Patriot boys : and, Prison pictures

/ CoLl.

PATRIOT BOYS

PRISON PICTURES

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PATRIOT BOYS

AND

PRISON PICTURES

EDMUND KIRKE,

AUTHOR OF "AiMON'G THE PINES," " MY SOUTHERN FRIENDS," ETC

BOSTON:

TICK NOR AND FIELDS

1866.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865,, by

JAMES R . G I L M O R E ,

m the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

University Press : Wkixh, Bigelow, & Co.,
Cambridge.

To

MASTER CHARLES BUCK BROOKS

THESE SKETCHES

ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

BY

THE AUTHOR.

INTRODUCTION

TT T'E — "grandma," our young folks, and I —
live up here on the old battle-ground, in a
quaint, old-fashioned farm-house, older than many
of the old folks now living ; and every day, when
the sun goes down, we gather round the great wood-
fire in the sitting-room, and talk and tell stories
by the hour together. I tell the most of the sto-
ries j for, though I am only a plain man, going
about in a slouched hat, a rusty coat, and a pair
of pantaloons old and threadbare enough to have
been worn by one of the Pilgrims, I have mingled
with men, seen a great many places, and been al-
most all over the world.

My own children like my stories, because they
think they are true, and because they are all about
the people I have met, and the places I have seen,

viii Introduction.

and so give them some glimpses of what is going on
in the busy life outside of our quiet country home ;
but I do not expect other young folks to like them
as well as my own do, — for their own father will
not tell them. However, I have here written out a
few of the many I know, in the hope that, if they
are not as wonderful as the Arabian Nights, or
as laughable as the Grimm Tales, they yet may
afford some trifling pleasure and instruction to
boys and girls I have never seen, and who gather
of evenings around firesides far away from the
one where all my stories are first told.

CONTENTS

PATRIOT BOYS.

Pagb

The New Hampshire Boy 15

The Illinois Boy 35

The Ohio Boy . . . . . . • . .57

The Virginla. Boy :

I. Slavery in

II. On the Way to Freedom .... 129
III. Freedom 143

PRISON PICTURES.

Jeff Davis as a Prisoner 169

Castle Thunder 184

The Great Prison ' . 199

Among the Prisoners 218

The Rebel Prisoner Boy . . . , . . 237

The Great Conspiracy 251

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

— ^—

Pagf.

General Lee at Chancellorsville .... 22

In the Libby 32

The Library 36

The Attempted Escape 44

Bird's-Eye View qf Camp Douglas .... 201

The Keeper 208

A Street in Prison 209

In the Barracks 210

Protracted Roll-Call 2n

The Ammunition Train 212

" Your Fellow-Citizen," Jim Hurdle . . . 215

The "Air Line" 227

** The Underground Railway " . . . . . 233

" On the Fence " 235

Cooking under Difficulties 243

Charging a Load of Hay ..... 245

Riding on a Rail 246

Solitary Confinement 247

A New-Fashioned Dray 248

Running Dry 249

The Commandant 255

PATRIOT BOYS

THE NEW HAMPSHIRE BOY.

ON the second and third days of May, 1863, was
fought the great and terrible battle of Chancel-
lorville, and not until men beat their swords into
ploughshares, and boys exchange their drums for
jews-harps and penny-whistles, will it be forgotten.
But I do not propose to write about it, for I cannot.
No one can describe a battle without seeing it ; and
I did not see the battle of Chancellor\'ille. But I
did see, more than a year after it was fought, a little
boy who was in it, and who, -nearly all the interven-
ing time, was a prisoner in the hands of the Rebels.

He was only t^velve years old, and you may think
that what such a little fellow did, at such a time,
could not be of much consequence to anybody. But
it was. He saved one or two human lives, and
lighted the passage of a score of souls through the
dark valley ; and so did more than any of our great
generals on those bloody days. He saved lives, —
they destroyed them.

You know that if you break a small wheel in a

1 6 Patriot Boys.

cotton mill, the entire machinery will stop ; and if
the moon — one of the smallest lumps of matter in
the universe — should fall from its orbit, the whole
planetary system might go reeling and tumbling
about like a drunken man. So you see the great
importance of little things, — and little folks are of
much greater importance than little things. If they
were not, the little boy I am writing about would not
have done so much at Chancellorville, and I should
not now be telling you his story.

