at major carters—my swollen limbs give me an excuse to cut off the conversation—rev. mr. burch gives us a hearty welcome and a good breakfast—passing a confederate soldier—recaptured—eccentric but loyal tom hubbard—taken back to fort emory.
Having partaken of a good hearty supper, we were given a room, and, for the first time in many months, I enjoyed the luxury of a good feather bed. Oh, how gratefully my poor tired limbs revelled in its downy recesses. It seemed almost too bad, to soil those snowy sheets with our dusty and travel stained clothing. Weary and tired as we were however, we soon forgot all our troubles, and were revelling in sweet dreams of home and loved ones.
We were awake bright and early next morning, and hastily dressing, we quietly left the house before any of the other inmates were awake.
This was Monday, the eighteenth day of our tramp, and we had passed through South Carolina and Georgia, and were near the extreme north-west corner of North Carolina.
We walked about two miles, when we came to the house of the Rev. Mr. Burch. He had been milking and was just going to the house with a pail of milk when we came up and asked if we could get some breakfast there. He gave us a hearty welcome to such fare as they could give us, and invited us into the house. We soon discovered that he was a strong Union man, and, although we did not reveal ourselves to him as Yankees, I believe he at least mistrusted we were. We learned from him that the Union forces had been at Murphy, and when we got across the river from there we would be in Tennessee, where we would be safe, as our forces held the ground there. We had told him that we did not intend to go back into the army, but intended to get inside the Union lines and stay there.
I being a member of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, gave him some signs of that order, which he thought was a clumsily given Masonic sign, and, as he belonged to that fraternity, he tried to test me in the signs of that society. I told him I was not a Mason, but was an Odd Fellow, and he could trust me just as freely as though we both belonged to the same order. He said: “I do trust you, and believe you are all right, but when we express Union sentiments in this section of the country, you know, we do so with a halter around our necks. I have already said and done enough to hang me if it were known to the rebel authorities, and I know they would resort to any trick to trap me into saying or doing something that would convict me of treason to the Confederacy. But I will trust you, though I place my life in your hands by so doing, for God and my own conscience tell me that I am doing right.”
He then gave us explicit directions about getting across the river, near Murphy, which was about twenty miles further. He said it would not do to cross the bridge at that place, as it was guarded night and day; but we could probably find boats above there that we could use in crossing. After breakfast he walked with us a short distance, and bidding us an affectionate good-bye and God speed, he turned back and we pursued our way.
About three miles further on we passed the little hamlet of Fort Emory, where I noticed a Confederate officer sitting on the stoop of the only store in the village. Passing by with a nod and a good morning, we were soon out of sight, and as we felt a little uneasy after this, we walked as rapidly as it was possible in my enfeebled condition.
The country through which we were passing now was mostly woods and sparsely settled. In fact, I think we did not pass but two or three houses in the next ten miles. At that distance from Fort Emory we came to a large house that looked as though it belonged to a well-to-do planter, and seeing the owner out near the road we stopped and asked if we could get some supper. We had as yet said nothing about paying, and he put on a long face when he told us that he had nothing cooked in the house. He was a miserly looking old seed, and thinking a little money might tempt him, I said that we were not particular what it was, but would pay him for any kind of a “snack,” if he could manage to give us something that would stay our stomachs until we got to Murphy.
Mr. Harshaw—for that was his name—thought he might find something if we would wait awhile, till he could go into the house. While we were yet talking two mounted, armed men, came suddenly around a bend in the road, and galloped down to where we were standing, each with a drawn pistol, and a carbine slung over his shoulder. Dick Hancock the Sergeant, asked, to what command do you belong? 32d Georgia I answered. Where are you going? To Murphy to see my sister; giving him a ficticious name. Let me see your pass said he. I felt in my pocket and said, by golly Alban I left those passes in my haversack at Maj. Carters; and then turning to the Sergeant, I explained that we staid at the Major’s last night, and as we intended to go back to-morrow or the next day, we thought we would leave the haversack which was pretty heavy, and our passes were in the haversack.
You can consider yourselves under arrest, said the Sergeant; and told his companion, Tom Hubbard, to dismount and search us. Tom was a very excitable person, and had a habit of spitting about sixty times a minute. He first took a large Morocco pocketbook that I carried in the breast pocket of my coat, and looking over the papers, came across my recruiting authorization paper, which I had received from the Governor, authorizing me to recruit volunteers, for the service of the United States. Tom read this aloud, spitting between each sentence. He read along until he came to the clause above spoken of, when he stopped suddenly and said: “You are a Yankee officer, by thunder!” I laughed and said: “Well, a Yankee could not guess better than that.”
“Well, you are, by jingo.”
“Well, who said I wasn’t?”
Tom got terribly excited, and spit faster than ever, as he said: “Well, by thunder, you are a Yankee.”
