ONE MORE ESCAPE—"YANKING" THE TELEGRAPH WIRES—"ON TO RICHMOND!"—A CLOSE SHAVE.
Apparently there were "no men folks" about the house at the time of our morning visit. However, through a window, I saw the white cap of an old lady, whose bright eyes shone through her large-rimmed specs intently on the group that sat on her back porch.
I had taken observations every foot of our march during the morning, with an eye single to the main chance, when the opportunity should offer, to escape from the guard—either to run or to hide from pursuit. Under such conditions, one's wits take on a keen edge. Directly back of the house, but on the other side of two open fields, was the edge of a wood that extended a long way in both directions. This wood was the timber or inclosed land down in the "hollow" or bottom, as they term the low lands, while the road on which we were traveling stretched in almost a straight line over the higher ground.
Once around the corner of the house, I stopped a moment to take in the situation. I saw at a glance that the wood was my only chance, because cavalry could not follow me on horseback through the undergrowth, where I could go on foot. I felt equal to both of them—except the guns.
A dividing fence ran along the fields toward the house, and quickly scaling this, I turned for a look back, then thinking of the doubly dangerous risk of a second capture while attempting to escape, being actually in the enemy's army, I was nerved to desperation and made a break for liberty, feeling that I could almost fly. I ran like a pursued deer.
I took off my hat—I don't know why, but I always take off my hat when anything desperate is to be attempted. I didn't stop to pray in a fence-corner, but, in a half-stooping position, so as to keep under cover of the fence, I ran like a deer along that old stake-and-rider fence, and I made, I know, as good time as ever boy did in a race after hounds. In the middle of the field an old negro man was working alone. I stopped for a moment when I saw him, but as I was, luckily, on the opposite side of the fence from him, he did not see me. This old moke had a dog along with him—they all have dogs. I was more afraid of the dog than of guns. This black apparition in my path to the woods necessitated a slight change of direction, to avoid him, as well as the scent of the mangy-looking old dog, that I imagined was "pointing" me.
I was soon under the hill, from where I stopped a minute to look back. I could see only the top of the house that I had just left, and I knew they could not see me; so, leaving the protecting shadow of the fence, I struck boldly across the field in a direction leading furthest away from the old coon and his dog, in a course toward headquarters, the same in which we had been traveling. I knew, or at least imagined, that, immediately on discovering my escape, they would naturally think that I would return, or that I should at least try to make toward their front, and again try to escape into the Yankee lines.
This was their mistake. My plan had been deliberately formed before hand to do precisely the opposite thing—which was to run ahead, or toward the Rebel headquarters, trusting to the chances of putting pursuers off my scent, and hoping to lose my identity in the crowd among the Rebel camps.
Like the hunted fox, my tracks zigzagged me back to the road we intended to follow, but brought me out ahead of the house. Before risking myself on the road a second time, I peered through the fence cautiously, from whence I could see up and down the road for a long way. The coast was entirely clear; and, cautiously crawling through the lower bar of the fence, I did not run across the road; no, indeed, I crawled across on my hands and knees, like a hog, so that I might the better avoid any chance of observation, and, in the same ignominious style, I hogged it through the lower panel of the fence on the other side. Once safely over the road, I quickly changed my character from the swinish quadruped to the biped; and, without turning to look either to the right or to the left, I crawled along that fence right alongside of the road, in as speedy a manner as was possible.
It was more luck than good management on my part that I had been forced back on to and over the road by the presence of the black man and his dog. In pursuit they would naturally follow, but the old man would be sure to swear that I had not gone in the direction that I had been obliged to take, because he had been there all the time and had not seen me.
While the two clever cavalrymen were probably skirmishing around on their horses along the road, or through the fields to their front, looking after me, I was rapidly traveling in a course directly opposite, and they would not be likely to suspect that I had crossed the road.
There were no woods on the side of the fence or road on which I had placed myself, and I was obliged to keep close to the fence, and followed right alongside of the road for quite a long way.
At the bottom of the hill was a dry run; that is, there was a gravelly bed over which a small stream should have coursed, but the water was not there in August, 1861. The banks were, however, pretty well shaded or covered with a light undergrowth of willows, or some such trees as usually are seen in these situations. It was a good chance for me to get away from the road fence, so I ran along the run-bed toward the south, under the protection of the shady undergrowth. There were no signs of life along this stream; it was deserted both by the water and the things that live in and above the water.
