Part 11 (1/2)
Wilson answered, ”I don't know what I can tell them. I am too cold to speak the truth, though.”
The usual Kentucky story was modified to suit their surroundings. They asked for boats, and professed to be sent out to destroy all on the river, except where they were in the hands of trustworthy men, with the object of preventing Union men running away from the conscription. This was plausible, and they were warmed, dried, and fed.
They now ran down a short distance in the daytime, tied up, and hid in a field. A man and boy saw their boat, and were about to take it, when the adventurers, unwilling to be done by as they had done, and confident in their story, came out and stopped the proceeding. They a.s.serted that it was a government boat, and that they belonged to a regiment in Chattanooga, which place they learned was only five miles away. The man invited them to his house to wait the lulling of the storm. They accepted, and after nightfall pushed off again, pa.s.sing Chattanooga, which they had so long dreaded, in safety. They were now almost jubilant, but soon found that everything was not smooth sailing. I presume the storm, which had been so disagreeable, had also been a shelter, and that without it they might not have got by the rebel headquarters so easily.
There is a deep gorge a few miles below the city, where the mountains rise abruptly from the water in frowning grandeur. The river is greatly narrowed, and, suddenly bending to the left, dashes its furious current against a wall of rock, and forms a foaming eddy. Our two navigators ”perceived even in the darkness that there was danger ahead. The great roar and noise caused by the das.h.i.+ng of the angry waters against the rocks warned us. We hugged the left hand with our little boat as closely as possible. As we pa.s.sed the angry whirlpool, into which we seemed to be drifting, our boat was struck a tremendous blow by a floating log. We thought we were all dashed to pieces. The blow hoisted us away, however, several yards to the left, and we went flying down the gorge like the wind. We were afterwards told that a number of adventurous persons had, at different times, lost their lives in trying to run down this place by getting swamped in this great torrent or whirlpool, and it was no doubt owing to the blow we received from the floating log, by which our boat was knocked just beyond the reach of danger, that we escaped as fortunately as we did. It was a providential blow for us, though it had well nigh crushed our boat. We pulled at our paddles with might and main to keep the water from swamping our boat, which sank pretty low in the current and was now going at railroad speed. We soon reached smoother water, and again felt ourselves safe.”
A man on the bank warned them not to try to run through the ”suck,” a worse place than that which they had just pa.s.sed. With much urging, and the promise of three dollars reward, they got him to agree to pilot them through. He was a skilful boatman, and took them in safety, though their boat was nearly filled with water.
Because of these dangers they had been running in daylight. They were soon hailed by a squad of rebel cavalry, but, being well over on the opposite side, rowed on without seeming to notice them. They were now coming to the most dangerous part of their journey,--that near the Federal lines, where the vigilance of the enemy was most constantly exercised. They therefore resolved to travel only at night, hiding themselves and their precious boat by day. That night they pa.s.sed Bridgeport, where they expected to meet Mitchel, but found he had not yet arrived.
When they sought a solitary cabin to get food the next day they heard great news,--that the Yankees were in the town of Stevenson. This was confirmed by numerous fugitives who were seeking safety from the dreaded enemy. They got back to their canoe, rowed down the river until they judged themselves opposite Stevenson, and then started across the country to find their friends. The good news elated them so much that they made the fatal mistake of not waiting for nightfall. Consequently they found themselves in the town sooner than they expected, and then to their dismay discovered that the streets were swarming with rebel soldiers! The story of the frightened fugitives had entrapped them.
But they put the best possible face on the matter. Buying a few articles in a store, they attempted to stroll leisurely out, but were stopped by an officer on guard and questioned. They answered plausibly,--probably with the Kentucky story, as they were now away from the river,--and were about to be released, when a man brought a _false_ accusation. He recognized Wilson as being one of the Federal cavalry that charged into the town the previous night, and dared him to deny it! He did deny it, but in vain, and having been believed so often when telling falsehoods, it was only a fair compensation that he now told the truth to unbelieving ears.
Wilson and Wood were put on a hand-car and run back to Bridgeport. At this place an excited member of the crowd that gathered around them declared that he knew them both,--that he had seen them on the train with Andrews! Wilson always thought this man as much mistaken as his last accuser, but denial was no more availing than in that case. They were taken before General Leadbetter, questioned separately, as usual in the captures, Wood ”perspiring like a man in a July harvest,” and both virtually convicted, although Wilson answered the questions addressed to him in the most undaunted manner. They were taken to Chattanooga, fastened together with a chain around their necks, and handcuffed, as the others had been, and ordered to the hole. When they descended the ladder and joined our miserable company there a.s.sembled, they heard some plaintive voice say in the darkness, to which their eyes had not yet become accustomed, ”Wilson and Wood! They have got every one of us!” It was true. Every one of the bold band had been captured and were gathered into one of the vilest dungeons ever used by man to torture his fellow-man!
CHAPTER X.
A HORRIBLE PRISON.
A plain picture of the Chattanooga prison into which the members of the railroad party were thrust cannot be given in all its detail without shocking the sensitive reader. Even when the coa.r.s.er features are omitted enough will remain to task credulity. The book and newspaper accounts published by the survivors are not, however, the only evidence upon which the extraordinary story rests. In the Appendix the official report is given, based upon sworn testimony, and to this any one who may be disposed to doubt this narrative is referred.