The battle was raging hotly on our left, when this
little drummer-boy was ordered to the rear by his
Captain. "Go," the Captain said; "you're in dan-
ger here ; back there you may be of use to the
wounded." The little fellow threw his musket over
his shoulder, — his drum he left behind when the
battle began, — and, amid the pelting bullets, made
his way back to the hospital. Our forces were driv-
ing the enemy, and all the ground over which they
had fought was strewn with the dead and the dying.
Here and there men with stretchers were going
about among the wounded ; but the stretchers were
few, and the wounded were many; and as the poor
maimed and bleeding men turned their pitiful eyes
on the little boy, or in low, faint tones asked him for
water, he could not help lingering among them,

The New Hmnp shire Boy. ly

though tlie enemy's shells were bursting, and their
bullets falling Hke hailstones all about him. Gray
jackets were mingled with blue ; but in a generous
mind the cry of suffering dispels all distinction be-
tween friend and enemy ; and Robert — that was his
name — went alike to the wounded of both armies.
Filling his canteen from a little stream which flowed
through the battle-field, he held it to many a parched
lip, and was rewarded with many a blessing from
dying men, — blessings which will be to him a com-
fort and a consolation when he too shall draw near
to death.

He had relieved a score or more, when he noticed,
stretched on the ground at a little distance, his head
resting against a tree, a fair-haired boy of not more
than seventeen. He was neatly dressed in gray, and
had a noble countenance, with a broad, open fore-
head, and thick, curly hair, which clustered all about
his temples. His face wore the hue of health, his
eyes were bright and sparkling, and only the posi-
tion of his hands, which were clasped tightly above
his head, told that he was in pain and wounded.

" Can I help you ? " asked Robert, as he ap-
proached him.

" Thank you. Yes," he answered, clutching the
canteen, and taking a long draught of the water.

1 8 Patriot Boys.

" Thank you," he said again. " I saw you. I knew
you would come to me."

" Why ! have the rest passed you by ? "

" Yes j for, you see, I 'm a Rebel," he replied,
smiling faintly. " But yoti don't care for that."

" No, 1 don't. But are you badly hurt ? "

" Pretty badly, I fear. I 'm bleeding fast, — I
reckon it 's all over with me " ; — and he pointed to
a dark red stain on his jacket, just under his shoul-
der. His voice had a clear, ringing tone, and his
face a calm, cheerful look; for to the brave death
has no terrors. To the true man or boy it is only
the passage upward to a higher, better, nobler life
in the heavens.

Robert tore open the young man's clothes, and
bound his handkerchief tightly about his wound ;
then, seeing an empty stretcher coming that way, he
shouted to its bearers : " Quick ! Take him to the
hospital. He 's bleeding to death ! "

"I don't like the. color o' his clothes," said one
of the men as the two moved on with the stretcher.
" I guess he kin wait till we look arter our own
wounded."

His face flushing with both shame and anger,
Robert sprang to his feet, and, turning upon tlue
men, said in an imperious tone, which sounded

t

%

The New Hampshire Boy. 19

oddly enough from such a httle fellow : " He can't
wait. He will bleed to death, I teU you. Take
him now; if you don't, I'll report you, — I'll have
you drummed out of the army for being brutes and
cowards."

The men set down the litter, and the one who
had spoken, looking pleasantly at Robert for a mo-
ment, said : " Well, you are a bully boy. We don't
keer for no reportin' ; but for sich a little chap as
you, we '11 do anything, — I 'm blamed if we won't."

"I thank you very much, said Robert, in an al-
tered way, as he hastened to help the men lift the
wounded youth upon the stretcher.

The hospital was an old mill at a cross-roads,
about a quarter of a mile away. It was built of
logs, without doors or window-panes, and w^as fast
falling to decay ; but its floor, and nearly every
square inch of shaded ground around it, were cov-
ered with the wounded and the dying. Thither they
bore the Rebel boy, and, picking their way among
the many prostrate and bleeding men, spread a blan-
ket under a tree, and laid liim gently on it. Then
Robert went for a surgeon.

One shortly came, and, after dressing the wound,
he said in a kindly way : " It 's a bad hurt, my lad,
but keep up a good heart, and you '11 soon be about.

20 Patriot Boys.

A little pluck does more for a wound than a good
many bandages."

*' Oh ! Now you Ve stopped the bleeding, I
sha'nt die. I wofi!t die, — it would kill mother if
I did."

