Part 1 (1/2)
Capturing a Locomotive.
by William Pittenger.
PREFACE.
War has a secret as well as a public story. Marches and battles are open to the popular gaze; but enterprises of another cla.s.s 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 fict.i.tious 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 p.r.o.noun.
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.
CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION.
As the writer looked up from the ma.n.u.script 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 pa.s.sing 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.
[Ill.u.s.tration: GENERAL O. M. MITCh.e.l.l.
(From Harper's Magazine.) Page 11.]
As I watched the working-parties, my attention was attracted to one strong-looking soldier who was obviously s.h.i.+rking. 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 a.s.sailant, 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 ma.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed by the sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e, 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.