, he at
last told us we might work our way back to camp."
"Where are the other boys?"
"I suppose they are on their way. It was harder getting back than going
down. Everybody seemed to think it natural for us to be going South; but
we had to make all kind of excuses for 'heading the wrong way,' as they
called it. We had to scatter to avoid observation, and travel part of
the way by night; and if some of them are not discovered and either put
into the rebel army or hung, I will be very glad."
"Do you think Andrews will now give up the job of burning those bridges,
or will he try again?"
"If he can get men to go, you may be sure he will keep at it until he
succeeds or dies. But I would never go again or advise any one else to
do so. Why, he said he would stay down several days after we left and
make a complete survey of the line, for the very purpose of trying over
again."
"What do you think of Andrews himself? Can he be trusted?"
"Yes; he's as true as steel, and very smart. But I am afraid he will
venture a little too far, both for himself and for those with him, one
of these days."
I have omitted the many striking incidents that Mills narrated to me in
the course of this conversation, which was more interesting to me than
any romance, because adventures very similar in their general character
to those he described will be fully narrated in another place.
I found my way back to my proper place in the regiment, feeling sure
that another attempt to destroy the Southern communications would be
made, in which I must engage if I did not positively "back out";
convinced, also, that it would involve hard labor, much peril, and, even
with these, great risk of failure.
The next day others of the Andrews party returned to us, and
corroborated the accounts given by Mills. The day following the
remainder arrived in safety. They were all glad to get back, and were
unanimous in declaring that they would not again venture disguised into
the enemy's country under any circumstances. They spoke very sparingly
about their experiences, for the officers had cautioned them to say but
little, in view of the possibility of a new venture of the same
character.
On Saturday evening, the 5th of April, we camped on the banks of Duck
River, in some pleasant meadows about a mile from the town of
Shelbyville. The next day was delightful. The spring of 1862 opened very
early, and now the meadows were verdant and the birds singing. The calm,
quiet, and beauty of that Sabbath, with the white tents dotting the
level fields, and the soldiers luxuriating in one day of rest after the
hard march, which had been rendered more fatiguing by the accompaniments
of rain and mud, form a very pleasant picture in memory. The next
Sabbath came to me under entirely different circumstances. I felt the
pressure of a vague melancholy resting upon me,--possibly it was only
that pensive feeling often inspired by a fresh, bright, and quiet day in
early spring; possibly the faint shadow of coming evil. I devoted the
greater part of the day to writing letters to friends and
newspapers,--the last I wrote for weary months. On this same day--though
we knew it not till afterwards--began the great battle of Shiloh, or
Pittsburg Landing, one hundred and fifty miles west of us.
On Monday Andrews himself returned to our lines, and asked, as I had
anticipated, for permission to renew his enterprise. He had spent
several days along the line of the Western and Atlantic Railroad,
learning the number of trains, their times of running, and everything
else likely to be useful. He had then started for camp, and being
provided with passes, so that he could take the most direct road,
besides being well mounted, he came in almost as soon as the private
soldiers who started much sooner.
But not one of the first party would return. They were tired of feeling,
as one of them expressed it, that their necks depended upon a lie. Like
Schiller's diver, they had plunged once into the abyss and returned in
safety; but, unlike that venturous youth, they would not make the second
and fatal trial.
The new expedition, as proposed by Andrews, differed in three
particulars from the first. He wanted a larger force,--twenty-four men
instead of eight. He had seen that it was possible to carry a
considerable number of men in disguise to the scene of action, and the
number now requested was none too large for the capture of a full
railway train or the overpowering of guards at important bridges. He
also wanted some engineers to be detailed, in order that no mishap might
leave them without the power of running their train. Five were secured,
thus leaving an ample margin, as it was believed, for the possibility of
capture on the way down, or of death by the enemy's bullets in the hour
of conflict. It thus became an enterprise completely fitted out in
Federal lines, without any reliance on help from the South. The third
point of difference was of more importance than a casual glance
revealed. The first expedition had an abundance of time. A week's delay,
even after the soldiers were in the enemy's country, would have involved
no risk, save that of discovery,--would, indeed, have been an advantage,
as it would allow less time for the repair of damages done to the
Southern railroads before Mitchel's arrival at Chattanooga. But now it
was different. The whole division was ready to advance, its course being
clearly indicated to the enemy, and moments became precious. By making
the utmost speed it was still possible to have the bridges burned at the
right time, but every hour's delay would render the work more difficult,
and its success more uncertain. The bearing of this question of time
will be made painfully apparent in our story.
General Mitchel received the report of Mr. Andrews (which also embraced
all the information the most skilful spy could have brought concerning
the nature and disposition of the enemy's forces), approved his prudence
in ordering the return of the soldiers, and sanctioned the second
attempt. He, however, advised caution, saying that Andrews must not
strike unless he saw a good prospect of success; but he made no
objection to the increase of force, provided volunteers could be
obtained. It was easy to secure the five engineers asked for without
going beyond the limits of the three Ohio regiments composing General
Sill's brigade. Of the detail as finally made out, nine men belonged to
the Twenty-first, eight to the Thirty-third, and seven to the Second
Ohio Regiments.
CHAPTER II.
MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION.
On Monday, April 7, while I was inside my tent engaged in some of the
little details of work which occupy a soldier's time in camp, a comrade
pulled open the canvas door and called out,--
"Pittenger, Captain Sarratt is looking for you."
I went out and met the captain, and together we walked up the street
formed by the two rows of tents to the larger tent occupied by the
company officers, which stood across the street at the upper end. He
took me inside, and then said, with a sigh,--
"Colonel Harris has just sent me word that you are to go with Andrews
down to Georgia. I do not know why he has selected you, but I advise you
not to go. You have perfect liberty to refuse."
I told him that so far from refusing my mind was fully made up to
accept, and that I had already arranged with Colonel Harris to that
effect. Sarratt was surprised to hear this, but urged every argument in
his power to dissuade me; telling me that the safe return of the four
who had been out on the former expedition had lifted a great burden from
his heart; but that if I went, it would be no better than before. I was
deeply moved by his evident concern, but had gone too far to retract. I
asked if any other member of our company was to go. He answered in the
negative, saying that he understood that but one from each company was
to be detailed. Finding persuasion in vain, he gave me a pass to
Shelbyville, where I could see Andrews and procure all necessaries for
the journey. I left him, deeply impressed by the kindness of the man,
which led him to regard the soldiers under his command as children, for
whose welfare he felt himself in a great degree responsible.
No one of my comrades yet knew of the intended expedition. In the
afternoon I took a friend with me and strolled into Shelbyville, a
well-built village of a few hundred inhabitants, and purchased some
articles of clothing, but was not able to find a complete suit. A number
of persons were engaged in making similar purchases--among others, the
sergeant-major of our regiment, Marion Ross. By watching the character
of his purchases and by a few careful questions, I found that his
business was the same as my own. No side-arms could be found, but I knew
that all lack in that direction could easily be supplied in camp.
Getting away from all other company, Ross and I strayed through the town
for some time, keeping a sharp lookout, until, at length, we saw
Andrews. His striking personal appearance made it easy to recognize him,
and, approaching, we told him that we were ordered to report to him.
After scrutinizing us a moment, and asking us the company and rank we
held, he told us that it would not be prudent to talk much in so public
a place, but to overtake him after dark a mile or more east of
Shelbyville, on the road toward Wartrace, and he would there give us
full explanations, and allow us to return to our regiments if not
satisfied with his plans. With these few words we parted from him, and
went back to our tents for final arrangements. I borrowed the additional
clothing I needed from one of the former adventurers. All my arms and
equipments I put carefully in order, packed my uniform in my knapsack to
be left in the care of the proper authorities, arrayed myself in
citizen's clothes, and stepped out of my tent. The soldiers who were
idling around passed the word to their comrades who were in their tents,
reading, playing cards, or amusing themselves in the various ways
incident to camp-life, and soon almost the whole company--indeed, all
who were not absent on guard duty--thronged around and commenced all
kinds of questions. "Pittenger, going to desert? Going home? Going out
as a spy? Got a discharge? Got a furlough?"--were a few of the inquiries
that rained from every quarter. At the same time I heard it asserted
that several other men were dressing up in the same manner. I answered
all questions in the affirmative, and stepped over to the company street
adjoining our own--that of Company K--and sought the tent in which Frank
Mills messed. He had a very good revolver which I wanted to borrow. As I
entered, he read the situation in a glance.
"So, you are going with Andrews."
I nodded, and hastened to add, "I want your revolver."
"You are welcome to the revolver, but if you know when you are well off
you will stay where you are. Because I was fool enough to go, it does
not follow that you need be."
I did not argue the question, but he saw that it was settled, and he
gave me the weapon, with a liberal supply of cartridges. I was now
ready, and the gravity of the situation forced itself more clearly upon
my apprehension. I did not expect to return to camp until the proposed
enterprise had been accomplished. Considering, therefore, that so much
was already known in camp from the report of the former party, and from
seeing me arrayed as I was, I could not understand that it would be any
advantage for me to steal away unnoticed. With this view, I went up to
Captain Sarratt's quarters and bade him good-by. He was almost overcome
with emotion, and could not muster a single one of his accustomed
good-natured jokes. Then came the farewells to tried comrades. Few of
them had any distinct conception of the nature of my errand, but they
knew it was secret and dangerous, and this was enough to excite their
apprehension. They labored hard to dissuade me. The devotion of one of
their number, my inseparable companion, Alexander Mills, was especially
affecting. Though he had been lying in our tent very sick all day, he
now crawled to the door and begged me not to go. Finding that I was
fully determined, he hurried as fast as his tottering steps would allow
to headquarters, for permission to go along! Notwithstanding his
physical inability, he persisted in his request until the colonel
threatened to have him put under arrest. Had he been well he would not
have been refused, as he was a most excellent soldier; but in the trying
times that followed, it was a great satisfaction to me that he was left
behind. Poor fellow! he lost his life while carrying the flag of the
Second Ohio at the battle of Lookout Mountain, eighteen months later,
and now sleeps in the beautiful National Cemetery at Chattanooga,--that
town towards which our steps were now bent.
When all the farewells were over I strolled back to Shelbyville, meeting
Sergeant Ross as we had arranged, and passed the time pleasantly with
him in looking about the village until about dark, when we inquired the
road to Wartrace, and started for the rendezvous that Andrews had
appointed. We walked very leisurely, expecting that some of our number,
who were probably behind, would soon overtake us, and having a curiosity
to ascertain whether we could recognize them by speech or manner as
belonging to our party. We saw several persons, but they were travelling
the opposite way, and we began to be apprehensive that we had taken the
wrong road.
As we journeyed on, we noticed a house surrounded by a yard, and Ross
proposed getting a drink of water. Crossing the fence we went up to the
house, but before we reached the door, a dog came up silently behind my
companion, and, biting his leg, ran under the house before a revolver
could be drawn.
The bite was not severe, and I laughed heartily at his mishap; but
after drinking, and before reaching the fence, the same dog rushed out
once more. Ross saw him in time, and sprang over the fence, but I sat on
the top of it in fancied security. The malicious creature sprang at me,
seized my coat, and tore a large piece out of it. The same coat, thus
torn, I wore during the whole of the year through which our adventures
extended. The incident was trivial, but in the deepening darkness, with
a thunder-storm, which now began to mutter in the distance, approaching,
uncertain as to where our comrades were, and at the beginning of a
desperate enterprise, it stands out in memory with lurid distinctness.
To a superstitious person it might have seemed ominous of the results of
that expedition in which Ross perished, and from which I returned a
shattered and disabled invalid.
A pistol-shot easily cleared us of the dog, and we pursued our way,--not
rejoicingly, for our situation grew every moment more perplexing. Not
one of our comrades was visible, and we were almost certain we had taken
the wrong road. Finally, we resolved to retrace our steps, and try to
get in Shelbyville some better clue to our journey. Unless we could
obtain further instructions, we knew not how or where to go. We did not
like to return to camp, for that would probably delay us too long to
take part in the enterprise, and the failure to go, after our affecting
leave-taking, would have formed a ludicrous anticlimax, and probably
have been charged to cowardice. At a cross-road in sight of Shelbyville,
where we felt sure that any of the adventurers who obeyed the directions
we had received must pass, we sat down and waited nearly an hour longer.
Our patience was rewarded. We had started too soon, and from this
miscalculation all our perplexity arose. A few men, whom we recognized
almost instinctively as belonging to our party, came along the road in
the right direction. A little guarded conversation showed us that we
were right, and we strolled slowly on with them. Shortly afterwards
others overtook us, among whom was Andrews. This was a great relief, as
we now had a guide. Soon we were as far from Shelbyville as Ross and I
alone had been, and a few hundred yards farther on fell in with still
other men. Our party had so greatly increased as to be quite
conspicuous, and it was advisable to add still further security to the
cover of the night. Accordingly, we left the road for some distance,
and, marching silently, were soon at the appointed rendezvous.
A little thicket of dead and withered trees, a short distance from the
road, and sufficiently open to assure us that no listener was near, was
the place of our assemblage. Never was a consultation preparatory to
some desperate deed held under more fitting circumstances. The storm
which had been gathering all the evening was now near. Black clouds
covered one half the sky, and the young moon, low down in the west, was
soon obscured. The frequent flashes of lightning, more vivid in the
darkness, and the low roll of thunder that followed, grew continually
more emphatic, forming most startling interruptions to the earnest but
suppressed words of our leader. It is very singular that amid these
ominous surroundings, which fitted so well the character of the business
in hand, one ordinary sound stands out in my memory, far more clear and
distinct than any part of the scene. Far off I heard the bark or howl of
a dog,--no doubt at some farm-house,--roused either by the coming storm
which began to sway the leafless boughs above us, or by the passing of
some belated traveller. Popular superstition would probably have
considered such a sound as ominous of evil; and most of us are
superstitious when young, in the dark, and entering upon unknown
dangers.
We formed a close circle around Mr. Andrews while he revealed to us his
daring plans. In a voice as soft and low as a woman's, but tremulous
with suppressed enthusiasm, he painted the greatness of the project
we were to attempt, the sublimity of rushing through a hostile country
at the full speed of steam, leaving flaming bridges and raging but
powerless foes behind. But he did not disguise the dangers to be
encountered.
[Illustration: Midnight Consultation.
Page 32.]
"Soldiers," he said, "if you are detected while engaged in this
business, the great probability is that you will be put to death,--hung
as spies, or massacred by a mob. I want you to clearly understand this,
and if you are not willing to take the risk, return to camp, and keep
perfectly quiet about it."
A murmur all around the circle conveyed the assurance that we would
follow him to the last extremity.
"Our plan," he continued, "is simply this: you are to travel on foot, or
by any conveyance you can hire, either to Chattanooga or some station
not far from that point on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad; then you
can take passage on the cars down to Marietta; that will be our next
place of assembling, and not Atlanta. You must be there by Thursday
evening, ready to take passage on the cars northward again by Friday
morning. I will be there as soon as you, and tell you what more is to be
done."
"But how about money to pay our way?" was asked.
"I have plenty of Confederate money, and will share it among you before
we part. As to your story, you cannot do better than to tell everybody
that you are Kentuckians coming South to get away from the Yankees, and
to join the Confederate army; only be careful to have always some
plausible reason for going farther before joining. A great many
Kentuckians have gone South by this route, and are very heartily
received. If you will go eastward through Wartrace and Manchester, you
will get into the track they usually take, and by then turning south,
you will not appear to be heading from the Union army. If any one of you
are questioned closely, you may say you are from Fleming County, for I
happen to know that no soldiers from that county are in this part of the
country."
All of these directions were eagerly listened to, but the closing one
afterwards bore disastrous fruit.
One of the soldiers asked, "If any of us are suspected, and find we
can't get away, what would you ad vise us to do?"