And so, you see, the Southern lad, even then,
thought of his mother ! and so do all brave boys,
whether well or wounded. They think "of her first,
and of her last ; for no other hand is so tender, no
other voice is so gentle, no other heart so true and
faithful as hers. No boy ever grew to be a great
and good man, who did not love and reverence his
mother. Even the Saviour of the world, when he
hung upon the cross, thought of his, and said to
John, "Behold thy mother!"

With so many needing help, Robert could do
little more for the Southern youth. He saw him
covered warmly with a blanket, and heard him say,
"A\^ether I get well or not, I shall never forget
you^^ Then he left him, not to see him again till
long afterwards.

The surgeon was a kind-hearted man, and told
Robert he should not go again upon the battle-
ground; so he went about among the wounded in
the hospital, tending them, writing last words . to
their loved ones at home, or reading to them from

The New Hampshire Boy. 21

the blessed Book which God has given to be the
guide of the living and the comfort of the dying.

So the day wore away, until the red tide of battle
surged again around the old mill at the cross-roads.
The Rebels came on in overpowering force, and
drove our men, as autumn leaves are driven before
the whirlwind. Numbers went down at every vol-
ley ; and right there, not a hundred yards away, a
tall, stalwart man fell, mortally wounded. A Rebel
bullet had entered his side, and as the fallen man
pressed his hand upon it, a dog which was with him
began to lap the wound, as if he thought he could
thus stay the crimson stream on which his master's
soul was going to its Maker.

Robert saw the man fall, and the dog standing by
amid the leaden storm which was pouring in tor-
rents all around them. Admiring the bravery of
tlie dog, he stepped out from behind the tree where
he had stood .out of range of the bullets, and went
to the wounded man. Gently lifting his head, he
said to him, " Can I do anything for you ? "

" Yes ! " gasped the man. " Tell them that I died
— like a man — for my country."

"Is that all? Nothing more?" asked Robert
quickly, for he saw that the soldier was sinking rap-
idly.

22 Patriot Boys.

The dying man turned his eyes to the boy's face,
clasped his arm tightly about the neck of his dog,
made one or two efforts to speak, and then, mur-
muring faintly, "Take care — of — Ponto!" passed
to that world where are no wars and no fightings.

The battle by this time had surged away to the
northward, and a small party of cavahy-men had
halted before the doorway of the hospital. Robert
had closed the eyes of the fallen soldier, and was
straightening his limbs on the blood -dampened
ground, when one of the horsemen called out to
him : " What, — my little fellow ! What are you
doing out here, — so far away from your mother ? "

Robert looked up, and, amid the group of officers,
saw a tall, broad-shouldered, grave-looking man, with
handsome, regular features, and hair and beard
streaked with gray, but almost as v;hite as cotton.
He wore a high felt hat, an old gray coat, and blue
trousers tucked into high top-boots ; and he rode a
large, handsome horse, whose skin was as soft and
glossy as a leopard's. He carried no arms, but the
three dingy stars on his collar showed that he held
high rank among the Rebels. All this Robert had
time to observe as he very deliberately answered:
"I came out here, sir, to help fight the wicked men
who are trying to destroy their country."

The New Hampshire Boy. 23

The officer's placid face flushed with anger ; and,
turning to an aid, he said, in a harsh, grating tone :
" Take that boy to the rear. Send him to the Libby
with the other prisoners."*

Robert did not then know that this officer w^as the
famous General Lee, — the man who neither smokes,
drinks, nor chews tobacco ; who has, in short, none
of the smaller vices, but all of the larger ones ; for
he deliberately, basely, and under circumstances of
unparalleled meanness, betrayed his country, and,
long after all hope of success was lost, carried on a
murderous war against his own race and kindred.

It was nearly sunset before Robert was sent off to
the rear, and meanwhile a narrow trench w^as scooped
in the ground, and the dead soldier was placed in it.
Robert set a small stake at the head of the grave,
and it stands there still ; but no one knows who
rests below, and no one will know till the morning
of the resurrection ; and yet it may be that even
now, in some far-away Northern home, hearts are
hea\y, and eyes are red, with waiting and weeping
for the father and the husband who never again will
return to his loved among the living.

* This incident is corroborated to the writer by a lady to
whom it was related by Lieutenant-Colonel Botts, — nephew
to Hon. John Minor Botts, — who was a member of Lee's stafiF,
and present when -it occurred.^

24 Patriot Boys.

Early on the following day, with about three hun-
dred poor fellows, one half of whom were wounded,
Robert was marched off to Richmond. The sol-
dier's dog, when he saw his master laid away in the
ground, howled and took on piteously, but soon af-
terwards grew friendly with Robert, and the two
made all the weary journey together.