Its course led me a long way from the road. After successfully passing a house, which was near the top of the hill, at a safe distance, unobserved, I got into a second wood and lay down on the ground for a much-needed rest.
I did not dare to stop long in any one place, knowing only too well that, when my guard should report that he had lost his prisoner, the Rebel cavalry about headquarters would be sent out to search for me, with probable orders to all guarded points to keep an especial lookout for a person of my description. I could not stay in the wood, though I could best conceal myself there, because I knew that I would famish. I was already in real distress for want of a drink of water, and, as I lay there in the wood, my brain began to conjure up all sorts of torments. I imagined that the dry bed of the stream over which I had been stumbling was mocking me with an appearance of moisture.
If any who chance to read this have ever had a couple of hours violent exercise in a dusty country, on a hot August day, and longed for a drink of water, they may appreciate my misery. I don't imagine that I can convey in words any conception of the suffering, the intense suffering one may experience for a drop of water, when they can't get it. The experience will almost drive one wild. I believe this, because, on more than one occasion, I have seen the demon of this anguish look into my eyes with the wild glare of the frenzied maniac.
The drizzling rain of the morning had given way to a sultry, close noon, and as I lay panting in the shade of the wood, the sun hung out like a huge, blazing copper ball, and poured down his fiercest heat. I thought of the beautiful, clear, cold spring on the hill-side back of my father's house, in Pennsylvania, where I had so often, when a boy, been sent for a bucket of water, and had so reluctantly obeyed, thinking it a great hardship to be compelled to throw out a whole bucket of good water just because it wasn't fresh and cold. I would have given anything in the world for just one chance to be a better boy at home, and solemnly pledged myself never to kick again on my turn at going for water.
I called up involuntarily all the soda fountains I had ever seen in the cities, and became frenzied over the idea that I began to hear in my mind the buzzing noise of the little sprays of water that were always to be heard dashing against the glass case. Unable to stand it any longer, I got up and made a break for water, determined that I must find it at any risk.
In this condition of mind I trotted along slowly, like a hunted wolf, with his tongue hanging out. Let's see. I've compared myself to a monkey riding on the rear end of a horse; a deer stalking behind the fence; a fox with zigzag tracks being chased by a dog; a hog under a fence; and now it's a chased wolf. I hope to exhaust Noah's Ark before I complete the story, and am trying to keep the score in view.
I found a pool of water on the outer edge of the wood. There had been a spring about there some place at some time. If there had been any hogs about they would have found it first and utilized it as a bath; as it was, it was partly covered with a greenish slime. I had spent some time in Texas, where it only rains once in seven years, and had learned, while traveling about that country, that the green scum is considered an indication of good water. That's a fact. A Texan will always prefer to take a drink from a pool on which there is this scum. So, in my distress, for the want of a drink—of anything, so it was water or something wet—I eagerly skimmed a place large enough to poke my nose and mouth into, and sucked into my parched throat a long drink of the warm stuff.
I had also learned another drinking trick in Texas, which is—always to hold your breath as long as possible after taking a drink of what they call water, in order to conceal as far as possible the taste in the mouth which necessarily follows the nauseous dose.
But we must hurry along and get out of the woods with the story. I reached, after considerable dodging, a railroad. I judged it was the Manassas road, leading from Alexandria past Fairfax Station back toward Manassas. I was not sure of my location, but I was glad enough to strike a railroad-track, because I knew that cavalry could not travel on ties as fast as I could, and I hoped, too, that it would afford me some chance to get away from the cussed country more rapidly.
I didn't dare walk the track, but I followed along it for quite a long way. At one point, where there was a long, straight line, I discovered some distance ahead a soldier on guard. I imagined it was a bridge or culvert guard, and I knew that I could not pass that point. While getting ready to go around them, I observed that the telegraph wire, which had become destroyed and was repaired at one point, was quite low; the men who had done the work had evidently not been able to climb a pole, and had left it hanging over the bushes. The sight of the wire in this shape, put into my head the idea that it would be well enough to destroy their communication right there, and prevent the use of that means of spreading information about a spy being loose in their camps.