"Enlist without hesitation in the rebel army," was the response. "You
are fully authorized to do that, and no one of this party will be
accused of desertion, even if captured among the rebels. I would be
sorry to lose any one of you, but it will be far better that you should
serve awhile with the enemy than to acknowledge who you are, and thus
risk the disclosure of the enterprise."
"But is it likely that we could get the chance thus to enlist?" it was
further asked.
"Most certainly," said Andrews. "They are taking all the prisoners out
of the jails and enlisting them. They are picking up men who have run
away from the conscription wherever they can find them, and serving them
in the same manner. If you tell your story and stick to it, even if they
are not satisfied that you are telling the truth, they will put you into
the service. You can stay until some dark night on picket. But I hope
you will escape all trouble, and all meet me at Marietta safely. Break
this party up into squads of three or four, and don't recognize each
other on the way. I will ride along the same country you are travelling,
and give you any help or direction in my power. But you must not
recognize me unless sure that we are not observed."
There was but one subject on which I cared to ask any questions, and
that related to a distant contingency. I was well informed as to the
first part of the intended enterprise.
"Suppose we succeed in capturing the train," I said, "and in burning the
bridges, are we then to leave the train, and try to steal back to our
lines in the same way we are now going South?"
"By no means," replied Mr. Andrews. "We will run the train right through
Chattanooga, and westward until we meet Mitchel, who by that time will
be coming eastward on the road from Memphis. If we should not quite
reach him, we will get so close that we can dash through in a body."
This was satisfactory as far as it went, but there was still another
contingency. More than anything else I dreaded being left alone in an
unknown country.
"If we fail to run the captured train through Chattanooga, will we then
disperse or stick together?"
"After we meet at Marietta, we will keep together, and, if necessary,
cut our way back to our own lines. Form your squads now, and I will give
out the money."
Swiftly we selected our companions. There was little time for choice.
Most of the men were strangers. The darkness was intense, and the
thunder-peals almost overhead. In a moment we formed six or seven little
groups. My former comrade, Ross, stood with another man or two beside
Andrews. Two men from Captain Mitchel's company and one from the next
company to that in the regimental line stood by my side. Andrews went
from group to group, giving out the money freely, and answering
questions that were still asked. When this was accomplished, he
addressed himself once more to the whole number, and we crowded around
to listen to his parting words. They gave us the fullest insight into
the whole plan we had yet received.
"To-morrow morning," said he, "Mitchel, with his whole army, will start
on a forced march right south to Huntsville. He will capture that town
not later than Friday (it was now Monday night), and will then turn east
towards Chattanooga. We must burn the bridges south of Chattanooga the
same day, for after that, the road will be crowded with trains bringing
reinforcements against him and running property away, and our task will
be very much harder. So we have no time to lose. We must be at Marietta
on Thursday evening. The last train for that station leaves Chattanooga
at five o'clock in the afternoon. Be sure to catch it. Good-by."
He gave each of us his hand with a hearty pressure and fervent good
wishes. Not many moments after, the storm broke over us with all its
fury. The rain fell in torrents. The last glimpse I caught of Andrews as
my party of four hurried on their prescribed course was by means of a
broad glare of lightning that made the drenched landscape for a moment
as bright as day. He had just parted from the last group and was gazing
after us.
CHAPTER III.
COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS.
Who was this Mr. Andrews, from whom we had just parted in storm and
darkness,--the man from whose brain sprang the Chattanooga Railroad
Expedition, and to whose keeping we had so fearlessly committed our
lives? Few of us knew much about him at that time, but became wiser
afterwards. As he is the hero of the earlier part of this story, it may
be well to give the reader the benefit of all the information as to his
character and history subsequently obtained.
Mr. J. J. Andrews was born in that part of Western Virginia known as the
"Pan Handle," on the eastern bank of the Ohio River, and only separated
from my own county of Jefferson by that stream. While quite young he had
removed to the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, settling in Fleming
County. Here he acquired considerable wealth, but at the outbreak of
the civil war lost most of it again. While in business here he
travelled over much of the South, and became acquainted with many men
whom the war afterwards threw into prominence. At the first outbreak of
hostilities he joined the Union army, not as a soldier, but in the still
more useful and dangerous character of a spy and secret negotiator. He
accompanied General Nelson in his Eastern Kentucky campaign, on which
occasion I had seen him at Prestonburg, and afterwards he journeyed back
and forth two or three times from Nashville before the capture of that
city. He also spent several days in Fort Donelson during the week
preceding its capture by General Grant. At this place he narrowly
escaped detection. Subsequently he visited Atlanta and brought back much
valuable information. By representing himself as a blockade-runner, and
carrying southward through our lines articles of small bulk but of great
value to the enemy, he secured their confidence and brought back
information a hundredfold more valuable. This business was pecuniarily
profitable to himself as well as very serviceable to the Union army. A
Mr. Whiteman, of Nashville, afterwards testified that he had paid him
ten thousand dollars for one cargo, the most of which was clear profit.
Some of the Southern officers with whom he was intimate had bestowed
upon him passes authorizing him to come and go through their lines at
pleasure. It is not my intention to offer any apology for a man who thus
betrays the confidence even of rebels. What justice requires to be said
on this subject will find a more appropriate place in explaining the
position of those who accompanied him in his last and most perilous
journey. His occupation was one of the utmost danger, and he could not
expect much mercy if detected. He had even gone the length of taking the
oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy, though he was
passionately loyal to the old government. Indeed, his hatred for
secession and everything connected with it had become the more intense
from the very disguise he so frequently assumed; and the desire to work
all possible injury to that cause had far more influence in inducing him
to pursue his perilous vocation than any hope of reward. I have since
been told by Southern authorities that he acknowledged being promised
fifty thousand dollars reward in case he succeeded in destroying the
bridges from Atlanta to Chattanooga, but I never heard of such a
contract. Certainly no reward whatever was promised directly or
indirectly to the soldiers who accompanied him, and I never heard
Andrews himself speak of expecting any pecuniary recompense.
Mr. Andrews was nearly six feet in height, of powerful frame, black
hair, and long, black, and silken beard, Roman features, a high and
expansive forehead, and a voice fine and soft as a woman's. Of polished
manners, stately presence, and more than ordinary personal beauty, wide
information, great shrewdness and sagacity, he was admirably fitted to
win favor in a community like that of the South, which has always placed
a high value on personal qualities. He had also the clear forethought in
devising complicated schemes, and the calmness in the hour of danger
necessary for the perilous game he played. Carrying his life in his hand
whenever he ventured beyond the Union pickets, involved continually in
dangers, where a single thoughtless word, or even an unguarded look,
might lead to detection and death, he had learned to rely absolutely on
his own resources, and to contemplate with easy familiarity enterprises
that would have looked like sheer madness to one without this
preliminary drill.
But it was said that even he had grown tired of this perpetual risk, and
intended, if successful in this last and most difficult enterprise, to
retire to peaceful life. A tender influence conspired to the same end,
and imparts a dash of romance to his story. He was engaged to be married
in the following June, and intended then to retire from the army. Alas!
June had a far different fate in store for him.
At our interview in the afternoon, as well as in the midnight
consultation, Andrews impressed me as a man who combined intellect and
refinement with the most dauntless courage. Yet his pensive manner, slow
speech, and soft voice indicated not obscurely what I afterwards found
to be almost his only fault as a leader,--a hesitancy in deciding
important questions on the spur of the moment, and in backing his
decision by prompt, vigorous action. This did not detract from his value
as a secret agent when alone, for then all his actions were premeditated
and accomplished with surpassing coolness and bravery; but it was
otherwise in commanding men in startling and unforeseen emergencies.
This trait of character will be more fully developed in the course of
the story.
How were the soldiers selected who assembled that evening at the
rendezvous? This question was asked with curiosity and wonder by the
enemy, and is of great importance in estimating the treatment of such of
their number as were afterwards captured. The enemy could not, by their
utmost exertions, obtain correct information on this subject; but there
is now no reason for reticence. The nature of the enterprise was such
that it could not be publicly explained and volunteers called for, as it
was quite possible that spies of the enemy were in our camp; neither was
it right, according to the laws of war, to divest soldiers of their
uniform and place them under the orders of a spy without their full
consent. A medium course was adopted, which avoided the opposite
difficulties as far as possible. The captains who were ordered to
furnish each a man gathered a few of their soldiers about them in a
quiet way, and stated that a volunteer was wanted for a very dangerous
enterprise. Of those who professed willingness to go one was selected,
taken aside from the others, and told simply that he was to be sent
disguised into the heart of the enemy's country, under the orders of a
Southern citizen, whom the commanding officers trusted fully. If they
felt like engaging in this service, with all its risks, they could see
this man and learn more; but if not, they would be at liberty to decline
the dangerous honor. In one or two cases these preliminary explanations
were so vague that the men addressed did not fairly understand the
matter, and subsequently declared that if they had been more fully
informed they would not have taken the first step. After they met
Andrews, however, they felt that their reputation was at stake, and were
not willing to "back out." In one or two other cases the men were merely
selected by their captains and ordered, without any preliminary
explanations, to report to Andrews outside of the lines.
Twenty-four men were thus detailed, twenty-three of whom met at the
rendezvous. The twenty-fourth we never heard of; whether he tried to
reach us and failed, or whether some one of the captains who was to
furnish a man was unable to induce any one to accept the dangerous
honor, is uncertain. Indeed, there must have been a failure of two men,
for we had one with us who was not originally expected to go. Captain
Mitchel had one man to furnish, and Perry G. Shadrach was chosen.
William Campbell, a native of Salineville, Ohio, but for many years a
citizen of Kentucky, a man of wild and adventurous habits, was visiting
Shadrach, and at once asked and obtained permission to go with him.
Though he was only a civilian, we always spoke of him as an enlisted
soldier of Captain Mitchel's company.
While we are splashing along in the darkness and under the fast-falling
rain, it may be a good time to describe the members of the squad with
whom I travelled. Shadrach and Campbell were two of its members. The
former was small but roundly built, a merry, reckless fellow, often
profane, easily put out of temper, but very kind, and willing to
sacrifice anything for a friend. Campbell was physically the strongest
man of the whole party and possibly of Mitchel's division as well. He
weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, was perfectly proportioned, very
active, apparently fond of danger for its own sake, and as true as
steel. Neither of these two men possessed much skill in duplicity or
shrewdness in planning. They were willing to leave the task of asking
and answering questions to their comrades, but were always ready to bear
their full share in action.
The third, George D. Wilson, of Cincinnati, was of very different
character. He was not highly educated, though he had read a great deal,
but in natural shrewdness I have rarely, if ever, known his equal. He
was of middle age, whilst most of us had just passed out of boyhood. He
had traveled extensively, and had observed and remembered everything he
encountered. In the use of fiery and scorching denunciations he was a
master, and took great delight in overwhelming an opponent with an
unmeasured torrent of abuse. In action he was brave and cool; no danger
could frighten him, no emergency find him unprepared. The friendship I
felt for him grew steadily until his tragic death. I depended on his
judgment and advice more than on that of any one in the whole
expedition.
The writer was first corporal in Company G of the Second Regiment of
Ohio Volunteers, and had just been promoted to the position of sergeant.
I was twenty-two years of age, a native of Jefferson County, Ohio, had
been reared on a farm, had taught school in the winters, and more
recently had entered on the study of law. My opportunities for acquiring
knowledge were very limited, but had been tolerably well improved. I had
read a good many volumes and gained a fair English education. For war
and warlike affairs I had not the slightest taste, and was indeed so
near-sighted that it was very doubtful whether I could ever make an
efficient soldier. When the call for three months' troops was made at
the bombardment of Fort Sumter, I felt that the emergency was so great
as to require the services of every patriot, and immediately enlisted. I
did not then contemplate a longer term of service, as I believed that
the government would be able to organize an adequate force within that
period from those who were better adapted to the profession of arms. My
decision to enter the ranks was not made without some forethought. Just
previous to putting my name to the enlistment paper, I took a solitary
night walk and tried to bring up in imagination all the perils and
discomforts that were possible in military service, asking myself
whether I was willing to endure any of them that might fall to my lot as
the result of the step I then contemplated. Having decided, I returned
to the mass-meeting (convened in the court-house of Steubenville, Ohio)
and entered my name as a volunteer. The company formed that night was
hurried to Washington, and on the route was organized with others into
the Second Ohio Regiment. During the three months' service our only
experience of fighting was in the badly-managed battle, or rather
skirmish, of Bull Run. On the battle-field, when the tide of fortune
turned against us, I concluded that I ought to re-enlist for two
reasons. It was hard to quit the army with no experience but that of
defeat, and the country's need of men was still urgent. When the Second
Ohio was reorganized for three years' service, I therefore continued in
the ranks. We were sent to Eastern Kentucky, and succeeded, after some
trifling engagements, in clearing that part of the State from rebels. We
were then ordered to Louisville, and greatly to my delight were put
under the command of the astronomer Mitchel. A few years before I had
studied astronomy enthusiastically, and had even gone so far as to
construct a ten-foot telescope for my own use. This similarity of tastes
led me to feel greatly delighted, and almost acquainted, with our new
general. His fame as an astronomer did not guarantee his success in war;
but the ability displayed in one profession was a hopeful indication for
the other. Our division participated in the advance upon Bowling Green
and afterwards upon Nashville. This service offered no hardship except
wintry marches, for the capture of Fort Donelson by General Grant had
broken the enemy's resistance. During this march there was not perfect
accord between Mitchel and his less energetic superior, General Buell.
Even the soldiers learned something of their disputes, and were much
gratified when, at Nashville, Mitchel was detached from the main army
and left to operate independently. In three days he marched to
Murfreesborough, where this narrative opens.
[Illustration: WILLIAM PITTENGER.
[1882--twenty years later.]
Page 42.]
On parting from Andrews we worked our way eastward, keeping not far from
the railroad leading to Wartrace. We did not wish to travel very far
through the rain, which was almost pouring down, but only to get well
beyond the Federal pickets, so as to have a clear track for a long
journey on the following day. We wished to elude our own pickets, not
only to avoid detention, but to gain a little practice in such work. It
was our intention to get that night beyond Wartrace, where our last
outpost in that direction was stationed; but our progress was so slow
and fatiguing that we changed our minds, and determined to find a
lodging at once. This resolution was more easily made than accomplished.
For a long time we searched in vain. It seemed as if the country was
uninhabited. At length the barking of a dog gave a clue, which was
diligently followed. The better to prosecute the search, we formed a
line within hearing distance of each other, and then swept around in all
directions. A barn was our first discovery, but we were so completely
wet and chilled that we resolved to persevere in hope of a bed and a
fire.
Shortly after, finding a rude, double log house, we roused the inmates
and demanded shelter for the night. The farmer was evidently alarmed,
but let us in, and then began to investigate our character.
I narrate minutely the events that accompanied our first setting out,
not so much for their intrinsic interest, as for the sake of giving a
vivid idea of the conduct required by the nature of our expedition. This
may also be a good place to answer a question often asked, "How can the
equivocation and downright falsehood that follows be justified?" I am
not bound to attempt any formal justification; but it is easy to show
that all the moral question involved is only a branch of the larger
question as to the morality of war. In its very nature, war is
compounded of force and fraud in nearly equal quantities. If one of the
necessary ingredients be wrong, the other can hardly be right. The most
conscientious general thinks nothing of making movements with the sole
purpose of deceiving his adversary, or of writing absolutely false
despatches for the same purpose. If it be right to kill our
fellow-beings, I suppose it is also right to deceive them in order to
get a better chance to kill them! The golden rule, which is the basis of
all morality, has but little place as between hostile armies or nations.
