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

by William Pittenger

Here occurred one of the romantic incidents of prison-life. We had been intensely anxious for some direct communication with our own army, but from our side there was no means of effecting it. One day, however, a man dressed in a rebel uniform came with the throng of visitors, and managed to talk quite a while, and, as I thought, in a very disconnected manner, with Andrews. I also thought I noticed an exchange of signs between them. As soon as he and the visitors had gone, and we were once more alone, Andrews told us that the man was a spy in the service of the United States, and that they had managed, even in the presence of the guard, and without exciting the least suspicion, to say all that was necessary, and that we might be assured that our friends on the other side of the lines would soon know all about us. I was a little incredulous, thinking that the great anxiety of our leader to communicate with some one who was a Federal spy, as he himself had been, had caused him to misunderstand this man, and supposed his signs recognized when they were not.

But when the captain of our guard brought us supper, he lingered a little in conversation, and remarked that a most singular thing had taken place that afternoon, and that after this we would receive no more visitors. Being pressed for explanations, he finally gave them. He said that the provost-marshal of Madison had received information that one of Lincoln's spies was in town, and had even been among our visitors, though, the captain said, he was glad that the spy had found no opportunity to reveal himself to us! The marshal at once despatched a squad to arrest him. They found the suspected stranger at the depot, just as the cars were coming in. He was boisterously indignant at his arrest, and told them that he had papers in his pocket which would prove his character anywhere. They let go their hold on him, so that he might produce his papers. He lectured them roundly while pretending to search in his pockets, until he noticed that the train, which was starting, had attained a good degree of headway, and then, just as the last car swung by, he suddenly flung the soldiers from him and jumped aboard. There was no telegraph station at Madison, and no other train that evening, so that an effective pursuit was out of the question.

The Confederates were very much enraged, and our confinement was rendered much more strict. But we felt ample compensation in the hope that our officers would now know just where we were, and be able to make all possible efforts for our safety. Whether the spy surmounted all other perils and got safely to our lines, we never heard.

Three days only did we remain at Madison,—days of comparative quiet and hope, during which we recovered some degree of our wasted strength, which was sadly needed for future trials. The rebel authorities, having become convinced that Chattanooga was not in present danger from General Mitchel, ordered us back to that place. Our destination was not known to us, and the usual rumors circulated as to being now on our way for exchange. To move from one prison to another—an experience we had quite frequently—was always a welcome relief, and served, in some measure, to mitigate the excessive rigor of our confinement. We went back over the same road we came, and had again to run the gauntlet of insulting and jeering mobs. We traveled in rude box-cars, wet and filthy, and were harassed by the fear of going back to our miserable prison at Chattanooga. One circumstance rendered the journey more endurable. Captain Laws, who commanded the guard, and his soldiers also, had been in close association with us for several days, and had become really interested in our welfare. While he did not relax any of his vigilance, he strove to make the hardship of our position more endurable, and showed a friendly spirit on every occasion. His good will was especially valuable when we reached Chattanooga.

The remorseless order had been given for our return to the negro prison. Captain Laws could not change this, but by using his influence with Colonel Patrick Cleiburne, a man of humanity, who occupied the position of provost-marshal of Chattanooga for a short time, he got permission for us to remain in the upper room instead of being forced into the dungeon below. This was a great relief, for although we were equally crowded, yet the upper room was above-ground, had three windows instead of two, and these were of larger size. We had, therefore, a much better supply of air and light. We were very sorry for the fourteen poor Tennesseeans who were put below.

Our enemies displayed a wonderful degree of caution in the manner of guarding us. Even when we were below, where a man, if left alone, could scarcely have gotten out without assistance, they never raised the trap-door unprotected by a strong guard. Old Swims remonstrated against our being in the upper room, and seemed in perpetual terror. He fretted, and predicted that evil would come from showing the Yankees so much indulgence. Yet the precautions observed ought to have reassured him. Before our door was opened a strong guard was always brought up-stairs into the jailer's room, from which ours was entered, and arrayed in two lines with levelled bayonets. At the same time the stairway was guarded, and the whole jail surrounded by a strong force outside of the wall. We had not yet been relieved of our fetters,—at least, not by Confederate authority.

Colonel Cleiburne had asked permission to remove our irons, and this being refused, he gave us, on his own responsibility, an inexpressibly great indulgence. For an hour or two every fine afternoon he ordered the guards to bring us out into the jail-yard. This was something to look forward to all the day, and made our second confinement at Chattanooga far less irksome and prostrating than the first. To simply sit in the sunlight and watch the clouds drifting in the blue above, or to walk back and forth watching the lengthening shadows of the mountains, was intense enjoyment. We will never cease to be grateful to the brave Irish soldier who secured us these indulgences, which, simple as they were, had not been expected.

But we felt that the wearing of irons for so long a period was entirely unnecessary, and set our wits to work for the removal of such needless incumbrances. One of the party had managed to secrete a small knife in his sleeve while being searched, and with this he whittled out rude keys from the bones of the meat given us, which readily unlocked our handcuffs. The padlocks on the chains were served in a similar manner. We did not dare to let any one of the guards know of this expedient, or appear in public in our new liberty, lest more effectual means should be devised of securing us. To avoid detection while thus unchained we always kept some one on the watch. When a footstep was heard on the outside stairway the signal was given, and a quick rattling of chains accompanied the adjustment and relocking of our bonds. When the door opened we would appear all properly chained, but when alone we would soon be free again. This deception was continued as long as we were kept in irons.

We here took up the amusement of mock trials. Andrews had been tried, and the remainder of us expected to be, either in a body or singly. This may have suggested the diversion, which soon became very popular. One of the company would be charged with some offence, usually a trifling breach of our self-imposed prison rules. William Campbell, whose immense personal strength better enabled him to enforce his decisions, usually officiated as judge, until at last he got the name of "judge" firmly fixed upon him. We had ample time for this sport, and the opposing counsel would make very long and learned speeches. So interesting were these arguments, and so eloquent were our appeals, that no one of the auditors was ever known to leave the court-room while they were in progress! The witnesses were very slippery, and it was often difficult to reconcile their testimony. Some friends of the prisoners nearly always attempted to resist the laws and prevent the infliction of penalties, but in such cases the personal weight of the judge decided the affair. This resistance would give rise to new arrests and trials, and thus the work became interminable.

Another and more refined source of enjoyment was found in music. There were several good singers in the party, and by practising together they soon acquired great proficiency. Most of the songs, under the leadership of Marion Ross, were of a tender and sentimental cast, such as "Nettie Moore," "Carrier Dove," "Twenty Years Ago," "Do they miss me at Home?" etc. The most frequent time for singing was when twilight began to fall. Then all other occupations would be laid aside, and in the gathering darkness the voice of song would roll out as full and sweet as if not strained through prison-bars. The guards were very fond of our singing, and frequently groups of citizens also would gather around the high jail-fence to listen. Words of sympathy and kindness for the "caged Yankees" became more common, and there were a good many tangible manifestations of the same feelings. The guards who came in contact with us,—a considerable number, as one squad replaced another,—together with many of their officers and many residents of Chattanooga, began to ask why we were not treated as other prisoners, and the shameful chains taken off. I do not know whether this produced any essential change in our fortune. Most likely it was the reason we were not brought to trial in a town where we would have been sure of so much sympathy, but were arraigned in a distant place, and before officers who were strangers to us.