I should have laughed if he had been going to shoot me, and I did laugh heartily at his excitement. This made him more excited still, and by the time he had finished reading the paper, he was so excited that I could easily have disarmed him, but the Sergeant sat there, with his pistol ready to shoot if we made any attempt to get away.
I then told them that we were Yankee officers, and that we had for six months suffered the horrors of prison life, that we had escaped from Columbia, and had walked three hundred miles to gain our liberty, and pulling up my pants I showed them my legs, which were swollen to three times their natural size, and very much inflamed, and asked if, after having tramped so far with such a pair of legs, I was not entitled to my liberty. The tears started into Tom’s eyes, his mouth twitched convulsively, he spit with fearful rapidity, and he finally said in a choking voice, “By thunder, I am sorry I ever saw you.”
If I had my way I would let you go, but if we did old Harshaw, who is a bitter Confederate, would report us and we would be shot. And Tom meant what he said; for as will appear further on, he was a Union man at heart. But the Sergeant was unmoved by our distress, and was only too proud to think he had captured two Yankee officers, to contemplate letting us go; so he ordered us to walk between them back to Fort Emory, ten miles. No Sergeant, I said, I am your prisoner, only because my legs gave out; and I shall never walk back. If you want me to go back to Fort Emory, you will have to carry me, for if I could have walked you would not have seen me. He insisted that I start on, but I told him plainly that I would not walk a step, that I had just about as leave he would shoot me right there as to take me back into prison.
Tom finally said, Dick, you take him up behind you, and I will take this big fellow up behind me, and we will get along much faster. To this proposition the Sergeant consented, and we both mounted and started back. If I could have had a chance to have said a dozen words to Alban before starting, without their seeing us, we would not have gone far; but the Sergeant and I rode ahead, followed by Tom and Alban, and if I had made a move to disarm my man, Tom would have been just in a position to have helped him. I was on the alert, thinking that perhaps Alban would pinion Tom’s arms from behind, and give me a signal to do the same for the Sergeant, which I could have easily done.
If I had only known what was going on behind me that night, this narrative would have a different termination. But I did not know Tom Hubbard then, nor did I know how strongly he was attached to the old flag. I learned all this afterwards, and learned to appreciate him, for a true-hearted, loyal man, whose fidelity could always be relied upon, and whose sympathetic nature was as tender as a woman’s. The circumstances which surrounded him, compelled him to assume an allegiance to the Confederacy that his loyal soul revolted at. And there is no man North or South that I would give more to see to-day than this same eccentric Tom Hubbard.
CHAPTER XVIII.
in prison again.
We arrived at the house of Captain Sanderson about ten o’clock that night, and were treated by him like gentlemen. Late as it was, after placing us in an out-house, in which was a weaver’s loom, he brought us a good lunch, and gave us every possible privilege he could.
We were strictly guarded, but were made to feel our captivity as little as possible.
We were allowed to go down to a stream near the house the next day, and wash our clothes, which we had worn nearly a month, and the captain, in every way, treated us more like guests than prisoners.
Captain Sanderson was in command of a company of home guards, and had never seen active service. He was a well-to-do farmer, and most of his command were his neighbor’s sons, who, like himself, did not care to go into the regular service, and most of them were strongly tinctured with Union sentiments. I don’t think he was a very bitter Confederate himself.
The next afternoon, after having washed and dried our clothes and took a good bath in the stream near by, we were started under guard for Franklin. We walked about three miles, when we stopped at the house of a Union man named Johnson, and whose son had joined Captain Sanderson’s company of home guards to save conscription, and who was detailed as one of our guard.
They filled our haversacks with choice fruit, and Captain Lyons, of the 1st Georgia Regiment, whom we met there, loaned me a horse to ride. Our guard the first day was Lieutenant R. N. Leatherwood, Sergeant Dick Hancock, and D. J. Johnson. We found by talking to Mr. Johnson that he was a Union man, and that Captain Lyons, who had so kindly loaned me his horse, was one also, but they dare not show it. We only went three miles the first afternoon, and the next morning Tom Hubbard overtook us, leading a mule for me to ride, as I had only borrowed Captain Lyons’s horse for the first afternoon. Tom Hubbard soon found an opportunity to tell me, that his brother and a Captain Tidwell were going to try to assist us to escape. This Captain Tidwell was in command of another company of home guards, and we had not gone far on this second day of our march, before he met us as if by chance, and we halted, and after chatting a few minutes, Tom asked him to ride along with us.
He had a canteen of applejack, and invited all hands to take a drink. This we all did, though Captain Alban and I drank very sparingly. The canteen was passed quite often, and though we all seemed jolly, I noticed that it held out pretty well, and concluded that they were all trying to get the rest drunk, without getting drunk themselves. What we wanted was, to get enough of this apple brandy down Lieutenant Leatherwood and Sergeant Dick Hancock, to affect them, and then make a break; but it did not work. They pretended to drink, but were as wary as ever, and were evidently onto our little game.