It was in truth a weary journey, and I cannot find
it in my heart to tell you about it, for I do not want
to make you sad ; and it w^ould draw tears from
hearts of stone to know all that the poor boy en-
dured. It seemed more than human nature could
bear, and yet it was only what thousands of our
tired, footsore, wounded, and starving men have suf-
fered on their long, dusty, and muddy march to the
Richmond Bastile. Time and again the little boy
would have fallen by the way, had not the poor
dumb dog sustained him. • They shared their mea-
gre crust together ; and often, when Robert's spirits
drooped on the march, Ponto would gambol about
him, and make him cheerful in spite of himself; and
often, too, when he lay down to sleep on the damp
ground, the dog would stretch his huge paws across
his breast, and cover him, as well as he could, from
the cold air and the unhealthy night dew.

At sunset, on the fourteenth day of May, the col-

The New Hampshire Boy. 25

umn, wayworn and footsore, with haggard faces and
uncombed hair, was set down from the cars of the
Virginia Central Railroad, and marched into the city
of Richmond. Down the long, grass-grown streets
they were hurried, with clouded faces and heavy
hearts ; but when at last the cold, brown walls of
the Libby rose before them darkly outlined on the
gray sky, they almost shouted for joy, — for joy that
their toilsome journey was over, though it had ended
in a prison. If they had kno\\Ti of the many weary-
months of cold and hunger and misery which some
of them were to pass there, would they not rather
have died than have entered the dark doorway of
that living grave ?

All of you have read descriptions, or seen pic-
tures, of the gloomy outside of this famous prison,
so I need not tell you how it looks. It is indeed
gloomy, but the inside is repulsive and unsightly to
the last degree. The room into which Robert and
his companions were taken was a long, low apart-
ment on the ground floor, with naked beams, broken
windows, in whose battered frames the spider had
woven his web, and bare brown walls, from which
hung scores of torn, dingy blankets, every one of
them filled wdth a larger caravan of wild animals
than any ever seen in a Northern town. The weary,

26 Patriot Boys.

travel-soiled company was soon ranged in four files
along the floor of this room, and there they were
made to wait two long hours for the Inspector. At
last he came, — a coarse, brutal fellow, with breath
perfumed with whiskey, and face bloated with drink
and smeared with tobacco-juice.

" Yer a" sorry set ! " he said, as he went down the
lines, taking from the men their money and other
valuables. "A sorry set!" he added, as he looked
down on their ragged clothes, through which here
and there the torn flesh was peeping. "A sorry
set! Sorrier nur purtater-tops in September; but
yer green though, — greener nur laurel-bushes, and
ye bar [bear] better," again he said, as he stufled a
huge handful of United States notes into his pocket,
and went on with his dirty work. At last he
stopped before a coatless officer, with matted hair,
only one boot, a tattered shirt, and no hat or neck-
tie, but in their stead a stained bandage, from under
which the blood still was trickling. "Who'd ha'
thought o' raisin' sich a crap from sich a hill o'
beans ! " he said, as he drew from the pocket of
this officer a roll larger than usual, and in his greed
paused to count the money.

"We reap what we sow," said the officer, with > a
look of intense loathing; "you are sowing theft,

The New Hampshire Boy. 27

you'll reap hell-fire, — if I live to get out of this
prison."

"Yer sowin' greenbacks, and ye '11 reap a dun-
geon, if ye don't keep a civil tongue in yer head,"
responded the fellow, with a brutal sneer, as he went
on down the column.

Ponto had kept close to the heels of Robert, and,
following him into the prison, had crouched down
behind the line, and remained unobserved until the
robbery was over. Then a dozen sentinels were
ordered to take the prisoners to their quarters, and,
when they began to move, the dog attracted the no-
tice of the Inspector. "Whose dog is that?" he
roared, as Ponto started up the stairway, a little in
advance of his young master.

Robert was about to answer, but a kind-hearted
sentinel, seeing from his looks that the dog was his,
touched him on the shoulder, and whispered : " Not
a word, Sonny! It mout git ye inter trouble."

" Stop him ! Cotch that dog ! " shouted the In-
spector, as Ponto, hearing the inquiry, and seeming
to know by instinct that it referred to him, darted
forward and disappeared in the room above. The
Inspector and two or three sentries pursued him,
and, bounding after them tw^o steps at a time, Rob-
ert soon saw what followed.

