Escape from East Tennessee to the federal lines

by Robert A. Ragan

I said to him, “We have to cross, dead or alive. If we remain on this side until daylight, we will be captured and sent to Tuscaloosa.”

He finally agreed to try, as he was always ready to help Union men. He came out and about half of the men got into the flat-bottomed boat and ran up the river a hundred yards to get a start so as to reach the landing on the other side. We waited some time, and heard the old boat strike dirt on the safe side. In about half an hour the boat returned to our side, and the balance of us got in and were soon safely landed with the others. We asked old Reuben what he charged.

“Nothing,” said he, “and I wish you a safe journey to the promised land.”

Those kind words served to cheer us very much on our way.

After crossing the river we started for the Chucky Knobs, where we were to meet several Union men. When we reached the place, in a deep hollow, with no house within a mile, we found fifteen men waiting for us, including Judge Randolph, of Cocke County. A number of Union women had learned that we were to meet at this place, and that their husbands were going away, and they had prepared rations and haversacks to supply them on their dangerous journey. They bid them good-bye, and two of them never saw their husbands again.

We remained there all that day, and that night at eight o’clock we started for good, with about one hundred and thirty men. All seemed to be in good spirits and glad that they were on their way to the “promised land,” as Reuben Easterly said when we crossed the Nola Chucky. We travelled about fifteen miles that night, and next day laid in the woods on the banks of the Watauga River.

When night came we crossed the river—some swimming and some crossing in an old canoe—and continued our journey. At daylight we came to the Holston River, at a point where no Union men had previously crossed on their way to Kentucky. I sent three men up the river to find a canoe, for some of the men could not swim and it was too deep to wade. They found an old canoe, and while some swam and others crossed in the canoe, it was nearly midnight when we all got across.

As the men reached the opposite side, they would lie down and go to sleep while the others were crossing. It was a level place on the opposite side, and stick weeds had grown up about five feet high. When the men had all crossed, they woke up those that were asleep, and we got in line and started. After travelling about half a mile, we heard some one howling at the top of his voice. I sent two of the boys back in haste to find out what was the matter. They found that Jimmie Jones was left asleep on the bank of the river, the boys having failed to awaken him. He said that he dreamed that the rebels were after him and he woke up and found we had gone, and the old man commenced howling like a lost dog. We were very uneasy about it, for fear the rebels had heard him, but evidently they had not and no unpleasant consequences resulted.

Next came Bays and Clinch Mountains, steep and rugged, over which we had to pass; and then came Clinch River, another dangerous place to cross, for the rebels were watching the paths and the rivers to prevent Union men from leaving the country and reaching the Federal lines.

We crossed Powell’s Mountain, tall, rough and rugged; then came Walden Ridge and the Wild Cat Mountain. The nights were so dark we could not see ten feet ahead of us. As we passed through these dark, narrow paths, we marched in single file, myself leading; the next one would take hold of my coat tail, and so on down the line. No man was allowed to speak above his breath. Sometimes men would fall and suffer themselves to be dragged for yards, but never spoke nor murmured a word.