Capturing a Locomotive: A History of Secret Service in the Late War.

by William Pittenger

In conversation my own group was careful to take a very moderate though decided Southern tone. It was agreed that Wilson and myself should, as far as possible, do all the talking when in the presence of the enemy. On entering towns it was our custom to go directly to the street corners and the groceries, inquire for the latest news, tell our Kentucky story as often as it seemed necessary, deny some of the reports of Union outrages and confirm others, assuring the bystanders that the Yankees were not half so bad as reported, and especially that they would fight, as otherwise they would never have conquered our great State of Kentucky, and then demand, in the name of the common cause of the South, direction and assistance on our way. We thus acquired much information, and were never once suspected. It is my deliberate opinion that we could have travelled from Richmond to New Orleans in the same manner at that period of the war.

A little way out from our camp Dorsey met a man who seemed to be a Southern spy, and on the strength of this suspicion was strongly tempted to shoot him to prevent the irreparable harm he might do us. A little watching, however, partly dispelled first impressions. The same man afterwards offered Wilson a liberal reward to pilot him over the mountains, and actually claimed to be a Confederate spy. Wilson kept with him for a time and watched him narrowly, but became convinced that he had not the least suspicion of our expedition. He allowed him, therefore, to go on his way in peace. It is possible that he was not what he pretended, any more than we ourselves were Kentucky citizens. This man was met once more in Chattanooga, but then disappeared.

As we were mounting the first spurs of the Cumberland Mountains we encountered a Confederate soldier from the East, who was then at home on a furlough. He had been in many battles, among them the battle of Bull Run, which he described minutely. Little did he think that I, too, had been there, as we laughed together at the wild panic of the fugitive Yankees. He was greatly delighted to see so many Kentuckians coming out on the right side in the great struggle, and contrasted our conduct with that of some mean-spirited persons in his own neighborhood who were so foolish and depraved as to still sympathize with the abolitionists.

When we parted he grasped my hand with tears in his eyes, and said he hoped "the time would soon come when we would be comrades, fighting side by side in one glorious cause!" My heart revolted from the hypocrisy I was compelled to use, but having begun there was no possibility of turning back. We clambered up the mountain till the top was reached; then across the level summit for six miles; then down again by an unfrequented road over steep rocks, yawning chasms, and great gullies cut out by recent rains. This rough jaunt led us down into Battle Creek, which is a picturesque valley opening out into the Tennessee, and hemmed in by projecting ranges of lofty mountains. As we descended the slopes, a countryman we had overtaken told me how the valley had obtained its name. The legend is very romantic, and probably truthful.

There was an Indian war between two neighboring tribes in early times. One of them made a plundering expedition into the territory of the other, and after securing their booty retreated homeward. They were promptly pursued, and traced to this valley. The pursuers believed them to be concealed within its rocky limits, and to make their capture sure divided their force into two bands, each of which crept along the steep opposite sides towards the head of the valley. It was early in the morning, and as they worked their way cautiously along the mountain mist rolled downward as we had seen it do that morning, and enveloped each of the parties in its folds. Determined not to be foiled, they kept on, and meeting at the head of the valley, each supposed the other to be the foe. They poured in their fire, and a deadly conflict ensued. Not till the greater number of their braves had fallen did the survivors discover their sad mistake; then they slowly and sorrowfully retreated to their wigwams. The plunderers, who had listened to their conflict in safety, being higher up the mountain, were left to bear off their booty in triumph.

But we had little leisure for legendary tales. We rested for the night with a wealthy secessionist, whom our soldier friend on the mountains had designated as "the right kind of a man." He received us with open arms, and shared the best his house afforded. We spent the evening in denouncing the policy of the Federal government and in exchanging views as to the prospects of the war. Among other topics I happened to mention an expatriation law which, as I had learned from a newspaper paragraph, had been passed by the Kentucky Legislature a few weeks before. This law only made the reasonable provision that all persons going South to join the rebel army should lose their rights of State citizenship. The old man thought this to be an act of unparalleled oppression; and in the morning, before we were out of bed, he came into our room and requested some of us to write down that infamous law that he might be able to give his Union neighbors a convincing proof of Yankee wickedness! We complied, and all signed our names as witnesses. No doubt that document was long the theme of angry discussion in many a mountain cabin.

So thoroughly did we maintain our assumed character in this instance, that three days after, when the culmination of our enterprise came to the Confederates like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, it was impossible to make our host believe that his guests were among the adventurers. This we learned from a Union man to whom he had shown a copy of the terrible expatriation law!

We were still more than forty miles distant from Chattanooga on this Wednesday evening, and were due at that place by five o'clock the next day. On each of the two preceding days we had measured about thirty miles,—a good rate of speed, but not sufficient. We had formed the resolution of taking a night journey of ten or fifteen miles, but before starting after supper, another squad arrived and managed to tell us that they had seen Andrews and been informed that the grand enterprise was postponed one day. This was a great relief, for it was hard to tear away from our comfortable quarters; but this delay was a serious mistake. In all combined movements in war, time is of prime importance. On the appointed Friday success would have been easy; on Saturday—but we must not anticipate.

Andrews had also caused the advice to be passed along the line that it would be better to attempt to cross the Tennessee at some point far west of Chattanooga, and taking passage on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, endeavor to pass through Chattanooga by rail. He had heard of stringent orders being issued against any one crossing the river near this town without a pass. Farther down the stream these orders might not apply, or, in case of necessity, a raft might be constructed among the wooded mountains, and a passage obtained by that means.

About noon of the next day we came to Jasper, and spent a short time in the principal grocery of the place talking over the state of the country. We informed the idlers that there would soon be a mighty uprising of Kentuckians in favor of the Southern cause, but professed ignorance of the movements of Mitchel's army. In return we received the first vague reports of the battle of Pittsburg Landing. It was the impression that the Union army was totally destroyed, thousands of men being slain, and innumerable cannon captured. One countryman assured me that five hundred Yankee gunboats had been sunk! I ventured to suggest a doubt as to the Yankees having so many, but was not able to shake his faith.