28 Patnot Boys.

The room was of the same size, and furnished in
much the same way, as the one below stairs j but
scattered about it, in messes of fifteen or twenty,
were more than two hundred prisoners. In and out
among these prisoners ran the dog and his pursuers.
It was an exciting chase ; but they might as well have
tried to catch a sunbeam, or a bird without salting
its tail, as to take Ponto in such a crowd of friends.
In and out among them — crouching behind boxes,
leaping over barrels, running beneath benches, right
under the legs of his pursuers — went Ponto, as if he
were a streak of lightning out on a frolic ; while the
prisoners stood by, laughing, and shouting, and get-
ting in the way as much as possible, to keep the
loyal dog from the clutches of his Rebel enemies.
Half an hour the chase lasted. Then the patience
of the Inspector gave out, and, puffing with heat

and anger, he shouted, " One of you, shoot the

critter."

A sentinel levelled his musket, but a Union man
threw up the barrel. "Don't fire here," he said,
" you '11 kill some of us."

" Fire, you, fire ! Don't mind him," shouted

the enraged Inspector.

" Do it, Dick Turner," said the man, planting him-
self squarely before him, " and I '11 brain you on the

The New Hampshire Boy. 29

spot," and — Turner prudently omitted to order the
shooting.

Taking advantage of this momentary lull, Ponto
darted up into the officer's room, and was soon snug-
ly hid away in the third story. Baffled and exasper-
ated, Turner turned to the man, and growling out,
" I '11 have my revenge for this, my fine fellow,"
strode down the stairway.

Robert's quarters were in the room where this
scene occurred, and his new messmates received him
ver)^ kindly. They gave him food, bathed his aching,
swollen limbs, and soon made him a bed on the floor,
with a blanket for a mattress, and Ponto for a cover-
let. He was just falling into a doze, when he heard
a voice at the landing ask, with an oath, " Where is
•that dog ? " The lights were out, but by the lantern
which the man carried, the boy saw that he was a
short, slight, dapper individual, with a beardless, face,
a sneaking look, and a consequential air, which seemed
to say : " Get out of my way, sir ; I am Thomas P.
Turner, professional Negro-whipper, but now keeper
of'Libby Prison, and I take off my hat to nobody."
With him was the other Turner, — his tool, and the
fit instrument of his contemptible tyranny.

No one answered the question, and the two wor-
thies groped their way about the room with the Ian-

30 Patriot Boys.

tern. They caught sight of Robert's mess just in
time to see Ponto again take himself off up the stair-
way. The sagacious creature had heard the ungen-
tlemanly allusion to himself, and, like a sensible dog,
determined to keep out of such low company.

With the aid of his Union friends, that night and
for a week afterwards, Ponto baffled his pursuers ;
but at last he was taken, and, much against his will,
was set free — for, you know, it is only men that ever
deserve to be shut up in prison. What became of
him Robert does not know ; but if he is living, he is
a decent dog; if dead, he has gone where the good
dogs go, — that is certain.

" So, he is your dog ? " said Turner, halting before
Robert, who had risen to his feet.

"He is, sir," answered the little boy in a respect-*
ful tone, "and you will be cruel if you take him
away from me."

" Cruel ! do you call me cruel ! " cried Turner, fly-
ing into a passion. " I '11 teach you manners, you
young whelp." Turning then to his subordinate, he
asked for the "other Yankee."

The prisoner who had forbidden the firing was
pointed out, and soon he and Robert were escorted
to a dungeon, down in the cellar, under the sidewalk.
The members of Robert's mess told Turner of his

The New Hampshire Boy. 31

exhausted condition, and begged him not to consign
a tired, sick boy to so horrible a place, — at least to
let him rest- where he was till the morning ; but all
they said was of no avail. They might as well have
talked to an adder, for an adder is not more deaf,
nor more venomous, than was that man !