Yet I would not hold the Southern people or even the Confederate government wholly responsible for the barbarous and outrageous treatment experienced at this place. The system of slavery is primarily responsible, for it provided such dens as the negro prison at Chattanooga. An intemperate man of Northern birth--General Leadbetter--found that the fortunes of war had placed a score of men, one after another, in his hands, and, feeling that they deserved severe treatment for the daring character of their enterprise, he recklessly ordered them, as fast as they were brought before him, to be committed to ”the hole” without stopping to consider what accommodations it afforded. His subordinates, afraid of being themselves suspected of disloyalty if they showed sympathy with the prisoners, offered no remonstrance, and the result was suffering almost too fearful for belief.
The captain, to whose charge I had been committed by General Leadbetter at the close of my examination, called a guard of eight men and conducted me through the streets to the northern part of the town. We halted before a little brick building surrounded by a high board fence,--the negro prison of Chattanooga, known as ”the hole.” A portion of the building was occupied by the jailer. The prison part consisted of two rooms, one directly under the other, and also partly underground.
The upper room was accessible only by an outside staircase, and the lower had no entrance except from a trap-door directly overhead.
The jailer, whose name was Swims, met us at the outer gate. He was a poor, ignorant creature,--a bad specimen of the ”poor white” of the South, and had all his life been engaged in the lowest employments. He was old,--perhaps sixty,--and had abundant hair, which was very white, while his face was dry and withered. His voice was always keyed on a whining tone, except when some great cause, such as a request of prisoners for an extra bucket of water, excited him, and then it rose to a hoa.r.s.e scream. Avarice was his predominant characteristic. He seemed to think that his accommodations were vastly too good for negroes and Yankees, and that when they were admitted to his precincts, they should be thankful and give as little trouble as possible. Such a man was able to greatly aggravate the hard lot of the unfortunate prisoners in his care. It should also be stated that he was very fond of a dram, and frequently became sufficiently intoxicated to reveal many important matters that would otherwise have been concealed.
Swims bustled up to the gate, growling about being troubled so much, unlocked it, and, admitting us, led the way up the outside stairway into the outer room. I then thought I understood why the general called the place ”the hole.” This room was only thirteen feet square, and entirely dest.i.tute of chairs, beds, or any conveniences whatever. Five or six old, miserable-looking men were in it, who appeared not to have been washed for months. I shuddered at the thought of taking up my abode in such a den. But I was not to be allowed that luxury.
Said the jailer to the captain, ”Where shall I put him?”
”Below, of course,” replied the captain.
The jailer advanced to the middle of the room, and, taking a large key from his pocket, knelt down and unlocked two rusty locks; then, with a great effort, raised a ponderous trap-door just at my feet. The hot air and the stifling stench that rushed up from below drove me back a few steps; but the bayonets of the guards were just behind, and I was compelled to move forward again. A long ladder was thrust down through the trap-door, and the warning given those below to stand from under. A mingled volley of cries, oaths, and remonstrances ascended, but the ladder was secured, and I was ordered to descend, ironed as I was. The long chain and the ropes had been taken off, but the handcuffs remained.
I did not like to go down that ladder into the gloom below, but there was no alternative. The darkness hid every object from view, but I clambered down step by step to a depth of fully thirteen feet,--for the place, as I afterwards learned when I had more leisure for observation, was of cubic form, just thirteen feet in length, breadth, and height. I stepped off the ladder, treading on human beings I could not discern, and crowded in as best I could.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A TERRIBLE DESCENT.
Page 172.]
The heat was so great that the perspiration started from every pore. The fetid air made me, for a time, deadly sick, and I wondered if it could be possible that they would leave human beings in this fearful place to perish. The thought of the Black Hole of Calcutta rose instantly before me. I did not think life could be sustained in such a place for many hours. But I was yet to learn the wonderful possibilities of human endurance.
My breath came thick and heavy, and I expected suffocation. The ladder was drawn up, and with a dull and heavy thud that seemed to strike my heart the trap-door fell. It was like being closed alive in the grave! I wedged and forced my way through the throng to the window. The one I reached was just beneath the wooden, outside stairway, and even at noon gave very little light. The only other window was at the opposite side of the room and below the level of the ground. They were only holes in the thick walls, a foot square, and filled with a triple row of thick-set iron bars that almost excluded every current of air. I got my face near the bars and breathed the purest air I could get, until the horrible sense of suffocation diminished as I became partially accustomed to these fearful surroundings, and then turned to ascertain the condition of my prison companions. It was wretched beyond description. They were ragged, dirty, and crawling with vermin. Most of them were nearly naked; but the air was so stiflingly warm that those who had clothing had removed all they could. I soon found it necessary myself to disrobe, as far as my handcuffs permitted, and even then the perspiration was most profuse. It was an atmosphere of death.
I was the first one of the ”engine thieves” put into this horrible place, though several had been captured earlier. When I entered there were fourteen other white prisoners and one negro--sixteen in all--crowded into a room thirteen feet square. My dungeon partners were East Tennessee Union men. In how many other prisons these hapless victims to their own loyalty were immured I cannot tell; I found some of them in every prison of which I became an inmate, in Virginia and Georgia as well as Tennessee. The negro had been arrested on suspicion of being a fugitive, and treated in the manner usual in such cases. No trial was granted. A suspected fugitive was simply arrested and severely flogged. This usually brought some kind of a confession, true or false, as the only way to stop the torture. He was then committed to prison and advertised in accordance with his confession. If no answer came in a specified time, he was taken out and flogged into a new confession and re-advertised. Thus whipping and advertising continued until the close of the year, when he was sold at auction to pay jail and whipping fees.