They now ran down a short distance in the daytime, tied up, and hid in a field. A man and boy saw their boat, and were about to take it, when the adventurers, unwilling to be done by as they had done, and confident in their story, came out and stopped the proceeding. They asserted that it was a government boat, and that they belonged to a regiment in Chattanooga, which place they learned was only five miles away. The man invited them to his house to wait the lulling of the storm. They accepted, and after nightfall pushed off again, passing Chattanooga, which they had so long dreaded, in safety. They were now almost jubilant, but soon found that everything was not smooth sailing. I presume the storm, which had been so disagreeable, had also been a shelter, and that without it they might not have got by the rebel headquarters so easily.
There is a deep gorge a few miles below the city, where the mountains rise abruptly from the water in frowning grandeur. The river is greatly narrowed, and, suddenly bending to the left, dashes its furious current against a wall of rock, and forms a foaming eddy. Our two navigators "perceived even in the darkness that there was danger ahead. The great roar and noise caused by the dashing of the angry waters against the rocks warned us. We hugged the left hand with our little boat as closely as possible. As we passed the angry whirlpool, into which we seemed to be drifting, our boat was struck a tremendous blow by a floating log. We thought we were all dashed to pieces. The blow hoisted us away, however, several yards to the left, and we went flying down the gorge like the wind. We were afterwards told that a number of adventurous persons had, at different times, lost their lives in trying to run down this place by getting swamped in this great torrent or whirlpool, and it was no doubt owing to the blow we received from the floating log, by which our boat was knocked just beyond the reach of danger, that we escaped as fortunately as we did. It was a providential blow for us, though it had well nigh crushed our boat. We pulled at our paddles with might and main to keep the water from swamping our boat, which sank pretty low in the current and was now going at railroad speed. We soon reached smoother water, and again felt ourselves safe."
A man on the bank warned them not to try to run through the "suck," a worse place than that which they had just passed. With much urging, and the promise of three dollars reward, they got him to agree to pilot them through. He was a skilful boatman, and took them in safety, though their boat was nearly filled with water.
Because of these dangers they had been running in daylight. They were soon hailed by a squad of rebel cavalry, but, being well over on the opposite side, rowed on without seeming to notice them. They were now coming to the most dangerous part of their journey,—that near the Federal lines, where the vigilance of the enemy was most constantly exercised. They therefore resolved to travel only at night, hiding themselves and their precious boat by day. That night they passed Bridgeport, where they expected to meet Mitchel, but found he had not yet arrived.
When they sought a solitary cabin to get food the next day they heard great news,—that the Yankees were in the town of Stevenson. This was confirmed by numerous fugitives who were seeking safety from the dreaded enemy. They got back to their canoe, rowed down the river until they judged themselves opposite Stevenson, and then started across the country to find their friends. The good news elated them so much that they made the fatal mistake of not waiting for nightfall. Consequently they found themselves in the town sooner than they expected, and then to their dismay discovered that the streets were swarming with rebel soldiers! The story of the frightened fugitives had entrapped them.
But they put the best possible face on the matter. Buying a few articles in a store, they attempted to stroll leisurely out, but were stopped by an officer on guard and questioned. They answered plausibly,—probably with the Kentucky story, as they were now away from the river,—and were about to be released, when a man brought a false accusation. He recognized Wilson as being one of the Federal cavalry that charged into the town the previous night, and dared him to deny it! He did deny it, but in vain, and having been believed so often when telling falsehoods, it was only a fair compensation that he now told the truth to unbelieving ears.
Wilson and Wood were put on a hand-car and run back to Bridgeport. At this place an excited member of the crowd that gathered around them declared that he knew them both,—that he had seen them on the train with Andrews! Wilson always thought this man as much mistaken as his last accuser, but denial was no more availing than in that case. They were taken before General Leadbetter, questioned separately, as usual in the captures, Wood "perspiring like a man in a July harvest," and both virtually convicted, although Wilson answered the questions addressed to him in the most undaunted manner. They were taken to Chattanooga, fastened together with a chain around their necks, and handcuffed, as the others had been, and ordered to the hole. When they descended the ladder and joined our miserable company there assembled, they heard some plaintive voice say in the darkness, to which their eyes had not yet become accustomed, "Wilson and Wood! They have got every one of us!" It was true. Every one of the bold band had been captured and were gathered into one of the vilest dungeons ever used by man to torture his fellow-man!