So Robert's long, weary journey ended in a dun-
geon. It was a horrid den, — a low, close, dismal
place, with a floor encrusted with filth, and walls
stained and damp with the rain, which in wet weather
had dripped down from the sidewalk. Its every
corner was alive with vermin, and it seemed only a
fit habitation for some ferocious beast, which had to
be shut out from the light of day, and kept from
contact with all things human. Yet into it they
thrust a sick, fragile boy; and he would have died
there but for the kind-hearted soldier who went with
him. He wrapped him in his blanket ; gave him
every morsel of his own food ; stretched himself on
the naked floor, and held him for hours clasped to
his own warm breast ; and, in all ways, nursed and
tended him as if he had been his mother. So Rob-
ert lived through it, and, at the end of forty hours,
God softened the hearts of his keepers.*

* This whole narrative of Robert's stay in the Libby the
writer has on the testimony of two persons besides the boy

32 Patriot Boys.

For a month afterwards Robert was confined to
the hospital. The occupant of the next cot to his
own was a Union Colonel, who, when they were
well enough to go back to the prison, procured for
him admission to the -officers' quarters in the third
story. This secured him no better fare or accom-
modations than he would have had below with the
private soldiers, but it gave him more air and larger
space to move about in. There he lived for seven
long months ; sleeping, at night, on the hard floor ;
idling, by day, through the large rooms, or gazing
out on the narrow prospect to be seen from the
prison windows. But his time was not altogether
idled away. Under the eye of the good Colonel, he
went over his arithmetic and grammar, and learned
French and Spanish. But it was a weary time. Ex-
changes were suspended, and there seemed no hope ;
yet at last deliverance came.

Robert went seldom from his own floor, but one
cold day in Januar^^, 1864, he was called by a simple
errand to the lower story. He was about returning,
his foot was even on the stairway, when he heard
some one call his name. Looking round, he saw it

himself. It is undoubtedly true in every detail. The writer
would be convinced of it from what he personally knows of the
two Turners, had he no other evidence.

The New Hampshire Boy. 33

was the sentinel, — a young man, with light, wavy
hair, and an open, handsome countenance. His
left coat-sleeve was dangling at his side, but he
seemed strong, and otherwise capable of military
duty. " Did you call me ? " asked Robert. " Why ! "
cried the other, grasping his hand, " don't you know
me? don't you remember Chancellorville ? " It was
the Rebel youth whose life Robert had saved on the
battle-field. The musket dropped from his hand,
and he hugged the little boy as if he had been his
own brother. The other sentries, and even an offi-
cer stood by, and said nothing ; though all this was
against the prison regulations. After all, — after
even the atrocities the Rebels have committed, — it
is true that the same humanity beats under a gray
coat that beats under a blue one.

The next day a gentleman came into the room
where Robert was quartered, and asked to see him.
He was a stoutly built man, rather above the me-
dium height, with a full, open face, large pleasant
eyes, and an agreeable manner. He was dressed in
dark-gray clothes, wore a broad felt hat, and every-
thing about him seemed to denote that he was a
kind-hearted gentleman. He asked Robert how old
he was j where his home was \ how long he had
been in prison ; and all about his mother ; and,
2* c

34 Patriot Boys.

when he rose to go away, gave him his hand, and
said : " You 're a brave boy. I am sorry I have n't
known of you before. But you shall go home now,
— in a few days I shall be going to the lines, and
will take you with me.

Robert's eyes filled with tears, and he stammered
out : " I thank you, sir. I thank you ver}^ much,
sir."

"You need not, my boy," said the gentleman,
placing his hand kindly upon his head. " It is only
right that we should let you go, — you saved the life
of one of our men."

In three days, with money in his pocket, given
him by this gentleman, Robert was on his way to
his mother. He is now at his home, fitting himself
to act his part in this great world, in this earnest
time in which we are livings and the kind-hearted
man who set him free, charged with dishonest mean-
ness and theft, is now shut up in that same horrid
prison. Robert does not think him guilty, and he
has asked me to tell you this about him, which I do
gladly, and all the more gladly because I know him,
and believe that, if there is an honorable, high-minded
man in all Virginia, that man is Robert Ould.*

* Since this was written, Judge Ould has been honorably
acquitted of all the charges against him.

THE ILLINOIS BOY

ONE bleak day in October, 1853, a little boy
was playing with his dog on the floor of his
father's library, in one of the larger towns of West-
ern Illinois. The dog was not bigger than a piece
of chalk ; but when the boy ranged the great divin-
ity books into a railway-train along the floor, he
hopped upon them, and puffed and snorted away, as
if he supposed himself some huge engine racing
across the country under a full head of steam. "Whiz !
whiz!" and "Puff! puft'!" went the dog, and "Hur-
rah! hurrah!" "Clear the track!" "Look out for
the bullgine ! " shouted the boy, until the room shook,
and the dusty old worthies on the shelves crawled,
trembling, into their nightcaps, frightened out of
their few wits by this new development of the nine-
teenth century. How the tall man writing at the
desk managed to put t^vo ideas together amid such
a din, I never could understand, until my own " Billy
Boy" had turned my own library into a railroad-
station.