We were a noisy crowd that passed along that road through the woods that day, we sung, shouted, laughed and swaggered, but that canteen still held out. Finally as we were passing a spur of the Nantahala mountains, we saw some mules feeding upon the mountain to our left and rear, and as all were mounted except Captain Alban, it was suggested that the Lieutenant and Sergeant try to catch one of the mules for him, so we could get along a little faster.
The Sergeant gave Captain Tidwell his revolver, to guard us while he was gone, and they started up the mountain in pursuit of the mules. When they had got half way up, Captain Tidwell told us to run into the woods and up a ravine that separated the two spurs, and he would fire his revolver towards us, to make believe he was trying to shoot us, but would be careful not to hit either of us. We had never seen him until an hour previous, and of course did not know but this was only a dodge to give him an excuse for shooting a Yankee, but we took the risk, and started into the woods.
He shouted halt! halt!! and fired three shots in quick succession; the bullets sounded uncomfortably near our heads, but we kept on. My legs were stiff and cramped from riding, and I made very poor headway. I threw off my overcoat and haversack to lighten me, but it seemed as though I was in a nightmare; and though I strained every nerve to make the utmost speed, I seemed to be moving at a snail pace. Alban, who had been walking, and was strong and robust, outstripped me and was gaining at every step. I was perspiring at every pore, and my breath was short and hot, but still I did not seem to get ahead much. I was just thinking I would soon be out of sight, when I heard Lieutenant Leatherwood’s voice close behind me, saying, hold on Lieutenant, I don’t want to shoot you; and looking over my shoulder, saw him within five rods of me, with his revolver pointed at my head.
Seeing that any further effort at flight would only result in my getting the contents of that revolver, and not hankering after anything of that kind, as I was near enough dead already, I stopped and went quietly back, Alban, who was five or six rods ahead of me, doing likewise.
One of the bullets from Captain Tidwell’s revolver had struck a rock near me, and a piece of the bullet hit me just under my right eye, thus saving his reputation as a marksman, and giving color to his intentions to shoot me.
As we slowly made our way back to the road, I picked up my traps that I had discarded in my flight, and laughingly told the boys that I only came back because it was so much more pleasant to ride than go on foot. Dick Hancock, the Sergeant, however, did not seem to relish the joke, and, demanding his revolver of Captain Tidwell, said he would shoot the d—d Yankees anyhow.
Captain Tidwell told him that he wouldn’t shoot any one who was a prisoner, that if there was any shooting going on, he would have a hand in. Dick swaggered considerable, but I finally told him that if he really wanted to shoot some one, he had better go to the front, where he would find lots of it to do. Said I, (for I was then satisfied that in case of a row the chances were in our favor) “I want you to understand now, that while I am a prisoner in your hands, I shall make every effort to escape; and it is your duty to keep me if you can, and if you shoot me while I am trying to get away, you will only be doing your duty; but while I am a secure prisoner, you have no more right to murder me than you have to murder anyone else.”
You must watch me closely, for I give you fair warning, that I shall escape if I can. This talk seemed to exasperate him more than ever, and regaining his revolver, he swore that he would shoot the d—d Yankee any way. Said I, “Dick, if Captain Tidwell will let me take his revolver, I will step out here and shoot with you for a while, and see who is the best shot; for I had about as soon die here, as to be a prisoner much longer.”
Lieutenant Leatherwood finally ordered him to put up his pistol or he would put him under arrest. He then subsided, but was grouty all the balance of the day. That evening we came to a school house in the woods, and concluded to stay there all night.
Gathering up some dry wood we soon had a roaring fire going in the large open fire place, and as we had been supplied with two days rations we ate our supper, and then lighting our pipes, enjoyed ourselves just as though we all belonged to the same army. I got even Dick Hancock in good humor, by telling stories, and with Captain Alban, who was a good singer, treating them to the “Red, White and Blue,” the “Star Spangled Banner,” and “Rally ’Round the Flag.”
When we came to the line, “And we’ll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best,” they fairly made the woods ring with applause.
Before bed time, Dick Hancock came up to me and apologized for his rudeness to me that afternoon, saying, “You are a d—d good fellow, anyway, and I don’t care a d—n how quick you get away after I turn you over to the guard at Franklin.” I asked him to caution the boys against saying anything at Franklin about our attempted escape, and he promised to do so.
We laughed, sang, swapped funny stories, and cracked jokes until 10 o’clock, and a stranger going by would not have mistrusted that there were any heavy hearts in that crowd of boisterous soldiers.
At 10 o’clock the door was securely fastened, one of the guard spreading his blanket and lying down against it, and Dick and the Lieutenant took the precaution to have Alban and myself sleep between them.
About two o’clock the next morning, I awoke and asked to have a guard sent out of the house with me, and Captain Alban said he guessed he would go too.
