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

by William Pittenger

Some two weeks after our capture Andrews received a very brief trial. The charges against him were two,—that of being disloyal to the Confederacy and of being a spy. On the first count the evidence against him was strong. A Mr. Whiteman, from Nashville, Tennessee, whom Andrews himself had directed to be summoned, and who had once been a partner of his in some business, testified that Andrews had repeatedly visited the South as a blockade-runner, bringing to Whiteman some ten thousand dollars' worth of goods in that manner, and that he had always professed allegiance to the Southern Confederacy, representing himself to be a citizen of the same, and an enemy to the United States. When captured, he had passes in his possession which showed that he had also taken the oath of allegiance to the Southern government. He had, at the same time, admitted his part in the railroad adventure, which was assuredly an act of hostility against the South. Indeed, several persons were produced who saw him on the train, or directing its movements at some of the various stations during the chase. So far as I could learn, there was no direct evidence produced to show that he was or ever had been a spy, although this might be suspected from his passing back and forth across the lines, and so soon after acting as an enemy. His case was entirely different from that of the men he led, and much more unfavorable. They claimed to have been acting all the while as enemies, and now to be prisoners of war. They declared, and were ready to prove, their position in the Federal army. He gave no account whatever of his position, or the authority under which he was acting, and allowed the court-martial to establish their case as best they might. He was very reticent, as was proper, even among our band, as to his plans and hopes, but it was whispered among us that he expected the liberal use of money from an outside source to influence the court, or aid in his escape if condemned. I never heard him, however, intimate anything of the kind, and he certainly received no such help in escaping. He employed two able lawyers, and they strove for delay, and at the last gave him reason to hope that some informalities in the proceedings would require the whole trial to be gone over again. No decision, however, was officially given, but he was put back in the same prison, and no more strictly guarded than the remainder of us, which was judged to be a favorable indication of the result.

One day our old jailer, being very drunk, told us that General Mitchel had advanced to Bridgeport, only twenty-eight miles distant, and there defeated the rebels, capturing some of the very same men who had been our guards but a day or two before. How we wished to have been with him! and how we hoped for a further advance on his part! To be captured with Chattanooga would be glorious! The officers of the guard were obviously uneasy. They took the strictest precautions. There were twenty-six men constantly on guard,—surely enough to watch over twenty-two, confined and chained in a dungeon as we were.

Mitchel came nearer. We even heard the boom of cannon in the distance, and his advance probably saved our lives, by taking us for the time out of the clutches of Swims and Leadbetter, for a much longer confinement or rather suffocation there must have been fatal. The ladder was thrust down and we were ordered to come out. We would, then, have gladly remained in that vile den a little longer, in the hope of Mitchel's arrival, but we crawled up. Our fastenings were inspected, to see that none of us were in condition to make a sudden dash for liberty; we were formed into a column, with a line of rebel soldiers on each side, and then marched out through the gate towards the cars. Strangely the free air fanned our brows and strangely the wide sky bent above us. Very grateful was the sense of openness and room in the streets through which we passed, even although ironed, with a rebel soldier on either hand. For three whole weeks twenty-two men had been cooped up in a dark room much smaller than an ordinary parlor. No wonder the streets of the hostile town seemed like freedom by comparison. We were soon seated in the cars, and were carried in the evening back southward on the road we had rushed over under such thrilling circumstances three weeks before.

How beautiful all nature appeared! It was now May, and the time that we had spent in darkness had not been lost in the outside world. The landscape had been robed in richer verdure, the budding trees had swelled into leafy screens, the sky was of a softer blue, the birds warbled with new melody, and everything seemed to wear its holiday dress.

O the joy! the gladness! of being once more under the blue canopy of heaven, and of looking up to its unfathomable depths, with no envious bars to obstruct our view! Many a time have I looked on the most romantic scenery in the freshness of May, but never did I so deeply feel the pleasantness and beauty of the world as on that balmy evening, when the rays of the setting sun, glowing from the west, streamed over the grass and wheat-fields on their path, and poured in mellowed, yellow radiance through the car-windows. But I could not quite forget that I was chained to my companion and surrounded by guards with gleaming bayonets!

