We found some diversion in opening secret communication with every room in the prison. Those on the opposite side of the entry were reached by means of a small stick, which was shot from the crack under one door to the corresponding crack under the other. Each door was double,—one thickness of heavy wood, which was shut only at night, and precluded all communication; the other of light iron bars. A string tied to the stick pulled over any message we might desire to send. Between our room and the other on the same side of the hall there was an unused chimney, into which stove-pipes led on each side. By removing the elbows we could talk through, but there was the danger of being overheard. To remedy that, a long lath was forced off the side of our room in such a way that it could be put back again when desired, and this was used in passing notes back and forth through this concealed passage. This "telegraph" was very useful when we afterwards undertook an escape.
I can preserve no order of time in relating the events of these tedious months, which slowly rolled away their ponderous length. It was an almost perfect isolation from the world, with little hope of ever again mingling in its busy currents. As each month closed, we were startled by the thought that we were still alive,—that the thunderbolt had not yet descended,—and we surmised and wondered how much longer it could be delayed. At last a small ray of hope began to rise, very feeble at first, and based only upon the incomprehensible reprieve we were enjoying. As week after week glided away eventless—marked only by the monotony that is more wearying to heart and brain than the most severe anguish—this hope grew stronger; though it was so little assured that the most trifling circumstance—such as the strengthening of the guard, or the visit of an army official—was sufficient for the time to overturn it. It was the 12th of June when we entered that room. It was the 18th of October before we left it amid events of the most startling character, which will form a fit topic for a new chapter.
CHAPTER XVI.
LIBERTY OR DEATH?
One morning the guard brought up four Federal soldiers, who were shut up in the front room. As soon as we were alone we resorted to our usual method of telegraphing to learn who they were. To our great surprise and pleasure we found that two of them—Coleman and Helbling—were of the Tenth Wisconsin, a regiment of our own brigade. They gave us many most interesting items of news,—among others, that our comrades had long since given us up for dead, and were vowing vengeance on our behalf. They were greatly surprised to find so many of us still alive. The other two were of the regular army, who had been captured on the coast of Florida. They remained with us until we were taken to Richmond long after. From them we gained a complete detail of the movements of our army since our departure. We were greatly grieved to find the military situation far less favorable than it had been four months before. The transfer of General Mitchel from Tennessee to the Atlantic coast we also regarded as unfavorable to our interests. These soldiers were the means shortly of leading us to a desperate resolution.
We frequently talked and plotted about escape. This is the one topic that prisoners never weary of. We long before resolved that if any movement was made towards a court-martial, we would make one desperate effort for life; for the result of the trials in the case of Andrews and our poor comrades assured us that this formality would not be undertaken for any other purpose than that of putting us to death, under a show of law. After the lapse of a considerable time we had hopes that they would not dispense with this ceremony, and that we would thus have warning which might be useful. But many of our number—those especially who were vigorous in health, and, therefore, were more ready for action—wished to make the attempt at any rate. But time rolled on, and the dreaded preparations for a trial were not made. Why we were left in this uncertain condition for four months we could not tell. It might be that, in the rush of military events, we were forgotten, or it might be that the rebel authorities considered the hanging of eight men as sufficient to show their estimate of the enormity of our crime. This latter view grew upon the minds of some to such a degree that we boldly resolved to test it, even if it did bring our fate more swiftly upon us,—resolving that if our action should result in calling a court-martial we would then break from our prison or die in the attempt. Indeed, the scanty fare, the uncertainty, and the longing for liberty had become so completely unendurable, that the prospects of perishing on the bayonets of the guard had little terror. But our resolution was to write a letter directly to Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederacy, reciting our case, and asking to be put on the footing of prisoners of war. I acted as scribe, and used language as strong and yet respectful as possible. While writing, the whole party gathered around, and volunteered suggestions. Said Brown, "Be very humble to him, Pittenger. We can take all back, if we get out." Buffum raised quite a laugh by saying, "Tell him, Pittenger, that 'all we ask is to be let alone.'" This was an extract from one of Jefferson Davis' own addresses. But it did not go in the letter. The following is a copy of the document, obtained from the Confederate archives:
"Atlanta Jail, August 17, 1862.
"To His Excellency Jefferson Davis,
"President Confederate States of America."Respected Sir,—We are United States soldiers regularly detailed from our command to obey the orders of Andrews. He was a stranger to us, and we ignorant of his design, but, of course, we obeyed our officers. You are no doubt familiar with all we did, or can find it recorded in the trial of our comrades. Since then, Andrews himself and seven of us have been executed, and fourteen survive. Is this not enough for vengeance and for a warning to others? Would mercy in our case be misplaced? We have already been closely confined for more than four months. Will you not, sir, display a noble generosity by putting us on the same footing as prisoners of war, and permitting us to be exchanged, and thus show that in this terrible war the South still feels the claim of mercy and humanity?
"If you will be so good as to grant this request we will ever be grateful to you.
"Please inform us of your decision as soon as convenient."
Signed by all the survivors,—eight of the Twenty-first Ohio, one of the Second, and five of the Thirty-third, all of Sill's brigade, Mitchel's division.