I was in hopes the Lieutenant would send young Johnson with us, but Dick Hancock had not forgotten what transpired the day before, and said he would go along with the guard.
He was mistrustful of young Johnson, and rightfully so, for had we went out with him alone we would both have got into the woods and taken his gun along with us; and once in the woods in the night, it would have been next to impossible to find us again.
As it was we made no attempt to escape, but went back and slept until daylight. After breakfast that morning we again saddled up and started for Franklin, which place we reached about ten o’clock, and were then turned over to another guard, who were made up of some of the best citizens of that beautiful village. I have none but pleasant recollections of Franklin, and would like to visit the place again under the changed condition of things.
CHAPTER XIX.
a hospitable host—franklin jail—charitable women—a thoughtful, motherly gift—a generous guard—ashville jail—attempt to break out.
Upon our arrival at Franklin we were taken to the jail, but before we were locked up, Doctor Moore, of the village, invited us to his house to dinner, and upon his agreeing to be responsible for our safe return, we were allowed to go with him unattended by any guard. Although no promise had been exacted from us not to escape, we would not have attempted to leave, had an outlet presented itself. We would have considered it a base betrayal of his confidence, as much so as the violation of a parole, to have taken advantage of so kind and generous a host. We were received at his house with all the cordiality of distinguished guests, and nothing was said or done, by any member of the family, that could be construed into a hint that we were other than welcome visitors.
Dr. Moore was an ardent supporter of the Confederacy, but was too much of a gentleman to allude to any thing during our visit, that would be offensive to our ears. Books and papers were on the parlor table, photographs of the family and friends were shown us; a stereoscope was also on the table, supplied with views of scenes both in the North and South. I was looking at some of the views, when I, without knowing what it was, put one into the stereoscope and looking at it, almost imagined that I was in New York. It was a view of Broadway from the Battery up. Oh! how this picture reminded me of home. It seemed as though I could call a stage by raising my hand. I looked at it long and earnestly, so long that I almost forgot my surroundings, forgot everything, and was again among friends at home.
Altogether, we passed a very pleasant afternoon with the genial doctor and his interesting family.
As we were leaving, Mrs. Moore and a neighbor, Mrs. Siler, having noticed our stockingless feet, presented us each with a pair of nice, warm, woolen socks, that they had knitted for some member of their own family, and filling a basket with choice apples and potatoes, sent them with us to the jail, which was to be our quarters that night. Arriving at the jail, we found that the doctor, thoughtful of our comfort, had caused a fire to be built in the wide fireplace, the cheerful glow of which made our imprisonment more tolerable. These little acts of kindness left a green spot in our memory of prison life, that still remains as an oasis in the otherwise cheerless desert we passed through. When God makes up his rewards and punishments, I am sure he will say to the kind-hearted doctor and his family, “I was sick and in prison, and ye visited me.”
The next day a Mr. Johnson was detailed as our guard, and instead of staying with us at the jail, he invited us to his house, where he kept us over night, giving us a good clean bed and a good supper and breakfast, and treating us as had Doctor Moore, more as guests than as prisoners.
The next day we were started for Ashville, N. C., with a guard, under Lieutenant Ammon. The Lieutenant, sympathizing with me in my enfeebled condition, furnished me with a mule to ride, and showed me every kindness possible.
One of our guard on this trip was Hon. Thomas S. Siler, ex-member of Assembly of Macon county. He was a very agreeable gentleman, who still had a strong attachment for the Union. He was intelligent and well posted on every subject, and my conversation with him during the march, seemed to lessen the tediousness of the journey.
We arrived at Ashville, N. C., on the 7th of November, and were crowded into an upper room in the jail, about twelve feet square, in which there were besides us, twenty-seven rebel deserters, two of them sick with the measles. I had not been able up to this time, to do anything for my swollen and inflamed legs, and they were in a most frightful condition, causing me intense pain and suffering, so much so that I was fearful of losing them entirely, as they had been neglected so long. A surgeon visited me in the jail, and recommended my removal to the hospital, but although I offered to give my parole for that purpose, Colonel Lowe, who was in command, refused to allow me to be sent there.
The room was so full, that it was impossible for all of us to lie down at once, and we were obliged to take turns standing up. Our water closet consisted of a wooden pail in one corner of the room, which was twice a day carried out and emptied by the guard; as we were none of us allowed to leave the room for any purpose. The intolerable stench from this pail, and the filthy slops around it, was enough to create an epidemic.
The atmosphere of the room was simply insufferable, and we were obliged to keep the windows raised, notwithstanding the cold weather, in order to get ventilation. We had one old stove in the room, but our supply of wood was quite insufficient to keep the temperature anything like comfortable, although the village was surrounded by good timber.