To find where some unsuspecting persons are asleep, and steal upon them,
begin to shoot and stab before they can wake to defend themselves,
would, in peace, be thought a crime of the most dastardly and ferocious
character; but, in war, it is only a surprise, and, if successful,
confers the greatest honor upon those who plan and execute it. Are there
two sets of morals,--the one for peace, the other for war? "But," the
objector may continue, "is not a constant resort to falsehood in a
secret expedition peculiarly dishonorable?" Let us look this question
fairly in the face. All armies employ spies, and the old adage, "The
receiver is as bad as the thief," is here fully applicable. A general
who induces a man, by the hope of money or promotion, to go disguised
into the enemy's lines, with a lie in his mouth, for the general's
advantage, is a full partner in the enterprise, and cannot throw off his
share of the guilt. It is true that the laws of war throw all the odium
on the spy. But the generals, and not the spies, made the laws of war.
Besides, there is no necessary connection between the laws of war and
the laws of morality. The former are merely the rules men construct for
the regulation of the most tremendous of all their games, and can never
affect the essence of right and wrong. I do not wish to argue the
abstract right of deceiving an enemy, or of deviating from the strict
truth for any purpose whatever. It is enough for my purpose to show that
deception is an element in all war. The candid reader will also consider
that most of us were very young. The common sentiment of the camp was
that deceiving a rebel in any manner was a meritorious action. With the
full sanction of our officers, we had entered upon an expedition which
required disguise and deception. We had been expressly told that we were
not even to hesitate in joining the rebel army,--which implied taking
the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy,--if that step became
necessary to avoid detection. In the whole of this expedition we were
true to each other and to the mission upon which we had entered, but we
did not hesitate at any kind or degree of untruthfulness directed
towards the enemy. Such was the effect of our resolution in this
direction that no one, so far as I remember, ever expressed any sorrow
or remorse for any of the falsehoods that were so plentifully employed.
Indeed, while the war lasted, I did not find a single person, in the
army or out, who ever criticised our expedition from the _moral_
stand-point. There seemed to be some kind of an instinctive feeling that
the revolted States had forfeited all their rights by rebellion,--even
that of having the truth told to them. I confess that deception was very
painful to me at first, and from inclination, as well as policy, I used
it as sparingly as possible. But practice made it comparatively easy
and pleasant, within the limits indicated above.
We did not wait for all these reasonings before we began to practise
deception upon our host. He was informed that we were Kentuckians,
disgusted with the tyranny of the Lincoln government, and seeking an
asylum in the free and independent South. His reply was a grateful
surprise. "Oh," said he, "you come on a bootless errand, and might as
well go home again and make the best of it. The whole South will soon be
as much under Lincoln as Kentucky is."
"Never!" we answered. "We'll fight till we die, first!"
At this the old man chuckled quietly, but only said, "Well, we'll see,
we'll see." We found him to be an enthusiastic Union man, but firmly
maintained our own assumed character. He provided us with a good supper,
late as it was, and with good beds, which we refused to occupy until he
had promised not to betray us to the Union pickets.
The next morning we were early on our way, reaching Wartrace in the
midst of a pelting storm. Attempting to pass directly through, our
soldiers on guard were too vigilant for us, and we enjoyed another
opportunity for "diplomacy," in the endeavor to represent ourselves as
innocent citizens from the adjoining country. But it was more difficult
to deceive our own men than the enemy, and, to avoid detection, we were
obliged to reveal our true character, which secured our immediate
release.
We plodded onward through the deep mud and splashing roads, and were now
outside our own lines. Our only safety, from this time, lay in our
disguise and in our false tongues. We felt not unlike the landsman who
for the first time loses sight of the shore, and feels the heaving of
the broad ocean under his feet. To the average Northern citizen a vague
mystery and terror had rested over the whole of the Southern States,
even before the beginning of the war. During the existence of slavery no
Northern man dared make his home in the presence of that institution and
express any views unfavorable to it. Many tales of violence and blood
were reported from that region long before hostilities began, and as the
passions which led to the contest grew more fierce, the shadows still
deepened. When war began the curtain fell, and only reports of wild and
desperate enthusiasm in behalf of the cause of disunion and slavery,
with stories of the most cruel oppression of the few who dared to differ
with the ruling class in still loving the old flag, reached Northern
ears. No doubt there were many exaggerations, but there was a solid
basis of fact. The South was swept with a revolutionary frenzy equal to
any that history recalls, and the people were ready to sacrifice any one
whose life seemed dangerous to their cause. Even exaggeration was potent
as truth in aiding to invest the region beyond the Union lines with
mysterious horror. Into this land of peril and fear and frequent outrage
we were plunging as the secret but deadly enemies of the whole people.
Now, when Chattanooga and Atlanta are brought into such easy
communication with Northern cities, it is difficult to recall the
feelings with which they were regarded in the dark days of eighteen
hundred and sixty-two. But hope and courage outweighed apprehension in
our hearts, and we pushed rapidly forward.
Others of our party were occasionally seen trudging along in the dreary
rain, and sometimes we went with them a little way, but mostly we kept
by ourselves. Shortly after noon we crossed Duck River, and entered
Manchester, stopping just long enough to get the names of some of the
prominent secessionists along our proposed route, that we might always
have some one to inquire for, and be recommended from one influential
man to another. Nightfall this evening (Tuesday) found us still several
miles from Hillsborough, and we began to fear that we would be behind
time in reaching our destination. Each one was weary and stiff, but we
resolved to make every effort, and, if necessary, travel a whole night
rather than be too late. I have always been sorry that this night
journey was not required of us.
At the place where we lodged that night I first heard a slave-holder
talk of hunting negroes with blood-hounds. In conversation after supper
our host said to us, as a mere matter of news, "I saw some persons
dodging about the back of the plantation just as it was getting dark,
and in the morning I will take the hounds and go out and hunt them up. I
will be glad to have you go along and see the sport, if you can afford
the time. If they prove to be negroes I will make something."
"What will you do with them?" I asked.
"Oh, turn them over to the authorities and get the reward," was the
answer. "I have caught a considerable number, and it pays to keep on the
lookout."
Of course we had to agree outwardly; but the idea of hunting human
beings with the ferocious-looking dogs we had seen about his door, and
that for money, thrilled me with detestation and horror. Soon afterwards
we found that blood-hounds were not kept for negroes alone.
After a sound night's rest we continued our journey, and were fortunate
enough to find a man who was willing, for the good of the Confederacy,
and for an extravagant price in money, to give us a short ride. The
conveyance was an old wagon, with a wood-rack for a bed, four mules,
with a scanty chain harness, ropes for bridles and lines, a driver black
as ebony, who rode the lead mule, with a straw bag for a saddle, and
flourished a fine black-snake whip,--the latter the only really good
article in the whole "turnout." Seven or eight of our party were now
together, and we rattled merrily over the stony road, holding on to the
sides of the old wood-rack, and agreeing that this was much better than
walking. About the middle of the forenoon we came in sight of the
Cumberland Mountains. It was now Wednesday, our second day outside of
our own lines.
Never have I beheld more beautiful scenery. For a short time the rain
ceased to fall and the air became clear. The mountains shone in the
freshest green, and about their tops clung a soft, shadowy mist,
gradually descending lower, and shrouding one after another of the spurs
and high mountain valleys from view. But the beautiful scene did not
long continue. Soon the mist deepened into cloud, and the interminable
rain began again to fall. To add to our discontent, our wagon could go
no farther, and we once more waded in the mud.
At noon we found a dinner of the coarsest fare at a miserable one-roomed
hut. One of our men, not belonging, however, to the squad I usually
travelled with, managed to get possession of a bottle of apple-brandy,
which he used so freely as to become very talkative. He was placed
between two others, who kept him from all communication with strangers,
and walked him rapidly on until he became sober. This was the only
instance of such dangerous imprudence in the whole journey.
From the personal narrative of J. Alfred Wilson, who was with us by this
time, I will make frequent extracts, though by no means always indorsing
his opinions as to military affairs, or the hopefulness of our
enterprise. He was a man of great resolution and endurance, though by no
means of hopeful temper. He says,--
"Not till fairly away from the sight of the old flag and of
our regiments, and entirely within the enemy's line, could we
begin to realize the great responsibility we had incurred. To
begin with, we had cast aside our uniforms and put on citizen's
clothes, and assumed all the penalties that, in military usage,
the word _spy_ implies, which is death the world over. Again,
our mission was such that concealment was impossible. We were
sure to arouse the whole Confederacy and invoke the brutal
vengeance of its frenzied leaders in case we did not make good
our escape after doing our work. The military spy, in the
ordinary line of his duty, is not compelled to expose himself
to detection. On the contrary, he conceals, in every possible
way, his identity. This we could do until in the heart of the
enemy's country, the very place where we would be in the
greatest danger."
Some of the groups fell into the natural error of overdoing their part,
and by the very violence with which they denounced the United States
government excited suspicion. One party of five or six made a narrow
escape from this kind of danger. Their talk was too extravagant and
their answers to some questions somewhat contradictory. As none but
citizens were then present, no objections were made to their statements;
but a company of rebel guerillas was secretly summoned, and they were
pursued. The guerillas arrived at a house where this party had passed
the night but a few moments after they had resumed their journey in the
morning. The pursuit was continued; but growing somewhat weary, and
receiving more reassuring accounts of the travellers ahead, the chase
was abandoned, and our comrades escaped.
Two others of our number were less fortunate. They became involved in
the same manner, were followed, overtaken, and arrested. They told their
Kentucky story in vain, but as they professed their willingness to
enlist in the rebel army, that privilege was granted them. They were
sent to the nearest post and duly sworn in. Not long afterwards they
took the step that had been in their minds at the hour of enlistment by
endeavoring to desert. One of them succeeded, but the other was
arrested, and had to suffer a long and severe imprisonment. Finally,
however, he was sent back to camp, and his next attempt at desertion was
more successful.
In conversation my own group was careful to take a very moderate though
decided Southern tone. It was agreed that Wilson and myself should, as
far as possible, do all the talking when in the presence of the enemy.
On entering towns it was our custom to go directly to the street corners
and the groceries, inquire for the latest news, tell our Kentucky story
as often as it seemed necessary, deny some of the reports of Union
outrages and confirm others, assuring the bystanders that the Yankees
were not half so bad as reported, and especially that they would fight,
as otherwise they would never have conquered our great State of
Kentucky, and then demand, in the name of the common cause of the South,
direction and assistance on our way. We thus acquired much information,
and were never once suspected. It is my deliberate opinion that we could
have travelled from Richmond to New Orleans in the same manner at that
period of the war.
A little way out from our camp Dorsey met a man who seemed to be a
Southern spy, and on the strength of this suspicion was strongly tempted
to shoot him to prevent the irreparable harm he might do us. A little
watching, however, partly dispelled first impressions. The same man
afterwards offered Wilson a liberal reward to pilot him over the
mountains, and actually claimed to be a Confederate spy. Wilson kept
with him for a time and watched him narrowly, but became convinced that
he had not the least suspicion of our expedition. He allowed him,
therefore, to go on his way in peace. It is possible that he was not
what he pretended, any more than we ourselves were Kentucky citizens.
This man was met once more in Chattanooga, but then disappeared.
As we were mounting the first spurs of the Cumberland Mountains we
encountered a Confederate soldier from the East, who was then at home on
a furlough. He had been in many battles, among them the battle of Bull
Run, which he described minutely. Little did he think that I, too, had
been there, as we laughed together at the wild panic of the fugitive
Yankees. He was greatly delighted to see so many Kentuckians coming out
on the right side in the great struggle, and contrasted our conduct with
that of some mean-spirited persons in his own neighborhood who were so
foolish and depraved as to still sympathize with the abolitionists.
When we parted he grasped my hand with tears in his eyes, and said he
hoped "the time would soon come when we would be comrades, fighting side
by side in one glorious cause!" My heart revolted from the hypocrisy I
was compelled to use, but having begun there was no possibility of
turning back. We clambered up the mountain till the top was reached;
then across the level summit for six miles; then down again by an
unfrequented road over steep rocks, yawning chasms, and great gullies
cut out by recent rains. This rough jaunt led us down into Battle Creek,
which is a picturesque valley opening out into the Tennessee, and hemmed
in by projecting ranges of lofty mountains. As we descended the slopes,
a countryman we had overtaken told me how the valley had obtained its
name. The legend is very romantic, and probably truthful.
There was an Indian war between two neighboring tribes in early times.
One of them made a plundering expedition into the territory of the
other, and after securing their booty retreated homeward. They were
promptly pursued, and traced to this valley. The pursuers believed them
to be concealed within its rocky limits, and to make their capture sure
divided their force into two bands, each of which crept along the steep
opposite sides towards the head of the valley. It was early in the
morning, and as they worked their way cautiously along the mountain mist
rolled downward as we had seen it do that morning, and enveloped each of
the parties in its folds. Determined not to be foiled, they kept on, and
meeting at the head of the valley, each supposed the other to be the
foe. They poured in their fire, and a deadly conflict ensued. Not till
the greater number of their braves had fallen did the survivors discover
their sad mistake; then they slowly and sorrowfully retreated to their
wigwams. The plunderers, who had listened to their conflict in safety,
being higher up the mountain, were left to bear off their booty in
triumph.
But we had little leisure for legendary tales. We rested for the night
with a wealthy secessionist, whom our soldier friend on the mountains
had designated as "the right kind of a man." He received us with open
arms, and shared the best his house afforded. We spent the evening in
denouncing the policy of the Federal government and in exchanging views
as to the prospects of the war. Among other topics I happened to mention
an expatriation law which, as I had learned from a newspaper paragraph,
had been passed by the Kentucky Legislature a few weeks before. This law
only made the reasonable provision that all persons going South to join
the rebel army should lose their rights of State citizenship. The old
man thought this to be an act of unparalleled oppression; and in the
morning, before we were out of bed, he came into our room and requested
some of us to write down that infamous law that he might be able to give
his Union neighbors a convincing proof of Yankee wickedness! We
complied, and all signed our names as witnesses. No doubt that document
was long the theme of angry discussion in many a mountain cabin.
So thoroughly did we maintain our assumed character in this instance,
that three days after, when the culmination of our enterprise came to
the Confederates like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, it was
impossible to make our host believe that his guests were among the
adventurers. This we learned from a Union man to whom he had shown a
copy of the terrible expatriation law!
We were still more than forty miles distant from Chattanooga on this
Wednesday evening, and were due at that place by five o'clock the next
day. On each of the two preceding days we had measured about thirty
miles,--a good rate of speed, but not sufficient. We had formed the
resolution of taking a night journey of ten or fifteen miles, but before
starting after supper, another squad arrived and managed to tell us that
they had seen Andrews and been informed that the grand enterprise was
postponed one day. This was a great relief, for it was hard to tear away
from our comfortable quarters; but this delay was a serious mistake. In
all combined movements in war, time is of prime importance. On the
appointed Friday success would have been easy; on Saturday--but we must
not anticipate.
Andrews had also caused the advice to be passed along the line that it
would be better to attempt to cross the Tennessee at some point far west
of Chattanooga, and taking passage on the Memphis and Charleston
Railroad, endeavor to pass through Chattanooga by rail. He had heard of
stringent orders being issued against any one crossing the river near
this town without a pass. Farther down the stream these orders might not
apply, or, in case of necessity, a raft might be constructed among the
wooded mountains, and a passage obtained by that means.
About noon of the next day we came to Jasper, and spent a short time in
the principal grocery of the place talking over the state of the
country. We informed the idlers that there would soon be a mighty
uprising of Kentuckians in favor of the Southern cause, but professed
ignorance of the movements of Mitchel's army. In return we received the
first vague reports of the battle of Pittsburg Landing. It was the
impression that the Union army was totally destroyed, thousands of men
being slain, and innumerable cannon captured. One countryman assured me
that five hundred Yankee gunboats had been sunk! I ventured to suggest a
doubt as to the Yankees having so many, but was not able to shake his
faith.