36 Patriot Boys.

At last the tall man laid down his pen, and, reach-
ing up for his hat, which hung against the wall,
caught sight of the boy, the dog, and the " Great
Western Railway." Bursting into a merry laugh,
he said : —

"Willie had a little dog,
Whose coat was white as snow;
And everywhere that Willie went
The dog was sure to go."

The boy sprang to his feet, and, catching up his
own little hat, which lay on a chair in the corner,
shouted out : —

"And father had a little boy,
Whose face was white as snow;
And everywhere that father went
The boy was sure to go."

In vain the father said that four-year-old boys
should stay at home in stormy weather; the little
fellow insisted on going out, and finally carried his
point; and always afterwards, "everywhere the fa-
ther went, the boy was sure to go."

So it came about that, one day in the following
summer, when his father went a-shooting, Willie
thrust the powder-horn into his pocket, and trudged
off upon the prairie with him. They soon started
a flock of quails, and W^illie's father raised his gun

The Illinois Boy. 37

to fire among them ; but, the little boy being very
near, he hesitated to shoot, lest he should frighten
him with the report of the weapon. Willie, seeing
the quails flying away, and the gun so strangely
hanging fire, cried out, impatiently, "Father, shoot!
Why don't you shoot?" But the father still hesi-
tated; and then the boy, who knew nothing of a
gun but that it makes a loud noise, and is a danger-
ous thing to handle, cried out again : " Why, father,
are you afraid ? Give me the gun, I '11 shoot."

The father rested the gun across a log, and the
boy fired at the flock of quails. The birds had
flown beyond range, and the shot only hit the empty
air ; but the little boy turned to his father, and said,
in a tone of cool and refreshing dignity, " There, fa-
ther, don't you see there is n't any danger in firing
a gun ! "

It was about this time that AVillie went to his first
camp-meeting. Many of you have been at camp-
meetings, and know that they are religious gather-
ings, held in the open air, and attended by great
numbers of people, who go into the woods to wor-
ship, and frequently stay there days and weeks to-
gether. Willie's father was the president of a col-
lege ; but he also was a clergyman, — and a clergy-
man who never omitted an opportunity of bearing

$8 Patriot Boys.

"testimony to the truth," whether in a church, a
lecture-room, or at a camp-meeting. So it hap-
pened that on the occasion I speak of he was asked
to occupy a place on the platform, and Willie took
a seat beside him.

Another clergyman opened the meeting with
prayer; but the prayer had scarcely begun, when
one of the congregation — an ill-mannered mule,
tethered near by in the timber — set up a most dis-
cordant braying, which drowned the voice of the
speaker, and greatly disconcerted the worshippers.
All at once the prayer ceased, and Willie's father,
rising, asked that the mule might be led out of hear-
ing. "Why, father," then exclaimed the little boy,
" I thought you went for freedom of speech ! "

"The boy is father of the man," and the small
boy is father of the larger boy. This is shown by
these little stories, which display traits in Willie's
character that made him, long afterwards, put on a
blue jacket and trousers, and follow his brave father
over nearly every battle-field of the Southwest. He
loved his father, and wanted to be always with him ;
he was not afraid of powder, or a shot-gun ; and he
went, to the full extent, for freedom of speech, —
the principle which, though it may not do for asses
and mules, Hes at the very foundation of human lib-

The Illinois Boy. 39

erty. So, when the South aimed a death-blow at
this principle, and his father went out to uphold it
on the battle-field, it was only natural that Willie
should want to go with him, and have another shot
at a flock of birds, — though these "birds" were not
of the quail species.

His father had been in the army more than a
year, and had risen to the command of a regiment,
before he consented to take Willie along with him
as a drummer-boy. Then he went, but had been at
the front only a week when the army came in pres-
ence of the enemy, and was drawn up in two long
lines to wait an attack. When an army is moving,
drummer-boys and other musicians march at the head
of their regiments ; but when it goes into battle, they
are sent to the rear, to care for the wounded. On
this occasion, however, when Willie's father rode
along the lines, encouraging the soldiers to act like
men in the coming conflict, he caught sight of the
little drummer-boy, standing, with his drum over his
shoulder, at the very head of the column.

"We are going into the fight, my son," said the
father. "Your place is at the rear."