One intensely cold night our wood had given out, and so I took the large iron poker and commenced prying off the wainscoting of the room for fuel, and by morning I had completely stripped one side. That morning when the Sergeant came in he raised a great row about it, threatening to punish the one who had done it. I told him that I was the one, and that I had considered it a military necessity, and that if we were not furnished with wood, he would wake up some morning and find the old jail burned down. He said I should be reported and punished for destroying government property, but the only thing done was to give us thereafter a more liberal supply of fuel.
We occupied a front room in the north-west corner of the jail, and in the room back of us were twenty-nine more reb deserters and a large, powerful negro, who had been placed there by his master as a punishment for some alleged misdemeanor. There was only a board partition between the two rooms, and it was not long before I had established communication with our neighbors, by cutting a hole through the partition large enough to allow us to carry on conversation. Upon our entrance into the jail they had deprived us of our case knives that we had carried with us thus far, for fear we would cut our way out with them.
But I had a screw driver to a gun which they happened to overlook in their search. This I sharpened on the bricks on which the stove rested, and then commenced making an outlet for our escape. I took a strong cord, and lashed the screw driver to a round stick of stove wood, and at night removed one of the sick men, and commenced by punching across two boards in the floor just over the joist, to cut through the floor. It was hard work, but by spelling each other, we had the two boards completely loose before midnight. Upon removing the loose boards we found that there was a ceiling of the same thickness still between us and freedom. The floor and ceiling were both Norway pine, and very hard, and as we could not work with our short handled chisel we adopted another plan for that.
We took the large poker which I had used to tear off the wainscoting, and heating it red hot in the stove, commenced burning holes through the under ceiling. We had a pail of water for drinking, and when it blazed up too much, we would dash on a cup full of water. This was slow work, but just at daylight we had removed the last board and then carefully swept up all traces of our work, and placing the boards back in their place, carried the sick men back and laid them over them. Our windows were grated, and the room below was used as a store room and there were no grates at the windows there.
Once down in that room after dark, and we could easily make our escape. Everything went along smoothly that morning. The guard came in to bring our breakfast and empty our slop pail, without any suspicion that any thing was wrong, but about ten o’clock the Sergeant came up with a guard, and commenced looking around as though in search of something.
I knew instinctively what was up, but as he had the stove removed and commenced poking around the brick platform without saying a word, I could not restrain my laughter, and asked him if he had lost something; saying that if he had, perhaps I might tell him where to find it. He did not seem to take kindly to my offer of assistance, nor feel in a mood to enjoy the pleasure his frantic efforts to find the lost treasure, appeared to afford me. In fact he seemed to take it as a piece of Yankee impertinence. After satisfying himself that there was nothing under the stove, he had us all take up our blankets and other traps, without deigning to tell us what it was all for.
We all cheerfully complied with his order except the two sick rebs, who were too weak to get up. After thoroughly searching every other part of the room, he had the two sick men removed, and there discovered the loose boards and seemed satisfied and pleased. Was that what you was looking for Sergeant? said I. If you had told me what you wanted I could have told you where to look when you first came up, and saved you all this trouble. You’ens Yanks think you are d—d cute, don’t you? was all the reply I received. He left the guard in the room while he went and got a carpenter to repair the floor; He soon returned with a carpenter, and told him to nail them boards down securely. I told some of my associates, to keep him interested, by asking him how he discovered the hole, and I would fix the carpenter.
Carelessly lounging up to where he was working, I said in a tone that could not be heard by anyone else: “I can get those boards up easier if you break the nails off.”
He replied in the same undertone: “I don’t care a d—n how soon you get them up when I get away.”
I watched him, and saw that he followed my suggestion, breaking the nails in two with the claw of his hammer, so that they only a little more than went through the flooring. After he had finished the Sergeant inspected the work, and judging from the number of nails that it was securely done, took his guard and went away.
It seems that the family who lived in the lower part of the jail, kept a barrel of corn in that room below us, from which they fed their chickens, and that barrel set right under the hole we had cut; and when the old woman went to get some corn for her chickens that morning, she found it covered with chips and cinders, and looking up to ascertain the cause, discovered the hole in the ceiling. She at once notified the Sergeant of the discovery, and the result was we had our trouble and work for nothing.
Captain Alban and myself were the only Yankee prisoners in the jail, and until our arrival there had been no attempt at escape, and to us therefore was attributed all of the attempts to break out.
While the reb deserters were willing to share with us all the benefits to be derived from a break, they were too shiftless and lazy to fully enter into our plans for an escape.
CHAPTER XX.
another attempt at escape discovered—a bold plot—lack of sand in the reb deserters—a brave negro—the flogging.
Being satisfied that I could remove the flooring at any time within a few minutes, I told my fellow prisoners what I had said, and what I had seen done, and that when everything had become quiet, I would guarantee to get them out with ten minutes work. Some of the rebs were not satisfied, and insisted upon loosening the floor again at once, and despite all I could do, they persisted in doing so. The third night after was settled upon as the one to leave, as it promised to be dark and rainy, but just before night, the Sergeant took it into his head to try the floor, and procuring a long pole he went into the room below and punched at the loose boards, which immediately yielded, and then he brought in another carpenter, and personally superintended stopping up the aperture, which was done by spiking pieces of joist, against the floor joists, completely closing it up.