The wild excitement caused by our raid had not subsided, and as it became known that we were passing along the road, a mob greeted us at every station. It is not necessary to again describe these assemblages, for all were alike,—threatening, rude, loquacious, and insulting.

We also noticed that soldiers on guard were at every station, and that each bridge we passed was strongly guarded. There could be no doubt that all these precautions, so different from the careless security of less than a month previous, were among the tangible results of our enterprise. It was estimated that on the various roads of the South not less than three thousand troops had been diverted from the field and employed in securing communications in all parts of the rebel States. A general passport system, with all its vexations, had been introduced. Surely our enterprise, though unsuccessful in its immediate results, was far from fruitless.

We passed Big Shanty, passed Marietta, which had been the extreme point of our former journey southward, and went on to Atlanta. Here there was no jail room for us; but before going farther we had to wait all day in the cars for the evening train. Our arrival was soon noised abroad, and a larger mob than we had seen before gathered and proclaimed their intention of hanging us. The guard defended us manfully, and several persons were seriously injured. But while the disturbance was in progress, one man succeeded in reaching the window unnoticed and handed us a paper, using only the single, magical word, "a friend," and then disappeared in the throng. We read the paper by snatches, as we could do so secretly, and found it to contain glorious news,—the capture of New Orleans! Other items of news were adroitly wormed out of our guards, who could not be kept from talking with us, and we were full of hope that the darkening prospects of the Confederacy would brighten our own outlook, by rendering the advocates of a declining rebellion more cautious in their treatment of loyal soldiers. All information was prohibited to us; but from the common soldiers, the negroes, and often from the officers of the guard themselves, we managed to pick up items of intelligence, which gave us a general idea of the course of affairs.

In the evening we left Atlanta, and after a journey not marked by any notable event reached Madison, in the same State. This was then a flourishing village, and had a pleasing look as we entered it. Some six, hundred imprisoned Union soldiers had been already gathered here, and we freely indulged the hope, which was encouraged by our guards, that we would be put with them and henceforth treated only as prisoners of war. But we soon found that the brand of criminality for our daring adventure was not so easily effaced. We were marched past the dilapidated cotton-factory, where our fellow-soldiers were confined, to the old county jail. It was then entirely unoccupied, as all the prisoners had been released to join the Confederate army. It was a gloomy stone building, with two rooms, but both were above-ground, and the lower was entered by an ordinary door. This lower room, in which about half of our party, including myself and Andrews, were placed, was very dark, and its heavy stone walls rendered it quite damp. But for our previous experience at Chattanooga it would have been thought a wretched place. It was so much better than that, however, that we almost enjoyed it. Indeed, we could not have endured such confinement as that at Chattanooga for many weeks longer. Several of our number could scarcely walk, and all were greatly injured in health by the three horrible weeks we had spent there. Now we were further from the pernicious influence of General Leadbetter, and, although we were still kept in irons by his explicit orders, yet the captain of the guard, in whose direct charge we were, showed us all the kindness in his power, easing the irons which pressed too heavily upon swollen limbs, and procuring us abundance of good water, as well as a better supply of the coarse food, which we ate in common with our guard.

The citizens of the town were freely admitted to see us, and ranged themselves—always in the presence of the guard—along one side of the room, and talked of all the exciting events of the day. We were now in our true character, and were not likely to be benefited by concealing our real sentiments. I used to greatly enjoy their surprise and horror when I avowed myself an abolitionist, and told them that I had always been one. They had been talking about abolitionists for years, but had never before seen a man who would admit the justice of the charge. The citizens expressed much admiration for us and for the daring of our expedition, contrasting the latter with what they were pleased to call the cowardice of the Northern armies in general. George D. Wilson one day earnestly assured them that we were the poorest men in Mitchel's division, and had only been sent on this expedition because he had no use for us!