Escape from East Tennessee to the federal lines

by Robert A. Ragan

By this time it was two o’clock in the afternoon, and I told the men to lie down and try to sleep, for we had to cross the “Dead Line” and Powell’s Valley that night, and get into Cumberland Mountain, for I knew the rebels were on our trail.

While we were lying on the ground about three hundred yards from the main road, we could hear the rebels riding up and down the road. No man was allowed to make any noise. They obtained a few hours of sleep and rest, which was very much needed. I had two men detailed to keep them from snoring, for some of them you could hear a hundred yards. These men would go around and when a man would snore they would shake him or give him a kick.

When night came, the perilous task of crossing the “Dead Line,” which we had dreaded from the start, was before us. Several men had been killed at this place during the preceding ten days. I asked Walker if he knew a good Union man who could be relied upon to guide us to the road. He said there was a man in the neighborhood who had helped men to Powell’s Valley, and he would send a colored girl to see if the man could be found. By the time we were ready to start, about nine o’clock, he came. I questioned him and he seemed to be all right, so we started, he in the lead. I had been on the trail before, and after travelling about a mile I became a little suspicious and stopped the men. I thought we were too far West. I formed a hollow square, with this man in the center. I questioned him and found we were a mile off the trail. We put the man under arrest, and went back to where we had started and took up the right trail. I do not think this man intended to lead us into the rebels’ hands, but he became bewildered and scared.

Capt. R. A. Ragan at his home after Arrest. See page [8].

We reached Powell’s Valley about three o’clock in the morning, and halted on a little bank about ten feet above the level of the main road leading up and down the valley, which was called the “Dead Line.” I remember this experience as vividly as if it were but yesterday. The woods in which we were concealed were as dark as hell, and hell was in front of us. There were about one hundred and thirty men standing in single file, and I could not hear a man move or breathe. Even death itself could never be more still.

The valley we had to cross was about four hundred yards wide, and not a tree or bush in the valley. The road in front of us was dusty, and while we stood there we heard in the distance the rattle of sabers and the galloping of rebel cavalry. We stood motionless as they passed by, and the dust from the horses’ hoofs came up in the bushes and settled on our shoulders. What a time it was for us! It seemed that we were to cross the “Valley and shadow of death.”

When the rebel cavalry had passed, I cut off twenty-five men and said, “Now, boys, go!” and they did go. They crossed that valley like wild cattle. When I thought they were safely over, I cut off twenty-five more men, and they also landed safely. I waited awhile, and we could hear the rebel cavalry coming back. They passed down again, so we waited about ten minutes and then I said, “Boys, now follow me!” and we all crossed in safety and were at the foot of Cumberland Mountain, which was rough, steep, rocky and pathless. Every man had to pick his way until we nearly reached the top.

As we crossed the valley, the air was filled with the stench of the decaying bodies of the men who had been killed a few days before. No one could venture to remove or bury them. I understood afterward that they attempted to cross in the daytime, and were killed.

When we reached the top of Cumberland Mountain we came to what was called Bailes’ Meadow, a name and place familiar to nearly every “pilot” and man who crossed the mountain. The boys were worn out, mostly all barefooted and nearly naked from crawling through bushes and briar thickets.