As I said, we had cut a hole through the partition, so that we could communicate with our neighbors in the next room. We made up a plot with them to seize the Sergeant when he came in at night to empty their slop pail, lock him in the room, take the keys and unlock our door, and we would all leave at once. We had bribed one of the guard to let us disarm him, and then we would be free to go out. When we got outside we would encounter another guard, but with one gun we could easily overpower and disarm him, and then trust to the two guns and our agility to gain the woods, which were close by.
It was all arranged that the large, powerful negro should seize the Sergeant from behind and hold him, while his companions secured his pistol and the keys. That night when the Sergeant came up, he brought one armed guard to the head of the stairs, and proceeded to unlock the door. As he entered, the negro, who stood behind the door, caught him from behind, securely pinioning his arms, and the keys and revolver were taken from him and all passed out except the negro, who was holding the Sergeant as securely as though he was in a vice.
When they had all got out the Sergeant was pushed into the cell and the door locked. The guard at the head of the stairs shouted, loud enough for the Sergeant to hear him: “Go back, or I’ll shoot! go back!” all the time expecting they would rush up and disarm him; but the cowards, fearing he was in earnest, fell back and unlocked the door, released the Sergeant, and gave him back his pistol without unlocking the door to our room.
Not knowing that the prisoners in our room were in the plot, the Sergeant paid no attention to us, but calling the officer of the guard, told him what had occurred.
They took the negro out into the hall, and bringing up a plank, proceeded to lash him securely to it, with his face down, after having stripped him.
They then took a strap something like a tug to a single harness, and gave him one hundred lashes with it upon his bare back, the blood flowing at every blow.
We had cut slits in the door, and through them watched this brutal transaction. I watched the operation of binding him with some curiosity and a good deal of indignation, and was astonished to find such brutality among those who professed civilization. Unaccustomed to such scenes, I must say it was the most sickening transaction I ever witnessed.
The shrieks and groans of this poor fellow, was enough to send a chill of horror through the most hardened. He begged for mercy in the most piteous terms, and as the cruel strap laid open the quivering flesh, and the blood trickled down his body, I shouted indignantly to his inhuman persecutors, that the poor fellow was not to blame, half as much as the white men; that he was only carrying out the instructions of the cowardly whites, who had basely deserted him after promising to stand by him. I told them that the poor ignorant black’s only fault had been, his confidence in the courage of his white associates, to as faithfully carry out their part of the programme, as he had carried out his.
That if any one should be punished it should be those whose lack of sand had got this poor fellow into a scrape and then like cowards basely deserted him. Finding that the infuriated monsters were bound to vent their spite upon this poor fellow, I turned away, and by holding my hands to my ears tried to shut out the sound of his pitiful cries for mercy. While reason remains to me I can never forget the scenes of that terrible night.
And to those inhuman monsters it seemed a pleasant pastime—such is the brutalizing effect of the system of human slavery. Once in a life-time is enough to witness such a revolting scene as this; I have witnessed one such, and I trust in God it may never be my misfortune to be obliged to witness another.
After this exhibition of fiendish cruelty, I am ready to believe that the system of human slavery was capable of developing total depravity into the hearts of slave holders. What man in the North could look on complacently and see such a cruel punishment inflicted? And yet the Southern whites seemed to look upon this brutality as a matter of course, and even before the preparations were made for the flogging, knew what would be the punishment inflicted upon the poor black, for his unsuccessful attempt to liberate his white skinned, and white livered comrades; and while they seemed to feel a sort of sympathy for their black skinned, but brave hearted comrade, they offered no remonstrance to his cruel tormentors, nor made a plea for mercy in his behalf.
When they seemed to become exhausted with their violent exercise, in swinging that cruel strap, they began to question the poor, fainting negro thus:
“What did you do it for, anyhow?”
“Oh, massa, dem white men dey told me to,” moaned the poor fellow.
“Will you ever mind them fellows again?”
“No, massa; if you only let me go this time I’ll never pay mo’ ’tention to dem white trash dan I would to a fly,” he said in a pleading voice.
He was not put back into the jail again, and what became of him we never learned. Our plan for escape had been well matured, and had it succeeded, as it would have done but for the weakening of the rebel deserters, there is scarcely a doubt but that we would have safely reached our lines, as these deserters were thoroughly acquainted with the country around Ashville and knew every turpentine path through the pine forests, and all of the mountain passes, as well as an old resident of Oswego knows the streets of the city.
Our plan was, to disarm the guard at the door, and then rush for the stack of arms belonging to the relief, who were not then on duty, and then fight our way through to Tennessee, where the loyal inhabitants of that state would join us in resisting recapture by the Confederates.