The same night we reached the banks of the Tennessee, directly south of
Jasper, and lodged at the house of a Mrs. Hall. A flat-boat owned by one
of the neighbors was used as a ferry-boat, and arrangements were made
for setting us on the other side of the stream early in the morning. The
evening spent here was very enjoyable. Others of our party came in, and
among them Andrews himself. After a good supper, we were all assigned to
the best room, which had a roaring wood-fire in an open chimney, and two
large beds in the corners. We met without any outward sign of
recognition, but rapidly became acquainted. Each acted according to his
own nature. The bountiful supper and the cheerful fire greatly refreshed
us after the labor of the day. My companion, Shadrach, was soon
acknowledged as the wit of the party, and received perpetual applause
for his mirthful sallies. Andrews was silent, but appeared to greatly
enjoy the fun. Dorsey, who had great forethought and prudence, and had
decided that it was good policy, even among his comrades, to appear as
ignorant as possible, felt highly complimented when told that his group
had been described to some of the others who followed as "a party of
country Jakes." Wilson gave us all the information wanted on every
possible subject. Songs were sung, stories were told, and as the family
formed part of the fireside company, many of the incidents may not have
been quite authentic. Late at night this social evening's entertainment
closed. It was the more highly appreciated as it was the first
opportunity most of us had enjoyed of becoming acquainted with our
leader and with each other.
In the morning Andrews started up the river on horseback. The flat-boat
was bailed out, and we were just entering it, when a mounted man
appeared and handed the ferryman an order forbidding him to allow any
one to cross the river at his ferry for three days. We tried to get an
exception made in our favor, as we had contracted with him the evening
before, but he was unwilling to assume the risk. The messenger gave us
the reason for the order, and a most interesting piece of news it was.
General Mitchel was moving rapidly southward for some unknown object,
and it was desirable on that account to stop all intercourse with the
country beyond the river. The messenger volunteered the comforting
assurance that "these brave Kentuckians will no doubt find a warm
welcome at Chattanooga," and gave us the best directions in his power
for reaching that point. We concealed our disappointment, and as soon as
we were alone debated as to the best course to be taken. Two
alternatives only were open. One was to build or seize a raft or boat
and cross in defiance of the order. This was easy enough in the night,
but in daytime it would be very hazardous, and that day, until five
o'clock in the afternoon, was the only time at our disposal. We
therefore took the only remaining course, and dispersing, hurried over
the mountains towards Chattanooga.
Our journey was far from pleasant, as the rocky mountain-spurs here
sweep directly down to the bank of this very crooked river. Several
times we lost our way in the entanglements of the woods, but at length
reached a valley that ran down to the Tennessee directly opposite
Chattanooga. The road was now more frequented, and we talked freely with
travellers, for all fear of being detected by those we chanced to meet
had long since been dissipated.
One countryman related a very interesting item of news from the war in
the East. It was to the effect that the Confederate iron-clad "Merrimac"
had one day steamed out into the harbor of Fortress Monroe, and after
engaging the Union "Monitor" for some hours, with no decisive result,
had run alongside of her opponent, and throwing grappling-irons on
board, had towed her ashore, where she, of course, fell an easy prey.
This may serve as a specimen of the kind of news we perpetually heard
while in the Confederate States.
Quite a number of persons--many of them of our own party--were waiting
on the banks of the Tennessee River. The assemblage of so many of us on
that side of the river was very unfortunate, as it materially increased
the risk of discovery; but a very high wind was blowing, and the
ferryman feared to risk his little shackly "horse-boat" on the turbulent
stream. Our time was nearly exhausted, and we could not afford to wait
very long. We urged the boatman very strenuously to set us over at once,
but he wished to delay until the wind fell. Nothing as yet had been said
to us about passes, but this was explained mentally by the conjecture
that there was a guard on the other side, whose inspection we would be
obliged to pass,--a more formidable ordeal than we had yet encountered.
When requests for a speedy passage failed to move the ferryman, we
changed our tactics, and talked in his hearing of the cowardice of
Tennessee boatmen as contrasted with Kentuckians, or even the Ohio
Yankees. When twelve or sixteen men deliberately attempt to make one man
angry, they can generally succeed. The boatman soon tired of our
raillery, and, entering his boat, told us to come on and show what we
could do by lending him a hand, adding that he would put us over or
drown us, he did not care much which. The invitation was promptly
accepted, and by pushing with poles and pulling on the limbs of
overhanging trees we moved up the stream to a point judged most
favorable, and swung out into the waves. The ride was short and not
without danger, but the peril on the other side was so much greater that
we had little thought to give to the passage. "How should we meet and
deceive the guard?" This was the important question. Our surprise was
almost equal to our delight when we landed and found no one to bar our
progress. The explanation was perfectly simple. The guard had not been
placed that afternoon because it was not believed that any one would
attempt to cross in the storm. Wondering at our good fortune, we hurried
to the cars, and were in time to procure tickets for Marietta before the
departure of the train, which was crowded with passengers, many of them
Confederate soldiers. In such a crowd it was easy to avoid notice.
Every seat in the cars was filled, and we had to be contented with
standing room. The fumes of whiskey and tobacco were very strong.
Talking was loud and incessant, and turned mostly upon the great battle
of Shiloh, the accounts of which were by no means so extravagant as at
first, though a great victory was still claimed. We took part in the
conversation freely, judging this to be the best way of maintaining our
assumed disguise. No general system of passports had been brought into
use, at least in this part of the South, and railway travel was entirely
unrestricted.
The sun was about an hour high when we glided out of the depot, and it
soon sank to rest behind the hills of Georgia. The time for our perilous
attempt drew near. There was some diversity of opinion among the members
of the party, as revealed by conversations both before and after, as to
the prospects of success. The most of us felt some solicitude, but were
far more hopeful than when we left camp. So many incidents had occurred
substantially as they had been planned, that trust in the foresight of
our leader, with the assurance that all would come out right, was
greatly strengthened. The first feeling of strangeness which followed
our plunge into the enemy's country had given way to confidence in the
impenetrability of our mental disguise. For my own part I scarcely felt
a doubt of success. It seemed to me that a dozen modes of escape were
open in the improbable event of failure. I saw the dangers surrounding
us clearly, but none of them now appeared more formidable than when I
first asked Colonel Harris the privilege of joining the expedition.
There were many bridges on the road we passed over, and we could not
help picturing our return on the morrow and the vengeance we proposed
wreaking on them. Darkness closed in, and on we went amid the oaths and
laughter of the rebels, many of whom were very much intoxicated. I
procured a seat on the coal-box and gave myself up to the thoughts
suggested by the hour. There was now no need of trying to keep up
conversation with those around. Visions of former days and friends--dear
friends, both around the camp-fires and the hearths of home, whom I
might never see again--floated before me. I also heard much talk of the
merits of different States and regiments in the contest, and many
discussions of the conscript law, which was just now coming into force.
The opinion of the greater number of the soldiers seemed to be that
while the provisions of the law were right in compelling all to take a
part in the burdens of the conflict, yet that it would be of but little
service, as the unwilling soldiers, who were thus forced into the ranks,
would be no match for volunteers. Little did they imagine that in this
terrible law their rulers had found a weapon which would enable them to
repulse the Northern armies at every point, and protract the war for
three years longer!
[Illustration: CHATTANOOGA AND
RAILROAD CONNECTIONS.]
At this time the Union cause seemed most hopeful. All appearances
indicated a speedy termination of the war and a complete
re-establishment of the old government. Few great battles had taken
place, but the preponderance of fortune as well as force seemed
everywhere on the loyal side. In the West, our armies had during the
last three months penetrated almost half-way to the Gulf; McClellan was
preparing to move with overwhelming force towards Richmond; Burnside was
dealing hard blows on the North Carolina coast; the force which captured
New Orleans was already on the way; and at no point were the rebel
forces a fair match for their opponents. Volunteering had almost stopped
in the South, while recruits were pouring as a steady stream into the
Northern armies, and continued to do so for a year longer. A rebellion
almost isolated and placed everywhere on the defensive could not hope
for long life unless new resources were discovered. The rebel leaders
well knew this, and therefore passed the conscription law.
It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that there were two wars waged
between the North and the South. The first was between the two people by
means of volunteers, and the second between the two governments. For the
first year the soldiers fought on both sides with scarcely a thought of
pay or bounty, and without a hint of compulsion. But the South had
reached the end of this period, and her volunteers were beaten and
exhausted. This was not from any want of bravery on their part, but
because of inferior numbers, and because, having less at stake than the
volunteers of the North, they could less willingly support adverse
fortune. Now the new law was enacted at the South which put all the
able-bodied population at the service of the State. The advantages were
immediate and obvious. All the volunteers who had enlisted for a limited
time were retained. The depleted organizations were filled up to their
full strength, instead of waiting for the recruiting of new regiments,
and the conscripts thus became, in a few days, the equals of old
soldiers. The second year of the war, in which the Northern volunteers
fought the whole force the Southern States could bring into the field,
was, on the whole, the most unfavorable of any period to the loyal arms.
It became clear that the supremacy of the Union could not be restored
unless the same potent weapon could be employed on her behalf. From the
hour that the possibility of this was demonstrated, and a draft
successfully enforced by the Union government, the issue was virtually
decided. Despair might protract the contest, but the utter exhaustion of
Southern resources was only a question of time. Was it necessary to
permit the war to pass from the first into the second stage? Might not
the victory of the Union volunteers have been pushed so rapidly as to
have prevented the South from enforcing the conscription law over any
considerable portion of her territory, and thus have ended the contest
at once? These were questions of tremendous importance, which could only
be answered in the months of April and May, 1862. Then was a golden
opportunity which once lost could only be regained by years of desperate
fighting. A half-dozen great victories in midsummer would be of less
real value than a vigorous advance in the spring, which should at once
discourage the enemy, while at the lowest point of his fortunes, and
prevent the recruiting of his armies by conscription. It has often been
said that the North did not win any decisive advantage until the
abolition of slavery. This is true, but it does not in the least
contradict the view just advanced. That great measure committed the
North absolutely to the conquest of the South, and thus led to exertions
adequate to the end sought. Yet we must conclude, reasoning from a
military point of view only, that if _the same_ exertions had been put
forth earlier, they would have been even more speedily effective.
These considerations, which were but dimly, if at all, realized as we
glided along in the darkness through the heart of the rebel country,
will render more intelligible the vast importance attributed by
competent military authorities to the expedition in which we were
engaged. If we burned the bridges on the morrow, General Mitchel would
certainly capture Chattanooga within three or four days, and spread his
power over East Tennessee and all the adjoining loyal districts. The
people of this section, now thoroughly alarmed and enraged by the
conscription, would enlist under his banner by tens of thousands. Seven
regiments had already been formed by East Tennesseeans, who, under
circumstances of the greatest difficulty, had run away into Kentucky.
The communications of the Eastern and the Western rebel armies would be
cut; and to destroy those armies in detail would only require the
vigorous advance of the forces already opposed to them. This was a
brilliant prospect to set before an expedition composed of only
twenty-four men; but there is in it nothing beyond the realm of
probability, and as I thought of the mere possibility of such
achievements I felt that we might afford to despise all personal danger.
To deliver a territory occupied by nearly a million citizens from
conscription; to place an army in the most important strategical
position in the rebel territory, for such Chattanooga was; to give the
command of the great continental system of railways into the hands of
our own troops, and to paralyze the plans of the enemy; these were,
indeed, almost incredible results to flow from such a cause; but we
believed then that such would be the meaning of our success. The reader
who will study attentively the military situation as it was in 1862,
with the railroads then existing, and add the fact that the Southern
armies were then depleted to the lowest point reached during the
struggle, will not be disposed to smile at such possibilities. It is
certain that in the first hour of panic, caused by our attempt, the
Confederates themselves acknowledged, not in words only, but in the most
significant actions, the deadly peril to which they had been exposed.
With such thoughts the hours passed not unpleasantly. I noticed that we
were making very slow time, and afterwards learned that this was general
on Southern roads. The absorption in warlike affairs and the scarcity of
iron and all other material, as well as of money, had caused the
managers of the railroads to let them fall into bad repair, and this
necessitated a low rate of speed. The fastest train on this road did not
get beyond eighteen miles an hour. This was a decidedly unfavorable
element in the problem we were to solve. Some of the adventurers were
even less favorably impressed with our prospects than I was. The immense
business of the road, which had become one of the most important in the
whole South, rendered the running of a train when we captured it much
more difficult. We saw many freight trains lying at the stations, and
everything indicated that the capacity of this line of rail was being
pressed to the utmost. Sergeant Ross and Alfred Wilson took the most
gloomy view of our prospects of success, and even sought an opportunity,
soon after, to dissuade Andrews from going any further in it. The latter
thus explains his own feelings,--
"After getting seated, and there being no further cause of
concern for the time being, I began to carefully study over the
situation with all the thought I could, and to calculate our
chances of success or failure. The result of my deliberations
was by no means encouraging. We were one day behind the time
appointed. I knew, too, or felt sure, that General Mitchel
would not fail to march upon and take Huntsville, according to
the arrangement made when we started. I also felt that if he
did so there would be little room to hope for our success. It
would cause the roads to be crowded with trains flying from
danger, and it would be difficult to pass them all in safety.
But it was too late now to change the programme. We must make
the effort, come what might. I said nothing, however, to any
one but Andrews; but on listening to my opinion on the
situation, he encouraged me by saying there was yet a good
chance to succeed. Indeed, he expressed himself in so sanguine
a manner that I made no further argument; but I still thought
my course of reasoning correct, whether the event should accord
with it or not."
From the soldiers and others in the train we received a rumor which was
full of startling interest to us,--nothing less than the reported
capture of Huntsville by General Mitchel. Much incredulity was
expressed, and details were wanting. His force was reported at
twenty-five or thirty thousand men,--an extravagant but not unnatural
over-estimate. We had no doubt of the truth of the report, though it
would have better suited us if he also had been detained for one day, or
even more.
It was near nine o'clock when the train reached the supper station.
After all our fatigue we were well prepared to do justice to the
bountiful meal that was spread. But there was such a rush for the table
that several of our party were unable to get near it, and had therefore
to continue their fast. The writer was more fortunate. Buffum, who was
crowded back on account of his small size, managed to stoop down and
slip up under the arm of a rebel officer just as the latter was rising
from the table, and thus took his place while a half-dozen hungry
travellers rushed for it. There was some laughing, and Buffum was
applauded for his "Yankee trick," more than he would have been had it
been known that he was actually a native of Massachusetts, and then
engaged in the Federal service.
The train rushed on after we left the supper station, and as I had
managed to get a good meal and also a comfortable seat in the changing,
all reflections and dangers were soon forgotten in a sound sleep, from
which I only awakened when the conductor shouted "Marietta!" It was then
almost midnight, and the goal was reached. This was, for the present,
the utmost boundary of our journey. We were now in the centre of the
Confederacy, and before we departed had a blow to strike that would
either make all rebeldom vibrate from centre to circumference or leave
us at the mercy of the merciless. But the first thing to be done was to
snatch a short repose preparatory to the hard work of the morrow.
CHAPTER IV.
A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED.
The greater number of us arranged to pass the night at a small hotel
adjoining the Marietta depot. Before retiring we left orders with the
hotel clerk to rouse us in time for the northward bound train, due not
long after daylight. Notwithstanding our novel situation, I never slept
more soundly. Good health, extreme fatigue, and the feeling that the die
was now cast and further thought useless, made me sink into slumber
almost as soon as I touched the bed. Others equally brave and determined
were affected in a different way. Alfred Wilson says,--
"No man knows what a day may bring forth, and the very
uncertainty of what that day's sun would bring forth in our
particular cases was the reason that some of us, myself at
least of the number, did not sleep very much. Our doom might be
fixed before the setting of another sun. We might be hanging to
the limbs of some of the trees along the railroad, with an
enraged populace jeering and shouting vengeance because we had
no more lives to give up; or we might leave a trail of fire and
destruction behind us, and come triumphantly rolling into
Chattanooga and Huntsville, within the Federal lines, to
receive the welcome plaudits of comrades left behind, and the
thanks of our general, and the praises of a grateful people.
