Part 2 (1/2)
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 a.s.sure us that no listener was near, was the place of our a.s.semblage. Never was a consultation preparatory to some desperate deed held under more fitting circ.u.mstances. 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 pa.s.sing of some belated traveller. Popular superst.i.tion would probably have considered such a sound as ominous of evil; and most of us are superst.i.tious 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 ma.s.sacred 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 a.s.surance 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 pa.s.sage on the cars down to Marietta; that will be our next place of a.s.sembling, and not Atlanta. You must be there by Thursday evening, ready to take pa.s.sage 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.