It was well understood by all, that once in Tennessee we were safe from molestation. This had been our objective point upon our escape from Columbia; and when we were unfortunately recaptured by Dick Hancock and Tom Hubbard, we were just intending, after getting something to eat at Mr. Harshaw’s, to at once go into the woods, and not leave them again until we had gained the river, which was only about two miles ahead.
Once at the river we were to search for a boat of some kind with which to cross it, and failing to find one, to build a raft that would float us over to the Tennessee shore. But it was destined otherwise. We learned after our recapture, that the officer we had seen sitting upon the stoop of a store at Fort Emory, was a paroled prisoner of war who was suffering from a wound, and by having been a prisoner at the North, recognized us as Yankees, and informed Dick Hancock and Tom Hubbard, who thereupon mounted and followed us up.
They had about given up overhauling us when they arrived at Mr. Harshaw’s, and said that if they had not found us there or learned by him that we were near by, that they would not have followed us any further, as it was then almost dark and they had already followed us ten miles. They said that until they found that authorization paper upon me they did not believe that we were Yankees, but supposed we were deserters from the Confederate army, who were trying to make our escape into the Tennessee border.
CHAPTER XXI.
placed in an iron cage—breaking out and attempting to dig through a brick wall—an unexpected surprise.
The next morning, we were all marched into a room on the opposite side of the hall, and to the south side of the jail, and were placed in an iron cage, made of flat bars two inches wide, and half an inch thick, firmly riveted together, and as I told the Sergeant, although we could not wear diamonds, we could look through them. We were packed into this cage like sardines in a box, scarcely having room to move. There were iron benches along the sides for us to sit upon, but lying down was quite out of the question.
When all was quiet that night, we thought as we could not sleep we would try and get out.
The door was fastened with a round iron prop that fitted into a socket in the floor, and was fastened to the door by a padlock. This prop we wrenched from its fastenings by reaching out through the diamond in the door, and then with it broke the lock, and the iron door swung back, giving us free egress to the room. The cage was about twenty feet long and eight feet wide, with a partition in the centre. This cage set in the middle of the room, and was about six feet from the walls of the room on all sides. With the bar thus wrenched off, we at once attacked the brick wall, and while some detached the brick, others held a blanket underneath to prevent the falling brick and mortar from falling to the floor, as they would make a noise that would attract the attention of those beneath us. We had made an opening nearly halfway through the outer wall, which was large enough for a good sized man to pass out, when most unexpectedly two more prisoners were brought in, and our operations were discovered, and the attempt to escape was again frustrated.
A guard was then placed in the room, and as we could not sleep, we spent the night in singing “Rally ’Round the Flag,” and other Union songs, and chaffing with the guard, who were nearly all, more or less, tinctured with Union sentiments, and only kept us from escaping, for fear of the consequence to themselves. Morning came and with it an order to get ready to go to Danville, Va.
I told the officer that I could not march on account of my inflamed legs, but he said that if I had got out of jail my legs would not have bothered me much, and he reckoned that it would do me good to take a walk anyway. And he would put us d—d Yanks where we wouldn’t bother him any more. So, after furnishing us with two days rations to last to Morgantown, they started four of us, Captain Alban, myself, and the two Union prisoners brought in the night before, whose names I do not now remember, under a guard consisting of a Lieutenant and four men, for a tramp over the mountains.
Our march over the mountains was a tedious one, interspersed now and then, however, with some amusing incident. We were in good humor with the guard, and laughed and joked along the road in a free and easy sort of way, and succeeded in making ourselves agreeable to them, gaining their confidence as much as we could, and after we had been marching half a day, a casual observer would have hardly distinguished the prisoners from the guard. We straggled along much the same as a dozen rebs would have done on a march by themselves.
On the afternoon of the first day’s march, we came along to a hickory grove, where about a dozen black and gray squirrels were sporting about on the top branches, gathering nuts, and I asked one of the guard to let me take his gun a minute and I would get a couple of them for our supper. He was about handing the gun to me, when the Lieutenant stopped him by saying: “You d—d fool, do you know what you are carrying that gun for? That Yankee might miss the squirrel and shoot you.”
I laughed, and said he must think I wasn’t much of a shot. But he said he was afraid I was too good a shot to be handling one of their guns; anyway the squirrels were probably tame ones belonging to the house near by, and his orders were not to disturb anything along the line of march. That night we stopped at an old farmer’s and I thought that if we had a room with a window looking outside there might be a chance for escape, and asked to be given a room to sleep in that was well ventilated, as I always liked lots of fresh air in my room; but we were placed in a middle room up stairs, and a guard placed in the room with us all night.
