“Here,” he said to the young telegraph operator, “I want you to send a telegram to General Leadbetter, commanding general at Chattanooga, as soon as we get to Dalton. Put it through both ways if you can, but by the Cleveland line at any rate.” The conductor took a paper from his wallet and wrote a few words of warning to General Leadbetter, telling him not to let “The General” and its crew get past Chattanooga. “My train was captured this morning at Big Shanty, evidently by Federal soldiers in disguise,” he penciled.
On the arrival at Dalton this telegram was sent, exactly as the shrewd Andrews had prophesied. Then “The Texas” fled away from Dalton and the chase continued, as we have seen in the previous chapter, until a point of the railroad about thirteen miles from Chattanooga was reached.
In the cab of “The General” Andrews was standing with his head bowed down; his stock of hopefulness had suddenly vanished. At last he saw that the expedition, of which he had cherished such high expectations, was a complete failure. A few miles in front was Chattanooga, where capture awaited them, while a mile in the rear were well-armed men.
“There’s only one thing left to do,” he said mournfully to George, who was regarding his chief with anxious interest. “We must abandon the engine, scatter, and get back to General Mitchell’s lines as best we can, each in his own way!”
Then the leader put his hand on the engineer’s shoulder. “Stop the engine,” he said; “the game is up; the dance is over!”
The engineer knew only too well what Andrews meant. He obeyed the order, and the tired “General,” which had faithfully carried the party for about a hundred miles, panted and palpitated like a dying horse. The great locomotive was, indeed, in a pitiable condition. The brass of the journals and boxes was melted by the heat; the steel tires were actually red-hot, and the steam issued from all the loosened joints.
Andrews turned to the men who were huddled together in the tender.
“Every man for himself, boys,” he cried. “You must scatter and do the best you can to steal into the Federal lines. I’ve led you as well as I could—but the fates were against us. God bless you, boys, and may we all meet again!”
As he spoke the leader—now a leader no longer—threw some papers into the furnace of the locomotive. In a twinkling they were reduced to ashes. They were Federal documents. One of them was a letter from General Mitchell which, had it been found upon Andrews by the Confederates, would in itself have proved evidence enough to convict him as a spy.
The men in the tender jumped to the ground. So, likewise, did George, the engineer and his assistant. Andrews remained standing in the cab. He looked like some sea captain who was waiting to sink beneath the waves in his deserted ship. He worked at the lever and touched the valve, and then leaped from his post to the roadbed. The next moment “The General” was moving backwards towards the oncoming “Texas.”