Such thoughts as these passed in swift review, and were not
calculated to make one sleep soundly."
As the hotel was much crowded, we obtained a few rooms in close
proximity, and crowded them to their utmost capacity. Andrews noted our
rooms before retiring, that he might, if necessary, seek any one of us
out for consultation before we rose. Porter and Hawkins were
unfortunately overlooked; they had arrived on an earlier train and
obtained lodging at some distance from the depot. The clerk failed to
have them called in time for the morning train, as they had ordered,
and, greatly to their regret and chagrin, they were left behind. This
was a serious loss, as they were both cool, brave men, and Hawkins was
the most experienced railway engineer of our company. W. F. Brown, who
took his place in this work, was, however, fully competent, though
possibly somewhat less cautious.
Long before the train was due, Andrews, who had slept little, if at all,
that night, glided from room to room silently as a ghost, the doors
being purposely left unfastened, and aroused the slumberers. It seemed
to some of us scarcely a moment from the time of retiring until he came
thus to the bedside of each sleeper in turn, and cautiously wakening
him, asked his name, to prevent the possibility of mistake, and then
told each one exactly the part he was expected to take in the enterprise
of the day. There was hasty dressing, and afterwards an informal meeting
held in Andrews' room, at which nearly one-half of the whole number were
present, and plans were more fully discussed. Then Marion A. Ross, one
of the most determined of the whole number, took the bold step of
advising and even urging the abandonment, for the present, of the whole
enterprise. He reasoned with great force that under present
circumstances, with the rebel vigilance fully aroused by Mitchel's rapid
advance, with guards stationed around the train we were to capture, as
we had learned would be the case at Big Shanty, and with the road itself
obstructed by numerous trains, the enterprise was sure to fail, and
would cost the life of every man engaged in it. Andrews very gently
answered his arguments and strove to show that the objections urged
really weighed in favor of the original plan. No such attempt as we
purposed had ever been made, and consequently would not be guarded
against; the presence of a line of sentinels and of so many troops at
Big Shanty would only tend to relax vigilance still further; and the
great amount of business done on the road, with the running of many
unscheduled trains, would screen us from too close inquiry when we ran
our train ahead of time. This reasoning was not altogether satisfactory,
and some of the others joined Ross in a respectful but firm protest
against persisting in such a hopeless undertaking. But Andrews, speaking
very low, as was his wont when thoroughly in earnest, declared that he
had once before postponed the attempt, and returned to camp disgraced.
"Now," he continued, "I will accomplish my purpose or leave my bones to
bleach in Dixie. But I do not wish to control any one against his own
judgment. If any of you think it too hazardous, you are perfectly at
liberty to take the train in the opposite direction and work your way
back to camp as you can."
This inflexible determination closed the discussion, and as no man was
willing to desert his leader, we all assured him of our willingness to
obey his orders to the death. I had taken no part in the discussion, as
I was not in possession of sufficient facts to judge of the chance of
success, and I wished the responsibility to rest upon the leader, where
it properly belonged.
The train was now nearly due, and we proceeded to the station for the
purchase of tickets. By the time they had been procured--not all for one
place, as we wished to lessen the risk of suspicion--the train swept up
to the platform. Hastily glancing at it in the early morning light, and
seeing only that it was very long and apparently well filled, the twenty
adventurers entered by different doors, but finally took their places in
one car.
From Marietta to Big Shanty the railroad sweeps in a long bend of eight
miles around the foot of Kenesaw Mountain, which lies directly between
the two stations. This elevation is now scarred all over with rebel
intrenchments, and was the scene of one of the severest contests of the
war. This, however, as well as the whole of the three months' struggle
from Chattanooga to Atlanta, came a year and a half later. At this time
the nearest Federal soldiers were more than two hundred miles away.
When the train moved on and the conductor came to take our tickets we
observed him carefully, as we knew not how closely his fate and ours
might be linked together in the approaching struggle. The most vivid
anticipation fell far short of the reality. Upon the qualities of that
one man our success or failure hinged. He was quite young--not more than
twenty-three or four,--and looked like a man of resolution and energy.
We noticed that he was also scrutinizing us and the other passengers
very closely, and naturally feared that he had in some manner been put
on his guard. In fact, as we learned long afterwards, he had been warned
that some of the new conscripts who were reluctant to fight for the
Confederacy were contemplating an escape, and might try to get a ride on
the cars. His orders were to watch for all such and arrest them at once.
But he did not think that any of the men who got on at Marietta looked
in the least like conscripts or deserters.
The train ran slowly, stopping at several intervening points, and did
not reach Big Shanty until it was fully daylight. This station had been
selected for the seizure, because the train breakfasted there, and it
was probable that many of the employes and passengers would leave it for
their meal, thus diminishing the opposition we might expect. Another
most important reason for the selection was the absence of any telegraph
office. But, on the other hand, Camp McDonald had been lately located
here, and a large body of soldiers--some accounts said as many as ten
thousand men--were already assembled. Their camp included the station
within the guard-line. When Andrews and the first party had been at
Atlanta, three weeks earlier, few troops had yet arrived at this point.
The capture of a train in the midst of a camp of the enemy was not a
part of the original plan, but subsequently became necessary. It was
certainly a great additional element of danger, but it was not now
possible to substitute any other point.
The decisive hour had arrived. It is scarcely boastful to say that the
annals of history record few enterprises more bold and novel than that
witnessed by the rising sun of Saturday morning, April 12, 1862. Here
was a train, with several hundred passengers, with a full complement of
hands, lying inside a line of sentinels, who were distinctly seen pacing
back and forth in close proximity, to be seized by a mere score of men,
and to be carried away before the track could be obstructed, or the
intruding engineer shot down at his post. Only the most careful
calculation and prompt execution, concentrating the power of the whole
band into a single lightning-like stroke, could afford the slightest
prospect of success. In the bedroom conference every action was
predetermined with the nicest accuracy. Our engineer and his assistant
knew the signal at which to start; the brakesmen had their work
assigned; the man who was to uncouple the cars knew just the place at
which to make the separation; the remainder of the number constituted a
guard, in two divisions, who were to stand with ready revolvers abreast
of the cars to be seized, and shoot down without hesitation any one who
attempted to interfere with the work. Andrews was to command the whole,
and do any part of the work not otherwise provided for. Should there be
any unexpected hindrance, we were to fight until we either overcame all
opposition and captured the train or perished in a body. If we failed to
carry off our prize we were inevitably lost; if any man failed to be on
board when the signal was given, his fate also was sealed. A delay of
thirty seconds after our designs became clearly known would have
resulted in the slaughter of the whole party.
When our train rolled up to the platform the usual announcement was
shouted, "Big Shanty; twenty minutes for breakfast!" Most fortunately
for us, the conductor, engineer, firemen, and train-hands generally,
with many of the passengers, poured out, and hurried to the long, low
eating-room which gave its name to the station. The engine was utterly
unguarded. This uncommon carelessness was the result of perfect
security, and greatly favored our design. Yet it was a thrilling moment!
Victory or death hung on the next minute! There was no chance for
drawing back, and I do not think any of us had the disposition. A little
while before, a sense of shrinking came over the writer like that
preceding a plunge into ice-water; but with the next breath it passed
away, and left me as calm and quiet as if no enemy had been within a
hundred miles. Still, for a moment, we kept our seats. Andrews went
forward to examine the track and see if there was any hindrance to a
rapid rush ahead. Almost immediately he returned, and said, very
quietly, "All right, boys; let us go now." There was nothing in this to
attract special observation; but whether it did or not was now a matter
of indifference. The time of concealment was past. We rose, left the
cars, and walked briskly to the head of the train. With the precision of
machinery, every man took his appointed place. Three cars back from the
tender the coupling-pin was drawn out, as the load of passenger-cars
would only have been an incumbrance. Wilson W. Brown, who acted as
engineer, William Knight as assistant, Alfred Wilson as fireman,
together with Andrews, mounted the engine, Knight grasping the lever,
and waiting the word for starting. The appointed brakesmen threw
themselves flat on the top of the cars. At a signal from Andrews, the
remainder of the band, who had kept watch, climbed with surprising
quickness into a box-car which stood open. All was well! Knight, at
Andrews' orders, jerked open the steam-valve, and we were off! Before
the camp-guards or the bystanders could do more than turn a curious
eye upon our proceedings, the train was under way, and we were safe from
interruption.
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF A TRAIN.]
The writer was stationed in the box-car, and as soon as all were in, we
pulled the door shut to guard against any stray musket-balls. For a
moment of most intense suspense after we were thus shut in all was
still. In that moment a thousand conflicting thoughts swept through our
minds. Then came a pull, ajar, a clang, and we were flying away on our
perilous journey. Those who were on the engine caught a glimpse of the
excited crowd, soldiers and citizens, swarming and running about in the
wildest confusion. It has been said that a number of shots were fired
after us, but those in the box-car knew nothing of it, and it is certain
that no one was injured. A widely-circulated picture represented us as
waving our hats and shouting in triumph. Nothing so melodramatic took
place. The moment was too deep and earnest, and we had too many perils
still to encounter for any such childish demonstration.
Yet it was a grand triumph, and having nothing of a more practical
character for the moment to do, I realized it to the fullest extent.
There are times in life when whole years of enjoyment are condensed into
a single experience. It was so with me then. I could comprehend the
emotion of Columbus when he first beheld through the dim dawn the
long-dreamed-of shores of America, or the less innocent but no less
fervent joy of Cortez when he planted the Cross of Spain on the halls of
Montezuma. My breast throbbed fast with emotions of joy and gladness
that words labor in vain to express. A sense of ethereal lightness ran
through my veins, and I seemed ascending higher, higher, with each
pulsation of the engine. Remember, I was but twenty-two then, full of
hope and ambition. Not a dream of failure shadowed my rapture. We had
always been told that the greatest difficulty was to reach and take
possession of the engine, after which success was certain. But for
unforeseen contingencies it would have been.
Away we rush, scouring past field and village and woodland. At each leap
of the engine our hearts rose higher, and we talked merrily of the
welcome that would greet us when we dashed into Huntsville a few hours
later, our enterprise done, and the brightest laurels of the war
eclipsed!
We found the railroad, however, to be of the roughest and most difficult
character. The grades were very heavy and the curves numerous and sharp.
We seemed to be running towards every point of the compass. The deep
valleys and steep hills of this part of the country had rendered the
building of the road difficult and costly. There were numerous high
embankments where an accident would be of deadly character. The track
was also uneven and in generally bad condition, for the war had rendered
railroad iron scarce and high-priced, besides diverting all attention
and resources into other channels. This unfavorable character of the
road very greatly increased the difficulty experienced by an engineer
unfamiliar with the route in making rapid time, or in avoiding the
varied difficulties incident to our progress. But we trusted implicitly
that the far-sighted plans of Andrews, the skill of our engineers, and
our own willing efforts would overcome all hindrances.
Our first run was short. There was a sudden checking of speed and a
halt. When those of us who were in the box-car pushed open our door and
asked the reason for stopping so soon, we were told that the fire was
low and the steam exhausted. This was startling intelligence, and caused
a moment of consternation. If our "General"--the name of the locomotive
we had captured--failed us at the beginning of the race, we too well
knew what the end would be. For hundreds of miles on every side of us
were desperate and daring foes. A hundred times our number of horse and
foot could be gathered against us in a few hours. The most timid bird
pursued by hounds feels safe, for its wings can bear it above their
jaws. But if those wings should be broken! This engine gave us wings;
but if it should be disabled no valor of ours could beat back the hosts
about us, no skill elude their rage. But we found a less threatening
explanation of our premature halt. The schedule time of our train was
very slow,--only about sixteen miles an hour,--and the fires had been
allowed to run down because of the expected stop of twenty minutes for
breakfast at Big Shanty,--a stop that we had reduced to less than two
minutes. Then the valve being thrown wide open, the little steam in the
boiler was soon exhausted. But this difficulty was of short duration. A
rest of three minutes, with plenty of wood thrown into the furnace,
wrought a change, and we again glided rapidly forward.
But when viewed soberly, and in the light of all the facts since
developed, what were the chances of success and escape possessed by the
flying party? Was the whole attempt, as has been frequently asserted,
rash and foolhardy? Or had it that character of practicability which is
ever the stamp of true genius? Historical accuracy, as well as justice
to the memory of a brave but unfortunate man, compels me to pronounce
the scheme almost faultless. In this estimate I have the full
concurrence of all who were engaged on the opposite side. It is hard to
see how the plan could have been improved without allowing its projector
to have had a knowledge of the precise condition of the enemy such as no
commander at the beginning of an important enterprise ever has. No one
of the plans by which Generals Grant and Sherman finally overthrew the
Rebellion presented a clearer prospect of success.
These are the elements of the problem upon which Andrews based his
hopes. Big Shanty is twenty-eight miles north of Atlanta and thirty-two
south of Kingston. Short of these places he was convinced that no
engine could be obtained for pursuit. He could obstruct the road so that
no train would reach Big Shanty for hours. Pinch-bars and other
instruments for lifting track might be found on the captured engine, or
obtained from some station or working-party. His force of twenty men was
counted ample to overcome resistance at any switch or passing train. One
irregular train only was expected to be on the road, and that would soon
be met,--certainly at Kingston or before,--after which it would be safe
to run at the highest speed to the first bridge, burn it, and pass on to
the next, which, with all other large bridges, could be served in the
same manner. Each bridge burnt would be an insuperable barrier to
pursuit by an engine beyond that point. Thus every part of the scheme
was fair and promising. Only those critics who are wise after the event
can pronounce the attempt rash and hopeless. The destruction of the
telegraph would also be necessary; but this was not difficult. It seemed
as if every contingency was provided for, and then there was the
additional fighting power of twenty chosen men to guard against any
possible emergency. We were now embarked on this most perilous but
hopeful voyage. Coolness, precision of work, and calm effort could
scarcely fail to sever the chief military communications of the enemy
before the setting of the sun, and convince him that no enterprise was
too audacious for the Union arms.
CHAPTER V.
UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES.
After the fire had been made to burn briskly Andrews jumped off the
engine, ran back to the box-car, about the door of which we were
standing, and clasped our hands in an ecstasy of congratulation. He
declared that all our really hard work was done and that our
difficulties were nearly passed; that we had the enemy at such a
disadvantage that he could not harm us; and exhibited every sign of joy.
Said he, "Only one train to meet, and then we will put our engine to
full speed, burn the bridges that I have marked out, dash through
Chattanooga, and on to Mitchel at Huntsville. We've got the upper hand
of the rebels now, and they can't help themselves!" How glad we all
were! When, three years later, the capture of Richmond set all the bells
of the North ringing out peals of triumph, the sensation of joy was more
diffused but less intense than we then experienced. Almost everything
mankind values seemed within our grasp. Oh, if we had met but one
unscheduled train!
This reference of Andrews to one train which he expected to meet before
we began to burn bridges has been quoted in many public sketches, and
has led to some misapprehension. He did expect to meet three trains
before reaching Chattanooga; but two of these were regular trains, and
being also farther up the road, were not supposed to present any serious
difficulty. Their position at any given time could be definitely
ascertained, and we could avoid collision with them, no matter how far
we ran ahead of time. But so long as there were any irregular trains on
the road before us, our only safety was in keeping the regular time of
the captured train. This was, unfortunately, very slow; but if we
exceeded it we lost the right of way, and were liable to a collision at
any moment. This risk was greatly increased by our inability to send
ahead telegraphic notifications of our position. The order of
southward-bound trains, according to the information we then had, was as
follows: First, a way-freight, which was very uncertain as to time, but
which we expected to meet early in the morning, and felt sure that it
would be at Kingston or south of that point. This was the only real
hindrance according to our programme, and it was to this train that
Andrews referred. Behind this were the regular freight train, and still
farther north the regular passenger train. As a matter of fact, we did
meet these trains at Adairsville and Calhoun, the latter being somewhat
behind time; but we might have met them farther north had it not been
for unforeseen hindrances.