The next morning, after a good hearty breakfast with the family, for which the Lieutenant gave the farmer a receipt, we started on again, and at noon we descended a mountain that was so steep that the road was made zig-zag to allow wagons to gain the summit; and as we came to the foot of the mountain we found a rude, log hut in which lived a hunter. We stopped there to get dinner, and were all at a loss to guess what kind of fresh meat we were eating, and in answer to my inquiry the host said: “That, Mister, is bar meat; I was up on the mounting one day last week, and came upon this varmint eatin’ blackberries, and I fetched him home for winter. Don’t be afeared; bar meat won’t hurt ye more’n liftin’ on a stick o’ basswood.”
That afternoon one of the most amusing incidents of the march occurred.
We came to a farm house, and the farmer being at home, we all sat down on a log he had hauled up to the front of the house, for cutting up into fire wood, for a chat with him and to rest a little. The farmer sat on one end of the log, the Lieutenant next, and the rest of us were strung along.
The fellow who sat next to me had an ear of corn, and there were quite a number of chickens picking around the wood pile. While the Lieutenant and farmer were talking, this fellow took out his iron ramrod and laid it against the log beside him, and then commenced shelling the corn and feeding the chickens. Watching the farmer, he would tap a chicken across the back of the neck with his ramrod, stuff him in the breast of his overcoat, and innocently go on shelling the corn for the other chickens.
In this way I saw him gobble three good fat chickens, when he told the Lieutenant he was going to walk on a piece. When we overtook him about eighty rods further on, he was sitting in the woods beside the road, picking the chickens he had stolen from the farmer. The Lieutenant called to him and said, sternly: “I thought I told you not to plunder while on the march.” “Well,” said he, with a comical drawl, “I don’t allow no doggone chicken to come out and bite at me.” That settled it; we had chicken for supper that night, and the Lieutenant seemed to relish the supper as much as any of us.
The next day we marched to Morgantown, and there took the cars for Danville, Va. We saw no opportunity to escape, for we were guarded very strictly, though at the same time we were treated with all the courtesy that could possibly be shown us, and I believe our guard would have defended us with force, against any one who had attempted to molest us.
When we arrived at Salisbury, which was one of the most notorious rebel slaughter houses of the South, a place that vied with Andersonville in atrocities, cruelties, starvation and death. A place where thirteen thousand Union soldiers, became victims to the vindictiveness of their captors—no not their captors but their jailors—for the soldier, whether federal or confederate, who had the courage to risk his life in the field where prisoners were captured, possessed too great a sense of honor to treat with such heartless cruelty, those who so gallantly opposed them.
I say that when we arrived at Salisbury, we learned that there had been a desperate attempt made by the enlisted men confined there, to overpower the guard and make their escape that afternoon, and the artillery had opened on the prison pen with grape and cannister, killing, and wounding, many of the Union prisoners confined there. Great excitement still prevailed when we arrived, and threats of shooting the d—d Yanks were freely indulged in by the “new issue,” as the home guard were called.
But we were not molested; probably owing to the fact that we had a guard over us, of soldiers who were ready and willing to protect their prisoners from interference from outside parties.
We staid in Salisbury until about eleven o’clock p. m., during which time the reb guard, and their lady friends, were parading around the depot where we were waiting for the train, singing, flirting, and talking about the Yankee prisoners.
While we were sitting on the depot platform waiting, we were smoking, and as the platform was filled with bales of cotton, we were, while apparently uninterested spectators of what was going on, emptying our pipes into the cotton bales.
We thus managed to set fire to a number of these bales of cotton, well knowing that after we were gone and the guard had retired, there would be apt to be a blaze; and the next day we heard that the depot at Salisbury was burned the night before, destroying a large amount of cotton stored there. On my arrival at Danville, I met Colonel W. C. Raulston, of the 24th New York Cavalry, with whom I was acquainted, and who introduced me to the members of his mess, Brigadier-General A. N. Duffie, Brigadier-General Hays, and Lieutenants Leydon and VanDerweed, who were all anxious to talk with me about the chances of escape. Knowing that I had had considerable experience in that line, they naturally concluded that I could give them some valuable points on how to escape, and how best to reach our lines after we had got out.
Well, we held a long and animated conference, in which I gave some of my own experience, in and out of rebel prisons, telling them of the hardships and exciting scenes through which I and my comrades had passed in trying to reach our lines, of the difficulties we had encountered, and the privations we had been obliged to endure. To get out of prison was not a difficult task for one or two, but a successful prison delivery was quite another thing to accomplish.
Two hundred officers, each having ideas of their own, were harder to control than five times that number of enlisted men, who had been disciplined to obey; and as no one had any authority to command, or control the actions, of his fellow officers, we lacked the greatest essential to success—organization. Various plans were suggested and discussed, but none which seemed to promise success, appeared to be practical just at that time. Almost daily conferences were held, but the prevailing opinion seemed to be, that an attempted general outbreak, without thorough organization, would prove disasterous, and only end in an unnecessary sacrifice of life, and almost certain failure.