Getting to one side of the bushes, I easily got hold of the wire from my position on the ground, and, hauling it as far as possible to one side, after hastily glancing up and down the road to see that no one was near to observe me, I "yanked," or by a dexterous "twist of the wrist," which a wire-man understands, I was able to break the wire, which, the minute the tension was removed, suddenly flew apart, making the adjoining poles resound with the vibration. I was frightened at the consequence of my act and dodged hastily into the shelter of the wood.
I "YANKED," OR BY A DEXTEROUS "TWIST OF THE WRIST," I WAS ABLE TO BREAK THE WIRE.
It was possible for me, as an expert telegrapher, to have drawn the ends of the wire together, and, by simply tapping them together, to have sent by this simple method a message of defiance to General Beauregard. I suspect that this story would be enlivened somewhat by such a trick, but it don't come in here. It was successfully played afterward while I was on Stoneman's raid to Richmond's outskirts; but the truth is, that I was too badly scared to think of such a thing at this time. The accident, if I may so term it, served me a good turn in one or two ways; first, it destroyed communication for the time, and it brought about a valuable means to the end of assisting my escape, but it was not a safe place to loiter.
It occurred to me that I might be able to pass the bridge, and thus get over the stream safely, by assuming the role of a telegraph line repairman, carrying some loose wire. The wires were being frequently broken by the rough pounding of the poles by mule drivers, and repairmen were no doubt often being sent out to fix up the breaks. In this capacity I knew I would be looked upon as belonging to a sort of privileged class, as they now are, riding free on the rear end of the railway trains, while we all know a telephone man will walk right through the best and biggest house to get on to the roof to fix a break, as if he had an inborn right to go anywhere he chose.
Breaking from one of the hanging ends of the wire a long piece, I coiled it in shape that linemen carry, and putting it over my neck, I started boldly down the track. I had no climbers, but I was able to personate an amateur repairman who had been suddenly pressed into the service, on account of a great emergency, who must travel rapidly as possible in search of a broken wire.
My story passed me safely over the bridge and past the guards stationed at several points on the track. I traveled rapidly in the direction farthest from the break. By the same bold trick I was able to get through several camps that were close by the tracks.
There were no trains running on that part of the road at that time, or I should have, probably, been tempted to boldly stop an engine and get on; as I had often seen linemen on the Pennsylvania Railroad thus picked up from the road by accommodating engineers. I knew, of course, that the trick would not last long; that the moment the wires had separated the operators would know of some sort of a break out on their line, and would at once take the necessary steps to test for the location of the accident; and, of course, men would be sent out as speedily as possible to repair the damage. I ran the additional risk, too, of meeting with some of those bona fide linemen, who would question my authority.
In the manner in which I have tried to describe, the greater part of this eventful day was spent, until along about an hour before sundown, when I came to a road crossing the railway. I now seemed to have gotten through, or beyond, Manassas, in the rear of the Rebel Army, toward Richmond, as there were no further guards at the crossings. I discovered, by encouraging a trackman in a short talk, that the road crossing the tracks led off in a direct course to Falmouth and Fredericksburg and Richmond. After a little further inquiry as to a suitable house at which to apply for something to eat, I left the track, taking the dusty summer road "on to Richmond."
I felt, as I walked along this narrow road, which was seemingly cut through a thicket of small saplings, so common in that country, that I had escaped, and was safe once more. My belief was, that I had not only eluded pursuit but that I had put those whom I knew would be sent to find me on the wrong scent.
I was tired, very tired, and as I had eaten nothing at all since the hasty breakfast at the bushwhacker's house, when I didn't have appetite enough to swallow a mouthful, I was, of course, hungry. I hadn't a cent of money, either, and what could I do but beg, and this I would not do. Again my good angel came to my relief by suggesting a ruse, to further aid my escape and, at the same time, perhaps, create a sympathy for myself.
I had, in assuming the character of a lineman, thrown away my coat, in order to relieve myself of the burden of carrying it along in the hot sun, and to further carry out the impression that I was a workingman without a coat.
I had walked so much and so rapidly that my left foot had become swollen, so that I was obliged to go along at a limping gait. I took advantage of this accident to further add to the change in my appearance, by assuming a lameness that apparently obliged me to depend upon the use of two sticks to hobble along.