There is considerable discrepancy in the many published accounts of the
following chase, which the writer has not in every case been able to
perfectly reconcile. In the intense excitement and novel situations
involved men were not likely to observe or remember every event
accurately. But no pains have been spared to combine fulness and
completeness in the following account. Using the best of my own
recollections, consulting my comrades, reading carefully all published
accounts, and especially going over the whole route years after, with
Fuller and Murphy, two of the pursuing party, who kindly gave me all the
information in their power, it is hoped that substantial accuracy has
been obtained. Some of the incidents of the chase, such as the number of
times the track was torn up, and whether we were fired upon by pursuing
soldiers, allow some room for a conflict of memory. But the variations
are not material.
Side by side with the road ran the telegraph-wires, which were able, by
the flashing of a single lightning message ahead, to arrest our progress
and dissipate our fondest hopes. There was no telegraph station where we
had captured the train, but we knew not how soon our enemies might reach
one, or whether they might not have a portable battery at command.
Therefore we ran but a short distance, after replenishing the furnace,
before again stopping to cut the wire.
John Scott, an active young man of the Twenty-first Ohio, scrambled up
the pole with the agility of a cat, and tried to break the wire by
swinging upon it; but failing in this, he knocked off the insulating box
at the top of the pole and swung with it down to the ground.
Fortunately, a small saw was found on the engine, with which the wire
was severed in two places, and the included portion, many yards in
length, was taken away with us, in order that the ends might not be
readily joined.
While one or two of the party were thus engaged others worked with equal
diligence in taking up a rail from the track. No good track-raising
instruments had been found on the train, and we had not yet procured
them from any other source. A smooth iron bar, about four feet long, was
the only instrument yet found, and with this some of the spikes were
slowly and painfully battered out. After a few had thus been extracted,
a lever was got under the rail and the remainder were pried loose. This
occupied much more time than cutting the wire, and it required no
prophet to foretell that if we did not procure better tools rail-lifting
would have to be used very sparingly in our programme. In the present
instance, however, the loss of time was no misfortune, as we were ahead
of the schedule time, which we still felt bound to observe.
After another rapid but brief run, we paused long enough to chop down a
telegraph-pole, cut the wire again, and place the pole, with many other
obstructions, on the track. We did not here try to lift a rail; indeed,
we had little serious fear of any pursuit at this time, and merely threw
on these obstructions because of having spare time to employ.
We thus continued--running a little ahead of time, then stopping to
obstruct the track and cut the wire--until Cass Station was reached,
where we took on a good supply of wood and water. At this place we also
obtained a complete time schedule of the road. Andrews told the
tank-tender that we were running a powder-train through to the army of
General Beauregard at Corinth, which was almost out of ammunition, and
that the greatest haste was necessary. He further claimed to be a
Confederate officer of high rank, and said that he had impressed this
train for the purpose in hand, and that Fuller, with the regular
passenger train, would be along shortly. The whole story was none too
plausible, as General Mitchel was now interposed between our present
position and Beauregard, and we would never have been able to get a
train to the army of the latter on this route; but the tender was not
critical and gave us his schedule, adding that he would willingly send
his shirt to Beauregard if that general needed it. When this man was
afterwards asked if he did not suspect the character of the enemy he
thus aided, he answered that he would as soon have suspected the
President of the Confederacy himself as one who talked so coolly and
confidently as Andrews did!
Keeping exactly on regular time, we proceeded without any striking
adventures until Kingston was reached. This place--thirty-two miles from
Big Shanty--we regarded as marking the first stage of our journey. Two
hours had elapsed since the capture of the train, and hitherto we had
been fairly prosperous. No track-lifting instruments had yet been
obtained, notwithstanding inquiries for them at several stations. We had
secured no inflammable materials for more readily firing the bridges,
and the road was not yet clear before us. But, on the other hand, no
serious hindrance had yet occurred, and we believed ourselves far ahead
of any possible pursuit.
But at Kingston we had some grounds for apprehending difficulty. This
little town is at the junction with the road to Rome, Georgia. Cars and
engines were standing on the side track. Here we fully expected to meet
our first train, and it would be necessary for us to get the switches
properly adjusted before we could pass it to go on our way. When we drew
up at the station there was handed to Andrews our first and last
communication from the management of the road, in the shape of a
telegram, ordering Fuller's train--now ours--to wait at Kingston for the
local freight, which was considerably behind time. The order was not
very welcome, but we drew out on the side track, and watched eagerly for
the train. Many persons gathered around Andrews, who here, as always,
personated the conductor of our train, and showered upon him many
curious and somewhat suspicious questions. Ours was an irregular train,
but the engine was recognized as Fuller's. The best answers possible
were given. A red flag had been placed on our engine, and the
announcement was made that Fuller, with another engine, was but a short
way behind. The powder story was emphasized, and every means employed to
avoid suspicion. Andrews only, and the usual complement of train-hands,
were visible, the remainder of the party being tightly shut up in the
car, which was designated as containing Beauregard's ammunition. The
striking personal appearance of Andrews greatly aided him in carrying
through his deception, which was never more difficult than at this
station. His commanding presence, and firm but graceful address, marked
him as a Southern gentleman,--a member of the class from which a great
proportion of the rebel officers were drawn. His declarations and orders
were therefore received with the greater respect on this account. But
all these resources were here strained to the utmost.
At length the anxiously-expected local freight train arrived, and took
its place on another side track. We were about to start on our way, with
the glad consciousness that our greatest obstacle was safely passed,
when a red flag was noticed on the hindmost freight-car. This elicited
immediate inquiry, and we were informed that another very long freight
train was just behind, and that we would be obliged to wait its arrival
also. This was most unfortunate, as we had been already detained at
Kingston much longer than was pleasant. There were many disagreeable
elements in the situation. A crowd of persons was rapidly assembling.
The train from Rome was also nearly due, and though it only came to the
station and returned on its own branch, yet it was not agreeable to
notice the constant increase of force that our enemies were gaining. If
any word from the southward arrived, or if our true character was
revealed in any other way, the peril would be imminent. But we trusted
that this second delay would be brief. Slowly the minutes passed by. To
us, who were shut up in the box-car, it appeared as if they would never
be gone. Our soldier comrades on the outside kept in the background as
much as possible, remaining at their posts on the engine and the cars,
while Andrews occupied attention by complaining of the delay, and
declaring that the road ought to be kept clear of freight trains when so
much needed for the transportation of army supplies, and when the fate
of the whole army of the West might depend upon the celerity with which
it received its ammunition. There was plausibility enough in his words
to lull suspicion in all minds except that of the old switch-tender of
the place, who grumbled out his conviction "that something was wrong
with that stylish-looking fellow, who ordered everybody around as if the
whole road belonged to him." But no one paid any attention to this man's
complaints, and not many minutes after a distant whistle sounded from
the northward, and we felt that the crisis had passed. As there was no
more room on the side track, Andrews ordered the switch-tender to let
this train run by on the main track. That worthy was still grumbling,
but he reluctantly obeyed, and the long success on of cars soon glided
by us.
This meant release from a suspense more intolerable than the most
perilous action. To calmly wait where we could do nothing, while our
destiny was being wrought out by forces operating in the darkness, was a
terrible trial of nerve. But it was well borne. Brown, Knight, and
Wilson, who were exposed to view, exhibited no more impatience than was
to be expected of men in their assumed situation. Those of us in the
box-car talked in whispers only, and examined the priming of our
pistols. We understood that we were waiting for a delayed train, and
well knew the fearful possibilities of an obstructed track, with the
speedy detection, and fight against overwhelming odds that would follow,
if the train for which we waited did not arrive sooner than pursuers
from Big Shanty. When we recognized the whistle of the coming train it
was almost as welcome as the boom of Mitchel's cannon, which we expected
to hear that evening after all our work was done. As it rumbled by us we
fully expected an instant start, a swift run of a few miles, and then
the hard work but pleasant excitement of bridge-burning. Alas!
Swift and frequent are the mutations of war. Success can never be
assured to any enterprise in advance. The train for which we had waited
with so much anxiety had no sooner stopped than we beheld on it an
emblem more terrible than any comet that ever frighted a superstitious
continent. Another red flag! Another train close behind! This was
terrible, but what could be done? With admirable presence of mind
Andrews moderated his impatience, and asked the conductor of the
newly-arrived train the meaning of such an unusual obstruction of the
road. His tone was commanding, and without reserve the conductor gave
the full explanation. To Andrews it had a thrilling interest. The
commander at Chattanooga had received information that the Yankee
General Mitchel was coming by forced marches and in full strength
against that town; therefore all the rolling-stock of the road had been
ordered to Atlanta. This train was the first instalment, but another and
still longer section was behind. It was to start a few minutes after he
did, and would probably not be more than ten or fifteen minutes behind.
In turn, the conductor asked Andrews who he was, and received the
information that he was an agent of General Beauregard, and that he had
impressed a train into military service in Atlanta, which he was running
through with powder, of which Beauregard was in extreme need. Under such
circumstances he greatly regretted this unfortunate detention. The
conductor did not suspect the falsity of these pretences, but told
Andrews that it was very doubtful if he could get to Beauregard at
Corinth by going through Chattanooga, as it was certain that Mitchel had
captured Huntsville, directly on the line between them. Andrews replied
that this made no difference, as he had his orders, and should press on
until they were countermanded, adding that Mitchel was probably only
paying a flying visit to Huntsville, and would have to be gone soon, or
find Beauregard upon him. Andrews also ordered the conductor to run far
enough down the main track to allow the next train to draw in behind
him, and for both trains there to wait the coming of Fuller with the
regular mail. His orders were implicitly obeyed; and then to our party
recommenced the awful trial of quiet waiting. One of the men outside was
directed to give notice to those in the box-car of the nature of the
detention, and warn them to be ready for any emergency. Either Brown or
Knight, I think, executed this commission. Leaning against our car, but
without turning his eyes towards it, and speaking in a low voice, he
said, "We are waiting for one of the trains the rebels are running off
from Mitchel. If we are detected before it comes, we will have to fight.
Be ready." We _were_ ready; and so intolerable is suspense that most of
us would have felt as a welcome relief the command to throw open our
door and spring into deadly conflict.
Slowly the leaden moments dragged themselves away. It seems scarcely
creditable, but it is literally true, that for twenty-five minutes more
we lay on that side track and waited,--waited with minds absorbed,
pulses leaping, and ears strained for the faintest sound which might
give a hint as to our destiny. One precious hour had we wasted at
Kingston,--time enough to have burned every bridge between that place
and Dalton! The whole margin of time on which we had allowed ourselves
to count was two hours; now half of that was thrown away at one station,
and nothing accomplished. We dared wait no longer. Andrews decided to
rush ahead with the intention of meeting this extra train wherever it
might be found, and forcing it to back before him to the next siding,
where he could pass it. The resolution was in every way dangerous, but
the danger would at least be of an active character. Just at this moment
the long-expected whistle was heard, and soon the train came into plain
view, bringing with it an almost interminable string of cars. The weight
and length of its train had caused the long delay. Obedient to
direction, it followed the first extra down the main track, and its
locomotive was a long way removed from the depot when the last car
cleared the upper end of the side track on which we lay. At length it
had got far enough down, and it was possible for us to push on. Andrews
instantly ordered the switch-tender to arrange the track so as to let us
out.
But here a new difficulty presented itself. This man had been in an ill
humor from the first, and was now fully convinced that something was
wrong. Possibly the tone in which he was addressed irritated him still
more. He therefore responded to Andrews' order by a surly refusal, and
hung up the keys in the station-house. When we in the box-car overheard
his denial, we were sure that the time for fighting had come. There was
no more reason for dreading the issue of a conflict at this station than
at any other point, and we waited the signal with the confident
expectation of victory.
But even a victory at that moment would have been most undesirable. We
had no wish to shed blood unnecessarily. A telegraph office was at hand,
and it was possible that before the wire could be cut a message might be
flashed ahead. There were also engines in readiness for prompt pursuit,
and while we might have overcome immediate opposition by the use of our
firearms, our triumph would have been the signal for a close and
terrible chase.
The daring coolness of Andrews removed all embarrassments. While men are
hesitating and in doubt, boldness and promptness on the part of an
opponent are almost sure to carry the day. Ceasing to address the
switch-tender, Andrews walked hurriedly into the station, and with the
truthful remark that he had no more time to waste, took down the key and
began to unlock the switch. The tender cursed him terribly, and called
for some to arrest him. The crowd around also disliked the action, and
began to hoot and yell; but before any one had decided as to what ought
to be done Andrews had unlocked and changed the switch, and waved his
hand for the engineer to come on. It was an inexpressible relief when
the cars moved forward and the sounds of strife died out. As soon as the
locomotive passed to the main track, Andrews tossed the keys to the
ruffled owner of them, saying, in his blandest manner, "Pardon me, sir,
for being in such a hurry, but the Confederacy can't wait for every
man's notions. You'll find it is all right," and stepped on board his
engine. The excitement gradually ceased, and no thought of pursuit was
entertained until startling intelligence was received a few moments
later from Big Shanty.
Before describing the terrible struggle above Kingston, it will be well
to narrate the operations of the persons whose train had been so
unceremoniously snatched from them at Big Shanty. From printed accounts
published contemporaneously by several of those engaged in the pursuit,
as well as from personal responses to inquiries made regarding the most
material points, the writer is confident that he can tell the strange
story without essential error. It is a striking commentary on the
promptness of the seizure, that the bystanders generally reported that
only eight men, instead of twenty, had been observed to mount the train.
William A. Fuller, conductor, Anthony Murphy, manager of the State
railroad shops at Atlanta, and Jefferson Cain, engineer, stepped off
their locomotive, leaving it unguarded save by the surrounding
sentinels, and in perfect confidence took their seats at the
breakfast-table at Big Shanty. But before they had tasted a morsel of
food the quick ear of Murphy, who was seated with his back towards the
window, caught the sound of escaping steam, and he exclaimed, "Fuller,
who's moving your train?" Almost simultaneously the latter, who was
somewhat of a ladies' man, and was bestowing polite attentions upon two
or three fair passengers, saw the same movement, and sprang up,
shouting, "Somebody's running off with our train!" No breakfast was
eaten then. Everybody rushed through the door to the platform. The train
was then fully under way, just sweeping out of sight around the first
curve. With quick decision Fuller shouted to Murphy and Cain, "Come on!"
and started at a full run after the flying train! This attempt to run
down and catch a locomotive by a foot-race seemed so absurd that as the
three, at the top of their speed, passed around the same curve, they
were greeted with loud laughter and ironical cheers by the excited
multitude. To all appearances it was a foolish and hopeless chase.
Yet, paradoxical as the statement may seem, this chase on foot was the
wisest course possible for Fuller and his companions. What else could
they do? Had they remained quietly in camp, with no show of zeal, they
would have been reproached with negligence in not guarding their train
more carefully, even if they were not accused with being in league with
its captors. As they ran, Fuller explained the situation and his
purposes to his companions. They had neither electric battery nor
engine. Had they obtained horses, they would necessarily have followed
the common road, instead of the railroad, and if they thought of that
expedient at all, it would be as distasteful to railroad men as
abandoning their ship to sailors, and they preferred leaving that course
for others. It would have been wise for those who could think of nothing
else to do to ride as mounted couriers to the stations ahead; but
whether this was done or not I have never learned. Certainly it was not
done so promptly as to influence the fortunes of the day.
But the truth is that Fuller and Murphy were at first completely
deceived as to the nature of the event which had taken place. They had
been warned to guard against the escape of conscript deserters from that
very camp; and although they would never have suspected an attempt on
the part of the conscripts to escape by capturing their engine, yet when
it was seen to dash off, the thought of this warning was naturally
uppermost. Even then Fuller conjectured that they would use his engine
only to get a mile or two beyond the guard line, and then abandon it. He
was therefore anxious to follow closely in order to find the engine and
return for his passengers at the earliest moment possible. Little did he
anticipate the full magnitude of the work and the danger before him.
