Daring and Suffering: A History of the Great Railroad Adventure

by William Pittenger

We had been started as usual, without any rations, on the calculation that we should fast till we reached our destination, which would be in about twenty-four hours. But our guerilla friends would not permit this. They bought pies, and literally feasted us, saying that their money was plenty, and when it was gone they could easily get more from our men. We hoped that we might have Morgan's men for our escort in all future migrations.

We arrived in Knoxville shortly after noon, and marched through the hot, dusty streets, directly to the old jail. This is now a historical edifice. It will forever remain associated with the extreme sufferings of the loyal East Tennesseeans, during the progress of the great rebellion.

The building itself is a noble one, and resembles some old baronial hall. It is of a peculiar style of architecture—solid, square and massive, with lofty projecting towers and sharp angles—altogether presenting an imposing appearance. It was used as a military prison, and was filled from top to bottom with ragged, dirty-looking prisoners. Some were Union men, and others were deserters from their own rebel ranks. These constituted the lower class of prisoners, and were permitted to range over most of the building, which was completely encircled outside by a strong guard.

The higher class, or those who were charged with more desperate offences, were shut up in cages. There were five of these. Two of them were at once cleared for our reception. The smaller one was about seven feet by nine, and four of us were put into it. The larger, in which the remainder of the party were placed, was perhaps ten by twelve. The latter was the cage in which Parson Brownlow had been confined, and we felt honored by being in the same cell that this noble champion of the Union had once occupied.

While in this cage, we read an article in a copy of the Knoxville Register, stating that Brownlow was in the North, humbugging the Yankees by telling them that he had been kept in an iron cage, and fired at by his guards, when everybody in that vicinity knew that the whole thing was a falsity. Even while we read this, we looked at the shot-marks which were still visible on the cage, and which the guards and prisoners assured us had been made in the way Brownlow stated. This may serve as a specimen of the manner in which Southern papers are accustomed to deal with facts.

It was in the latter part of May when we arrived in Knoxville, and outside, the weather was intensely warm, but inside, from the enormous masses of stone and iron around, it was quite cool. Indeed the nights, which are always cool, even in midsummer, in the warmest parts of the South, were here very cold, and as we had no beds or blankets, but had to lie on the partly iron floor, we suffered greatly.

Here we formed the acquaintance of a few Tennesseeans, who continued with us during the remainder of our sojourn in Dixie. One of the most remarkable of their number was named Pierce. He was some sixty years old, and had received a stroke with a gun-barrel, right down his forehead, which, even after healing, had left a gash more than an inch deep. From this he was denominated, "Gun-barrel," "Forked head," &c. He was at the same time very religious and very profane. His voice would first be heard singing hymns, and next cursing the Confederacy in no measured terms. He was, however, a very clever man, and almost adored the name of a Union soldier.

Here it was that we first became acquainted with Captain Fry. He was confined in a cage in another room. We could not get to see him, but could entrust little notes, written on the margin of newspapers, to the more faithful of the outside prisoners, and were always sure of a reply.

There was one man in the same room with me, but in another cage, in whom I became especially interested. He was between seventy and eighty years old, and was awaiting sentence of death. Before his arrest he had been a Union man, and, of course, a marked object of suspicion to his secession neighbors. A band of these came one night for the purpose of robbing him. He endeavored to prevent them, when they attacked him, drawing revolvers and bowie-knives. They fired several shots, and pursued him. He dodged around old barrels and other pieces of furniture in the outhouse where the assault was made, for some time, until finally he managed to seize a pitch-fork and plunge it into the foremost of his foes; then breaking away, he escaped for the time. The robber whom he wounded afterwards died, and the Confederate government arrested the old man, and confined him in the cage on a charge of murder! I never heard the result of it, but have no doubt that he has long since been hung.

We obtained quite a number of papers while here, and were much pleased to learn of the continued progress of our arms, particularly in the West. The taking of Fort Pillow, the evacuation of Memphis and Corinth, with the destruction of the rebel flotilla on the Mississippi, all came out in one paper; and the editor complained that he had been restrained from publishing this by the government for more than two weeks after the intelligence arrived.