I had been obliged to take off my tight left shoe, and around the swollen foot I tenderly tied the greater portion of my shirt, which I had, of course, first torn off the narrative end. In this shape, walking between two sticks, with my foot tied up as if it had recently gone through a surgical operation, I jogged along down the sandy, dusty road which was leading toward Fredericksburg and Richmond.
Along in the evening I ran into a clearing, at the far end of which was nestled a little old-fashioned house. It was one of those country farmhouses where the roof extends down beyond the house and forms a lower shed or porch roof, which runs along, both at the back and the front, the whole length of the house.
Opening on to the roof were two dormer windows of the old-fashioned kind, that we don't often see nowadays.
I marched boldly—if limpingly—through the picket gate, up the straight path in front of the house door, and, assuming to be suffering dreadfully from my "wound," I asked the old man—another old bushwhacker—for a drink of water. He didn't fly around with any great alacrity to wait on the "poor soldier,"—that isn't the style of hospitality for poor whites in Virginia—but the old cuss did order a colored boy to bring some water.
"Right away; do you hyar?"
I was just dying for a chance to operate on the old fellow's sympathy, with a view to "accepting his hospitality" for the night, or to the extent of a supper, at least, but I had come up to his door a poor wounded soldier on foot, and the second-class Virginia gentleman has no use for a poor man, even if he should be a wounded Rebel soldier, who had come all the way from Texas to defend his home, etc., etc.
If I had ridden up to his house as a blatant Rebel officer, on horseback, everything his house contained would have been officiously placed at my disposal without a word of question.
As it was, the old rascal began to ask questions, and was so disagreeable, too, in his manner, that a young man, who had come up from the barn, and who I judged to be his son, found it necessary to answer for me, and in a way that put the old man down.
Being thus encouraged by the son, the old lady took a hand in behalf of the "poor soldier," and endeavored in a kind, motherly way to make me more comfortable. I had told them that I had been slightly wounded in the foot, but the wound did not properly heal, and I had been tired and sick lying about the hospital camp, and had determined on my own account to get out to the country some place, for a day or two. I was particular to impress on the mind of the sour old man, that I was not a beggar—that I'd pay for all I got, etc. Now, I didn't have a cent of money, and if that old man had demanded a settlement after supper, I should have been sadly left; but I was going to stay all night, and return to camp for a pass the next day. The old man had said that they all had their orders from the army officers not to entertain any soldiers who couldn't produce passes. To this I replied that, "I had thoughtlessly overlooked the matter, but could easily fix that the next morning, when I'd return."
We had a good supper; the old lady's sympathies were aroused, and she set out her little delicacies for the
"Poor Texas boy, who was so far from home."
I was just hungry enough to have eaten everything they had prepared for the whole family; but, as I was on my good behavior, you know, by a mighty effort and struggle with the inner man I was able to postpone my appetite. There was only the old man, his wife, and the big lubberly son, and a colored mammy in the house. They were evidently "poor white trash," but they owned one slave, so old that she was like a broken-down horse or cow—very cheap.
I heard the old man talking earnestly to the son, and I imagined, of course, that the conversation was about myself—at such a time one's fears are aroused by every little incident.
"Trifles light as air, become proofs as strong as Holy Writ."
"Oh, no; you're mistaken, Father! Why, the poor fellow can't walk."
"But," replied the gruff voice of the old man, "he don't know where his regiment is."
Without further words the young fellow walked off. When the old man came back to the porch, where I had been sitting telling the old lady a sorrowful tale about my home, etc., he began:
"Where did you say you got your wound?"
"Why, it was a trifling hurt on the instep; it only became troublesome because I couldn't keep from using my foot."
Then the old lady chipped in with:
"Shall I send Mammy to help you bathe it with warm water, before you go to bed?"
I declined this with profuse thanks, and begged that they would not trouble themselves about it; it was a mere trifle.
After some more questions from the old man, which I was able to parry, I was ready for bed, glad enough to get away from him, and determined to clear out as soon as possible. They put me into a room which was in the attic, which extended across the width of the house; from this room there were windows opening on to the roof before described (two dormer windows), one in front and the other directly opposite, opening onto the roof of the porch. Before getting ready to lie down, I took a good look at the surroundings from both of these windows. I had become so accustomed to this, going to bed in the enemy's country, not knowing the condition in which I should find myself when I'd waken, that it became a sort of a habit with me to take my bearings, that I might be able to escape in case of fire.