That any Federal soldiers were within a hundred miles of Big Shanty
never entered his mind or that of any other person.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN WM. A. FULLER.
(Conductor of Pursuing Train.)
Page 87.]
For a mile or two the three footmen ran at the top of their speed,
straining their eyes forward for any trace of the lost engine which they
expected to see halted and abandoned at almost any point on the road.
But they were soon partially undeceived as to the character of their
enemies. About two miles from the place of starting they found the
telegraph wire severed and a portion of it carried away. The fugitives
were also reported as quietly oiling and inspecting their engine. No
mere deserters would be likely to think of this. The two actions
combined clearly indicated the intention of making a long run, but who
the men were still remained a mystery. A few hundred yards from this
place a party of workmen with a hand-car was found, and these most
welcome reinforcements were at once pressed into the service.
Fuller's plans now became more definite and determined. He had a good
hand-car and abundance of willing muscle to work it. By desperate
exertions, by running behind the car and pushing it up the steep grades,
and then mounting and driving it furiously down-hill and on the levels,
it was possible to make seven or eight miles an hour; at the same time,
Fuller knew that the captive engine, if held back to run on schedule
time, as the reports of the workmen indicated, would make but sixteen
miles per hour. Fuller bent all his thoughts and energies towards
Kingston, thirty miles distant. He had been informed of the extra trains
to be met at that point, and was justified in supposing that the
adventurers would be greatly perplexed and hindered by them, even if
they were not totally stopped. Had the seizure taken place on the
preceding day, as originally planned, he might well have despaired, for
then the road would have been clear. Yet he had one other resource, as
will appear in due time, of which his enemies knew nothing.
Fuller did not pause to consider how he should defeat the fugitives when
he had overtaken them, and he might have paid dearly for this rashness.
But he could rely on help at any station, and when he had obtained the
means of conveyance, as he would be sure to do at Kingston, he could
easily find an overwhelming force to take with him. This Saturday was
appointed as a general muster of volunteers, State militia, and
conscripts, and armed soldiers were abundant in every village. But
Fuller's dominant thought was that his property--the property with which
he had been intrusted--was wrested from his grasp, and it was his duty
to recover it, at whatever of personal hazard. That any serious harm was
intended to the railroad itself he probably did not yet suspect.
Talking and wearying themselves with idle conjectures, but never ceasing
to work, Fuller and his party pressed swiftly on. But suddenly there was
a crash, a sense of falling, and when the shock allowed them to realize
what had happened, they found themselves floundering in a ditch half
filled with water, and their hand-car imbedded in the mud beside them!
They had reached the place where the first rail had been torn from the
track, and had suffered accordingly. But the bank was, fortunately for
them, not very high at that spot, and a few bruises were all the damage
they sustained. Their hand-car, which was also uninjured, was lifted on
the track and driven on again. This incident increased both their
caution and their respect for the men before them.
Without further mishap they reached Etowah Station, on the northern bank
of the river of the same name. Here was a large bridge, which the
Andrew's party might have burned without loss of time had they foreseen
the long detention at Kingston; but its destruction was not a part of
their plan, and it was suffered to stand. The mind of Fuller grew very
anxious as he approached this station. On what he should find there
depended, in all probability, his power to overtake the fugitives, whose
intentions seemed more formidable with each report he received of their
actions. Andrews had firmly believed that no engine for pursuit could be
found south of Kingston; but Fuller had a different expectation.
Extensive iron-furnaces were located on the Etowah River, about five
miles above the station. These works were connected with the railroad by
a private track, which was the property of Major Cooper, as well as the
works themselves. Murphy knew that Major Cooper had also bought an
engine called the "Yonah." It had been built in the shop over which
Murphy presided, and was one of the best locomotives in the State. "But
where," Fuller and Murphy asked themselves, "is this engine now?" If it
was in view of the adventurers as they passed, they had doubtless
destroyed it, ran it off the track, or carried it away with them. They
could not afford to neglect such an element in the terrible game they
were playing. But if it was now at the upper end of the branch at the
mines, as was most probable, it would take the pursuers five miles out
of their way to go for it, and even then it might not be ready to start.
This diversion could not be afforded. Fuller and Murphy had come
nineteen miles, and had already consumed two hours and three-quarters.
The adventurers were reported as passing each station on time, and if
this continued they must have reached Kingston forty-five minutes before
Fuller and his companions arrived at Etowah, thirteen miles behind them.
One hour and a half more to Kingston,--this was the very best that could
be done with the hand-car. It was clear that if the "Yonah" did not come
to their assistance, they were as effectually out of the race as if on
the other side of the ocean. Everything now hinged on the position of
that one engine.
Here we may pause to note how all coincidences, we might almost say
providences, seemed to work against the bridge-burning enterprise. We
were at Kingston three-quarters of an hour before our pursuers reached
Etowah, thirteen miles distant. If there had been no extra trains, or if
they had been sharply on time, so that we could have passed the three
with a delay not exceeding fifteen or twenty minutes, which ought to
have been an abundant allowance, every bridge above Kingston would have
been in ashes before sundown! Or if the delay had been as great as it
actually was, even then, if the locomotive "Yonah" had occupied any
position excepting one, the same result would have followed.
But Fuller, Murphy, and Cain, with the several armed men they had picked
up at the stations passed, could not repress shouts of exultation when
they saw the old "Yonah" standing on the main track, ready fired up, and
headed towards Kingston. It had just arrived from the mines, and in a
short time would have returned again. Thus a new element of tremendous
importance, which had been ignored in all our calculations, was
introduced into the contest.
The pursuers seized their inestimable prize, called for all the
volunteers who could snatch guns at a moment's notice, and were soon
swiftly but cautiously rushing with the power of steam towards Kingston.
The speed of nearly a mile a minute was in refreshing contrast to the
slow and laborious progress of the hand-car, and they were naturally
jubilant. But what lay before them at Kingston? The frequent
obstructions of the track, the continued cutting of the telegraph, and
especially the cool assumption of the leader of the adventurers in
calling himself a Confederate officer of high rank in charge of an
impressed powder train, all conspired to deepen their conviction that
some desperate scheme was on foot. But they did not pause long to listen
to reports. Their eyes and their thoughts were bent towards Kingston.
Had the adventurers been stopped there, or had they surprised and
destroyed the trains met? The pursuers could scarcely form a conjecture
as to what was before them; but the speed with which they were flying
past station after station would soon end their suspense. Even the
number of men on the flying train was a matter of uncertainty. At the
stations passed observers reported that only four or five were seen; but
the track-layers and others who had observed them at work were confident
of a much larger number,--twenty-five or thirty at the least. Besides,
it was by no means sure that they had not confederates in large numbers
to co-operate with them at the various stations along the road. Fuller
knew about how many persons had entered the train at Marietta; but it
was not sure that these were all. A hundred more might be scattered
along the way, at various points, ready to join in whatever strange plan
was now being worked out. No conjecture of this kind that could be
formed was a particle more improbable than the startling events that had
already taken place. The cool courage of these pursuers, who determined
to press forward and do their own duty at whatever risk, cannot be too
highly rated. If they arrived at Kingston in time to unmask the
pretension of the mysterious "Confederate officer," there would
doubtless be a desperate fight; but the pursuers could count on
assistance there and all along the line.
Fuller reached Kingston at least an hour earlier than would have been
possible with the hand-car, and a single glance showed that the
adventurers were gone, and his hopes of arresting them at that point
were ended. They were, however, barely out of sight, and all their start
had been reduced to minutes. But here again the pursuit was checked. The
foresight of Andrews had blockaded the road as much as possible with the
trains which had so long hindered his own movements. Two large and heavy
trains stood on the main road; one of the two side tracks was occupied
by the third freight, and the other by the engine of the Rome branch.
There was no ready means for the passage of the "Yonah." Some precious
time was employed in giving and receiving information, in telling of the
seizure at Big Shanty, and hearing of the deportment of Andrews and his
men at Kingston. Then a dispute arose as to the best means of continuing
the pursuit, which threatened to disunite Fuller and Murphy. The latter
wished to continue the chase with the "Yonah," which was a fine engine,
with large wheels; but Fuller would not wait to get the freights out of
the way, and, jumping on the Rome engine, he called on all who were
willing to assist him to come on. A large, enthusiastic, and well-armed
company instantly volunteered; the new engine, the "Shorter," pulled
out, and Murphy had only time to save himself from the disgrace of being
left behind by jumping on the hindmost car as it swept past. With all
the time lost in making this transfer, and in mutual explanations, the
pursuers left Kingston just twenty minutes behind the Federals.
What Fuller and his friends learned at Kingston left no doubt on their
minds that some deliberate and far-reaching military movement was on
foot. While its precise nature was yet concealed, the probability that
the road itself, and possibly Confederate towns and stores, were to be
destroyed, was freely conceded. All agreed that the one thing to be done
was to follow their enemies closely, and thus compel them to turn and
fight or abandon their enterprise. A large force--one or two hundred
well-armed men--was taken on board, and instructions left that as soon
as the track could be cleared another armed train was to follow for the
purpose of rendering any needed assistance.
CHAPTER VI.
A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE.
We will now resume the direct narrative.
When Kingston was left behind, it was believed by our leader that,
notwithstanding all our vexatious delays, we still had a margin of at
least an hour's time. Our movements were arranged on that supposition.
The next considerable station, Adairsville, was about ten miles distant,
and the intervening country comparatively level. There were no
considerable bridges in this space, and the most we could do was to run
swiftly, and occasionally to obstruct the track. Our speed was increased
to about forty miles an hour, and this swift running, after our long
halt at Kingston, was exquisitely delightful. Looking out from the
crevices of the box-car, we saw the hills and trees gliding swiftly by,
and felt that each moment we were getting farther away from the foes who
had so long surrounded us, and nearer safety and triumph. While we were
actually under way our prospects did not yet seem very unfavorable.
There were yet one freight and one passenger train to meet, which we
would now encounter an hour farther south, because of our long
hindrance; but we felt confident of our power to deceive or overpower
them, and they did not embarrass our running because they were on the
regular schedule. The freight was now almost due at Adairsville, and we
expected the passenger train to overtake and go ahead of it from that
point. If they were both on time we would also meet them there, and then
have an absolutely open road to Chattanooga. It will show the tremendous
risks that encompassed our enterprise, when we reflect that so trifling
a circumstance as the delay or the misplacement of a train could
introduce an "if" into our most hopeful plans.
A short distance south of Adairsville we again stopped, and Andrews
called us to come forth and work with a will. No exhortation was needed.
John Scott, as usual, climbed the telegraph-pole, and the wire was soon
severed. Two or three rails were slowly and painfully battered loose
with our iron bar, which still constituted our only instrument for
track-lifting. These were loaded on the car to carry away with us. There
happened to be a large number of cross-ties lying near, and these we
also loaded up for future use. When all was done we moved on, feeling
that we had provided for the delay or destruction of any train that
might pursue. It was also probable that the first train which met us at
Adairsville would be wrecked. This was not our design, as we did not
relish wanton mischief; but there was no safe way of giving warning, and
a wrecked train would have been a considerable obstruction of the track.
We reached Adairsville before the expected freight, but had only just
taken our place on the side track when its whistle was heard. When it
came up, Andrews, who still personated a Confederate officer, and
exacted and received the obedience which in those days of conscription
and impressment was readily yielded to military authority, ordered the
train to be run past the station and back again on the side track behind
his own, to wait for the expected passenger train. The usual
explanations about the powder train were repeated to credulous ears.
Then came five minutes of suspense and waiting. The train was behind
time,--a trifling matter in itself, but, in our situation, each minute
might turn the scale between death and life. We could not afford to
repeat the experience of Kingston. Not one bridge had yet been burned,
and all we could show for our hazard, beside our captured train, were a
few cross-ties and lifted rails. After a whispered word of consultation
with his engineer, who was willing to assume the most deadly risks
rather than to lie still, Andrews remarked to the bystanders that a
government powder express must not be detained by any number of
passenger trains, and then gave the word, "Go ahead!"
We started quite moderately, but, as soon as the station was out of
sight, we noticed a wonderful acceleration of speed. The cars seemed
almost to leap from the track, and we whirled from side to side at a
bewildering rate. There was scarcely any slackening for curves or
grades, and our whistle rang out with scarcely a moment's cessation. In
the box-car we could retain no position for more than an instant, and
were jostled over each other and against the sides of the car much
oftener than was pleasant. No one of us had ever rode at such a rate
before. Though we had no means of measuring the speed, none of us
estimated it at less than a mile a minute. What was the meaning of such
a break-neck pace? Had Andrews discovered that we were pursued, and was
he making a desperate effort to escape from the enemy? Or was he simply
hurrying to the bridges we were to burn? Such questions were easier
asked than answered, for two cars and the tender intervened between us
and the locomotive, on which our leader was. At any rate, the moments
were rapidly carrying us towards our own lines, and a very few hours of
such running would see us delivered from the series of perils which had
so long environed us. We had learned that just beyond Calhoun, a station
only ten miles from Adairsville, there was a large bridge, which we knew
was marked for destruction. If that was passed without stopping, we
would be convinced that an enemy was on our track, and that the race was
simply for life. A few minutes would decide. But in the mean time, as an
enemy might be following us, it occurred to the writer that it would be
well to continue obstructing the track. This was accomplished by
breaking open the hind end of the last box-car, and shoving out one by
one the ties previously loaded. A part only of the ties on board were
thus employed, as we thought it possible that the remainder might be
more useful in other directions. Many of those sprinkled on the track
showed a perverse disposition to jump off, but we felt sure that enough
remained to make a pursuer cautious. Nothing more impressed us with the
fearful speed of our train than the manner in which these ties seemed
instantly to vanish when they touched the ground.
By thus exerting the full speed of the engine Andrews hoped to reach
Calhoun before the belated passenger train should arrive. The engineer
stood with his hand on the lever ready to reverse his engine the moment
an opposing train was sighted. The open character of the country in this
part of the route permitted a good outlook. The whistle was also kept
sounding that an opposite train might be warned and checked. It was the
intention of Andrews, in case of meeting the expected train, to reverse
his own engine only long enough to escape the danger of collision, and
then to persuade or compel the other to back before him to the first
siding. This lightning-like run was bold and full of peril, but it was
wise. Had the same risk been promptly assumed at Kingston the whole
future of the enterprise would have been different. But we reached
Calhoun before any train was met. When we slackened speed, just before
arriving at the station, we shoved out one more cross-tie, and then
carefully concealed the hole in the car by piling other ties across it.
As we drew nearer, great was the satisfaction of Andrews and his
engineer when they saw the belated passenger train--our last
obstacle--lying quietly at the station. It had been just starting, but,
on hearing our whistle, it awaited our arrival. We ran down almost
against it; and, without getting off his locomotive, Andrews shouted
his orders to have the road cleared for an impressed powder train. The
news from the north and west--the panic caused by the rumored approach
of General Mitchel--made this sudden demand seem less unreasonable, and
it was unhesitatingly obeyed. The passenger train was switched out of
the way, and we glided smoothly by the last train we were to meet. Thus,
at length, we had reached the ground where bridge-burning was to begin,
and all obstacles were out of the way; what could hinder full and
decisive success?
Fuller and Murphy had not left Kingston many minutes before they became
conscious of the error they had committed in exchanging the "Yonah" for
the "Shorter." The latter was a weak engine with small wheels. It was
now forced to the utmost, oil being freely used with the wood in the
furnace; but they were unable to equal the tremendous speed with which
they had made the previous stage of their journey. Though they had but
two or three cars and the advantage of a level and unobstructed track,
they could not exceed forty miles an hour. They maintained a vigilant
lookout, but ran with the steam-valve entirely open, while Murphy and
Cain both grasped the lever, ready to use their combined weight and
strength in reversing the motion if any obstacle should be descried.