I didn't "dress" my wound exactly, or undress myself for bed; in fact, there was nothing that I could strip off but the trousers, one shoe and a hat. With these all on, I lay down on top of the old-fashioned, cord bedstead, and, as described by some of the smart sayings that we used for texts in our copy-books at school—"Consider each night how you have spent the past day, and resolve to do better the next." Its awfully easy to get up these texts, but it's sometimes a little bit troublesome to apply the same thing to every-day life. I "resolved" easily enough to do better the following day—if I could. I wanted to get out of that country very badly, because I knew, as before stated, that the whole Rebel Army at Manassas would be on guard for spies at once.
My one hope was to get to Richmond and escape by some other route. While "resolving" further in my mind how to get along down that road in the morning, without this old man getting after me for my supper and lodging bill, I almost fell asleep. I was so tired that I could scarcely keep awake, yet I was afraid to trust myself in sleep.
The folks in the house had all been in bed some time; the lights were out, and everything became ominously quiet. My quick ear detected horses neighing and tramping, and an occasional voice in the night air reached my ear; but, as the sound seemed to die away so soon, I began to think myself mistaken, and was about to surrender myself to sleep, when aroused again by what was unmistakably horses galloping along the road. I quickly, but painfully, jumped up from the bed, and stole quietly over to the front window just in time to see a troop of horsemen come up. They were about to ride rapidly past when one of the fellows in the rear file called out: "Here's a house."
There was the jangling that always follows a sudden halt of cavalry, especially when following each other closely on a dark night. Some voices, in the nature of interrogations from an officer to his command, and a halt was made some little distance down the road past the house.
Two of the men wheeled and rode toward the front of the house, and, after looking about the grounds, talking in a tone of voice that did not admit of my getting distinctly the purport of the remarks, they both galloped back together to the command, which they had left standing in the road. I breathed freer, hoping they had decided to let us alone.
It would never do for that old man to have a chance to explain, in his way, my presence in the house. I felt devoutly thankful for the lucky escape I had again made, and had about concluded in my own mind to clear out silently, without the Virginia formality of saying good-by to my host, when I saw, with horror, that the whole troop had turned about and were walking their horses slowly back toward the house. I stood by the front dormer window of the old house, and you may imagine how eagerly I watched their every movement.
The officer in command halted his troop and, calling a trooper by name, said:
"Sergeant, you go up to the house and ask if they have seen any strangers along this road."
That was enough for me. I left that window as suddenly as if a gun had been pointed at me, and ran across the little room to the back window; it was open, the night being so warm, the sash held up by the customary window-stick. I got myself through the window with celerity and was about to let myself slide down the roof slowly to the eaves, so that I might catch on there and allow myself to further gently drop down on to one of the supporting posts, where I could slide down to the ground. Stretching myself out in a feeling way on the roof, still holding on to the window sill, almost afraid to let go, when down came the window-sash striking me across the wrist so suddenly and severely that I involuntary let go my hold and, of course, slid down the roof feet foremost like a sled on an iced track, landing kerslop over the side on to the ground. In my sudden descent I had caught hold of a lot of Virginia creepers that were trained up to the side of the back porch and had pulled them down with me, and lay for an instant all tangled up in them.
LANDING KERSLOP OVER THE SIDE ONTO THE GROUND
If there is anything that will startle a man or a woman it is the sudden fall of a window-sash, because, in most cases, it makes such an infernal noise and does so little damage; but, in this case, luckily for me, perhaps, my poor hand was made to answer the purpose of a buffer and deadened the sound of the falling sash, otherwise it might have fallen, as sashes always do, and the noise have attracted the notice of the cavalrymen, who were on the road at the other side of the house. My quick shute from the up-stairs of the little old house to the ground was softened a little by the mass of vines that I had carried down with me.
The house only stood between me and a troop of pursuing cavalrymen. Quickly realizing my precarious predicament, I gathered myself up, and, for a poor wounded crippled Texan with two canes, I made most elegant time, considering the darkness, straight back to the barnyard into the wood beyond. What happened at the house I never learned, as I did not stop to hear another word spoken.