Their vigilance was soon approved. They observed the point at which we
had removed rails, and, by reversing, were able to arrest their motion
just on the edge of the break. But here they found themselves confronted
with a terrible obstacle. They had no rails to replace those that had
been carried off. Some instruments for track-laying were on board, and
it was suggested to tear up rails behind and place them in the break.
This double labor required too much time to suit the ardent temper of
Fuller and Murphy. At once they repeated the old tactics which alone had
given them any hope of success. They abandoned their engine and ran
ahead once more on foot. The remainder of their company remained behind,
and probably did, after a time, succeed in lifting rails behind their
engine and laying them down before, as a contemporaneous account
asserts; but they had no further real part in the chase.
Before the two footmen had gone far they encountered the regular freight
train that we had met at Adairsville. Thus their delay was reduced to a
very small amount. It seems that almost as soon as Andrews and his party
had left Adairsville for their rapid flight towards Calhoun, this train,
guided either by the decision of the conductor, or by a telegraphic
message from the management of the road, started southward, and were met
no more than a mile or two on their way by the dauntless pursuers. Great
was the amazement of the men on the freight train to learn that the
fine-looking Confederate officer with whom they had been talking five
minutes before was probably a "Yankee" engaged in the most daring
exploit of the war. But not much time was allowed for the indulgence of
any emotion. Fuller promptly took command of the train and backed it
with all possible speed to Adairsville. Its engine, the "Texas," was
known to Fuller as one of the largest and best in the State. While
backing and pushing the whole train of nearly twenty cars it made the
most rapid speed that they had yet attained.
But still greater speed was necessary, and by throwing all but one or
two cars on the side track at Adairsville, the noble engine was relieved
and enabled to show all its fine qualities. No turn-table being at hand,
it had still to be run backward; but that position does not materially
lessen the power of an engine, though the risk of accident is somewhat
increased. This risk had been taken, however, in so many instances by
the desperate pursuers, and with perfect safety, that they were willing
to tempt fortune still further. The engineer of the captured train had
been left behind at the last break, but his place was ably supplied by
Peter Bracken, of the "Texas." Starting from Adairsville with a full
head of steam, the distance of ten miles to Calhoun was run in twelve
minutes, and even this tremendous speed would have been exceeded but for
the slight delay caused by the ties dropped on the track. When one of
these obstructions was seen, Fuller, who had stationed himself for that
purpose on the end of the tender which ran ahead, would jump off, remove
the tie, and be back to his place almost before the engine ceased to
move. The uniform mode of stopping to clear the track was by reversing
the engine. Aside from the time lost in these stops, the running must
have exceeded a mile per minute. This exceeding rapidity prevented any
loss of distance in this stage of the pursuit.
At Calhoun, Fuller scarcely made a full stop. He told his tale in a few
words and called for volunteers. A number came just as he was moving on
again; indeed, after the train was well under way, he secured a still
more valuable prize. The telegraph managers at Chattanooga had found
that the wires were broken, and were endeavoring to discover the source
of mischief. By telegraphing to different stations and asking for
replies, they could easily make an approximate estimate. But the
difficulty was coming nearer: they discovered that one station after
another was being cut off from communication with headquarters. South of
Calhoun they could get no reply at the time the passenger train reached
Dalton. They had, therefore, directed the only operator at that
station--a mere boy--to leave his post and go to Calhoun for the purpose
of discovering and remedying the mischief. Fuller recognized him on the
platform, and reached out his hand, shouting, "Come!" The boy took hold
and was lifted on the flying engine.
With no thought of our deadly peril we had stopped a short distance
above Calhoun to cut the telegraph and oil the engine. Several of us
were also engaged in battering out the spikes preparatory to lifting
another rail. As we expected to spend ten or fifteen minutes in burning
the large bridge which spanned the Oostenaula River, a little distance
from us, Andrews thought it better that we should have a rail up in
order to guard against the possibility of the train we had just passed
being turned back after us in time to interrupt our work. It might have
been better, as we were tempted to think afterwards, if we had begun on
the bridge directly; but it was absolutely necessary to cut the wire,
and the lifting of the rail would not take an additional minute.
The engine was inspected, and found to be still in perfect condition,
though both wood and water were running low; the wire was severed; and
eight of us had just taken hold of the loose end of a rail, out of which
the spikes had been battered, and were trying to pull the other end
loose also. But it was too firmly fixed, and we were about to release
it, and wait the taking out of a few more spikes, when, away in the
distance, we heard the whistle of an engine in pursuit! The effect was
magical. With one convulsive effort the rail was broken asunder, and the
whole party pitched in a heap over the low embankment. No one was hurt,
and we were on our feet in a moment.
It did not require many moments to realize the situation. Our enemies
were upon us at last! Their train was in plain sight. We could even see
that they were well armed. There seemed to be no resource but flight.
But from whence came this train? The facts with which the reader is
already familiar were all unknown to us, and the apparition of the
pursuers all the more terrible on that account. We knew the difficulties
against which we had struggled, and little thought that our pursuers had
encountered nearly equal obstacles, over which they had so far been
marvellously victorious. Greater surprise would not have been created
in our ranks had the locomotive, to whose scream we unwillingly
listened, dropped from the sky! One plausible conjecture only presented
itself as to the presence of this train, and, if this one was correct,
it could be but the earnest of speedy defeat and death. Possibly a
telegraphic message from the other side of Big Shanty had traversed the
wide circuit of more than two thousand miles past Atlanta, Richmond,
Chattanooga, and back again to Calhoun, reaching the latter place just
before the wire was cut, and inducing them to start back the train we
had just met at full speed after us. All this was possible,--at least it
seemed so to those of us who were not in the secret of the wide-spread
system of military operations,--unless, indeed, the foresight of our
government had provided at this very time for the severing of the
telegraph on the Carolina coast, at which place alone this circuit came
within striking distance of the Union lines.
But we had no time for idle conjectures. The fact was patent that a
train was bearing down upon us at full speed. "Shall we stand and fight?
Shall we attack them now?" were questions eagerly asked.
But Andrews still hesitated to depart from the course pursued so far. We
had the rail broken which would arrest the enemy, and probably give us
time to fire the bridge ahead. Then all might yet be well,--that is if
the stations ahead were not warned, and the track obstructed before us.
Should that prove the case, then to stand and sell our lives as dearly
as possible, or, abandoning our engine, to fly on foot across the
country, were all the alternatives. The crisis of our fate drew near,
and our hardest and sharpest work lay just ahead.
Influenced by such considerations, which were then mainly confined to
his own mind, Andrews, without a moment's hesitation, gave the signal,
which was as quickly obeyed, for mounting the train. The engineer threw
the valve wide open, and, with a spring that threw us from our feet, the
noble steed was once more careering forward. To his companions on the
locomotive Andrews said, quietly, as he ever spoke in times of deepest
excitement, "Push her, boys; let her do her best. We must lose no time
in getting to the bridge above." Some of the engine oil was thrown into
the furnace, and the already fiery pace sensibly quickened. The problem
seemed perfectly simple. If we could reach the bridge, and get it well
on fire in less time than our enemies could piece out the broken rail,
we had still a chance of life and success. If not, more desperate means
became necessary. The speed of the engine might save us a precious
half-minute, and on such a narrow margin everything turned. Nobly did
our good old locomotive respond to the call! Rocking, whirling,
bounding,--it seemed a marvel that some of the box-cars were not hurled
from the track. Inside these cars all was action. Though we could
scarcely keep one position a moment, idleness could not now be indulged.
We knew that the time for concealment had passed, and we wrought with
flying fingers in preparation for our incendiary work. The forward end
of our box-car, and both ends of the others, were knocked out by
employing one of the heavy cross-ties as a battering-ram, and the
greater part of the sides were loosened in the same manner, and torn
into fragments for kindling. This destruction of barriers also opened a
way of communication with the engine. Andrews approved what we had done,
and told us frankly that our lives probably depended on the number of
seconds we consumed in getting the bridge on fire. Just then an
exclamation of wonder and dismay from our keen-sighted fireman, Alfred
Wilson, drew attention. He declared positively that he saw the smoke of
the pursuing engine still following us! It was scarcely credible, but he
was so positive, and it was so important to know the truth, that our
speed was slackened to ascertain. In a moment a whistle, clear and
unmistakable, rang out from beyond a curve we had just passed. All doubt
was at an end; but our surprise and consternation were as great as when
the train was first discovered in pursuit. There had been no time to lay
again the rail we had taken up, and the broken half of which we still
had with us. It seemed a miracle wrought against us. But Andrews'
resources were not yet exhausted. He ordered another effort, which might
yet give us time to fire the bridge ahead, that he was most unwilling to
pass without destroying. The locomotive was reversed, and our
kindling-wood, with most of the ties, carried forward, and the moment we
began to move backward the hindmost car was uncoupled. The pursuing
locomotive was then in fearful proximity. We could see that it was
running backward, and that a number of men were crowded on it. Almost at
the same moment its machinery was reversed and ours turned forward. As
we left them at lightning speed we could just see that their velocity
was well checked before they touched our abandoned car.
But this was not yet sufficient. As we came to the next slight up-grade
the same manoeuvre was repeated, and our second car flung back at the
enemy in like manner. The time lost in doing this brought them again
near us, and we saw that they were pushing our first car before them.
But how had they passed the broken rail? For years I could get no
satisfactory information on this subject. Some Confederate accounts
spoke of a rail being taken up behind and laid down before the engine.
But the time was too short to permit such an action. That a stop could
be made, a rail taken up, spiked down again, and our engine, running
faster than the wind, overtaken,--all of this well inside of five
minutes,--was incredible. Very probably this course was adopted in the
case of the next train which was pursuing not far behind. Other
Confederate accounts say nothing about this rail, while a few assert
that it was not broken at all, but only loosened and left in its place.
But having personally helped in the desperate pull, having fallen down
the bank with the party, and carried one end of the rail to put on our
car, besides having my left hand long suffer from being clasped under
the hand of William Campbell, the strongest man of our party, I
naturally cannot accept this explanation. Conductor Fuller gave another
solution of the mystery scarcely less strange, which I repeat as he gave
it to me. He said that when he saw our engine start on from this point
he could see no obstruction, and allowed the train to continue at high
speed. A moment after he noticed a short blank in one of the rails. A
terrible fear swept over him, for it was now too late to stop. But quick
as a lightning-flash he noticed another fact,--that the place of the
missing rail was on the _inside_ of a sharp curve. He explained to me
that a train at a very high rate of speed throws the most of its weight
on the outside rail of a curve, which is always made a little higher
than the other. Had an outside rail been broken the destruction of their
train would have been inevitable, but the break was on the inside. With
that rapid decision which the better class of railroad men learn to
exercise, he signalled to the engineer, "Faster; faster yet!" There was
a sharp jolt, and the locomotive and the cars attached were on the other
side of the obstruction with their speed not even abated. The next train
which followed was the passenger train that we had met at Calhoun, which
had also been turned back after us. This train had track-layers and
instruments on board, and did very quickly repair the damage; but if
Fuller had waited even that long the bridge over the Oostenaula would
have been wrapped in flames before his arrival.
Fuller saw the car we dropped, and by promptly having his engine
reversed, reduced the collision to merely a smart shock. It was
dextrously coupled fast and driven forward at full speed. The second
car we dropped was treated in the same manner, and the enemy's speed was
scarcely diminished. The time lost in dropping the cars was about as
long as that lost in coupling to them.
Thus in the short space between Calhoun and the Oostenaula River three
hindrances or perils, the greatness of which will be best appreciated by
railroad men, were overcome by the skill and daring of Fuller's band,
and in spite of them they attained a rate of running on this crooked and
irregular road which would have been most remarkable on a perfectly
smooth and unobstructed track.
Now the Oostenaula bridge was in sight, and we slackened speed for a
desperate attempt to burn it. But before we could come to a full stop
the pursuer was close upon us, and very reluctantly we steamed over the
bridge and continued our flight. The prospect was rapidly darkening
before us. It was certain that one of the trains we had met at
Adairsville or Calhoun was turned back after us and driven with the
utmost determination. Of all conjectures to account for this pursuit,
that of a telegram by the way of Richmond was most probable and most
portentous. If this was really the case, our fate was sealed. With a
relentless pursuer hanging upon our heels, and the towns ahead warned
and ready to dispute our passage, human bravery and foresight would
avail nothing. I have no doubt the mind of Andrews was weighed down and
perplexed by the uncertainty of our situation. Could we have known even
as much of the number and plans of our foes as they knew of ours--above
all, could we have known whether the road was open before us--the
problem would have been simpler. Yet we had but two hopes: to wreck the
train behind us, a task of no small difficulty now they were on their
guard; or, failing in this, to distance them in running far enough to
lift some rails or burn one of the bridges still ahead. If only one
bridge could be burned, it would stop the pursuit for the time and leave
us free to encounter the opposition before us.
Accordingly the jaded "General" was spurred to full speed. The load was
now lighter, and as much of the kindling as we thought it prudent to
spare was used in putting the furnace into a fiercer blaze. We also
resumed the practice of dropping cross-ties from the rear of the car.
These efforts had a marked effect in delaying the pursuers, for their
smoke and whistle soon ceased to disturb us. But while running at this
violent rate we had passed Resaca and thought it prudent to again cut
the telegraph. While stopping for this purpose the writer took a rail
which had been bent in lifting it, and placed it so that one end was
held firmly under the track, and the other projected at a little
elevation, towards the pursuing train. This was not more than
accomplished when that train was heard again, and we mounted our engine
and sped onward. As the rail was small and dark, the enemy ran right on
it before it was observed, and Fuller afterwards declared that if it had
been a little lower, it would have been sure to wreck them. But as it
was, the end struck the edge of the car, and it was knocked harmlessly
from the track.
Above Tilton we succeeded in getting a full supply of water from the
tank. This was most welcome, as the water was nearly exhausted. The
wood-station was at another place, and as our supply ran low we threw on
fence-rails or any other available fuel whenever stopping to cut the
wires.
Our condition was now widely different and more unfavorable than it was
a short time before. With only one car, and that almost torn to pieces,
even the magnificent coolness and self-possession of Andrews could
scarcely avert suspicion at any station where we might be driven to
halt. And with all our efforts we could never get much more than out of
sight of our pursuers. The time required for cutting wires and spent in
trying to take up track compensated almost exactly for the time our
pursuers spent in removing the obstructions we continued to throw before
them. With all their efforts they could not get within easy gunshot of
us; neither could we distance them far enough for the decisive operation
of burning a bridge. The relation of the two parties was peculiar and
well defined. Each party soon came to recognize the strength and
weakness which belonged to its own situation. With their better engine
it would have been comparatively easy for our pursuers to come near
enough to pick off man after man with their guns, while entirely out of
reach of our revolvers. But had they come up so close, any obstruction
we might have placed on the track would have been terribly efficient. As
long as we possessed cross-ties or anything large enough to wreck a
train they were bound to keep a respectful distance. The most favorable
position for them was just far enough in the rear to see when we stopped
or threw anything on the track, thus enabling them to check up in time.
They dared not come nearer than this while we were in rapid motion, but
they were often farther behind.
Mile after mile the terrible chase continued. Station after station was
passed without the least lessening of speed. The idlers about the
platforms started back in amazement and affright when they saw a train
dash by like a thunderbolt, closely followed by three others, the latter
screaming as loudly as their whistles were able. To us, who were looking
out from the baggage-car, houses and villages, groves and hills, flashed
by almost too quickly for distinct vision. Then, in the hottest speed,
the whistle would sound "down brakes," and the stop--usually made by
reversing the engine--would be so sudden that we needed to cling
convulsively to avoid being hurled from our places; then, in a moment,
we would spring to the ground and labor with the energy of despair at
destroying the telegraph and the track, or loading on ties, until the
signal,--usually from behind, given by the pursuing train,--when all
would rush on board, and the engine, putting its full strength into th
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