"Father," answered the boy, "if I go back there,
everybody '11 say I am a coward."

"Well, well," said his father, "stay where you
are 1 "

40 Patriot Boys.

He stayed there, and, when the attack began,
moved in at the head of his regiment; and though
the bullets hissed, the canister rattled, and the
shells burst all about him, he came out uninjured.
In the midst of the fight, when our men were going
down before the storm of lead, as blades of grass
go down before a storm of hail, one of the regi-
mental orderlies was swept from his saddle by a
cannon-ball, and his horse went galloping madly
over the battle-field. Willie saw the orderly fall,
and his horse bound swiftly away; and, leaving the
ranks, he caught the frightened animal, and sprang
into the fallen man's saddle. Riding then up to
his father, he said : " Father, I 'm tired of drum-
ming, — I 'd rather carry your orders."

He was only thirteen years old ; but after that, in
all the great battles of the Southwest, he acted as
orderly for the brave Colonel, carrying his messages
through the fiery storm, and riding unharmed up to
the very cannon's mouth, until he was taken prisoner
by the Rebels on the bloody field of Chickamauga.

All day long on that terrible Saturday he rode
through the fight by the side of his father, and at
night lay down on the ground to dream of his home
and his mother. The battle paused when the sun
went down; but soon after it had risen, on the fol-

The Illinois- Boy. 41

lowing day, red and ghastly in the smoky air, the
faint crack of musketry and the heavy roar of ar-
tiller}^, sounding miles away, told that the brave
boys on our left were meeting the desperate onsets
of the enemy. Fiercely the Rebels broke against
their ranks, fiercely as the storm-wave breaks on a
rock in the ocean ; but like a rock, the brave Thomas
and his men beat back the wild surges, till they
rolled away in broken waves upon our centre and
right, where the little boy was with his regiment.
Battle and disease had thinned their ranks, and then
they numbered scarcely four hundred : but bravely
they stood up to meet the wild shock that was com-
ing. Soon the Colonel's horse went down, and,
giving him his own, Willie hurried to the rear for
another. He had scarcely rejoined the ranks, when
on they came, — the fierce rangers of Texas and
Arkansas, — riding over the brigades of Davis and
Van Cleve, and the division of the gallant Sheridan,
as if they were only standing wheat all ripe' for mow-
ing. One half of the brave Illinois boys were on
the ground, wounded or dying; but the rest stood
up, unmoved in the fiery hurricane which was sweep-
ing in fierce gusts around them. Such men can die,
but their legs are not fashioned for running. Soon
both their flanks were enveloped in flame, and a

42 Patriot Boys.

dreadful volley burst out of the smoke, and again
the brave Colonel went to the ground in the midst
of his heroes. Then the boy sprang to his side.

" Are you dead, father, or only wounded ? "

" Neither, my boy," answered the iron man, as he
clutched the bridle of a riderless horse, and sprang
into the empty saddle. Two horses had been shot
under him, and two hundred of his men had gone
down forever, but still he sat there unmoved amid
the terrible tempest. At last the fire grew even hot-
ter ; one unbroken sheet of flame enveloped the little
band, and step by step, with their faces to the foe,
they were swept back by the mere force of num-
bers. Then the father said to the boy, " Go, my
son, to the rear, fast as your horse's legs can carry
you."

" I can't, father," answered the lad, " you may be
wounded."

" Never mind me ; think of your mother. Go,"
said the father, peremptorily.

Obedience had been the rule of the boy's life. He
said no more ; but, turning his horse's head, rode
back to the hospital."*

* This incident is thus related by an eyewitness of the bat-
tle, writing from the field on that terrible Sunday : — " Beside
Colonel , of the wSeventy-third Illinois, rode his son,

The Illinois Boy. 43

The hospital was a few tents clustered among the
trees, a short distance in the rear; and thither our
wounded men were being conveyed as fast as the
few medical attendants could carry them. There
the boy dismounted, and set about doing all he could
for the sufferers. While thus engaged, he saw his
father's regiment emerge from the cloud of flame, and
fall slowly back towards a wood behind them. In
a moment a horde of rangers, uttering fierce yells,
poured down on their flanks to envelop the little
band of heroes. The boy looked, and at a glance
took in his own danger. The hospital would in-
evitably be surrounded, and all in it captured ! He
had heard of the Libby, and the prison -pens of
Salisbury- and Andersonville j and springing upon
the back of the nearest horse, he put spurs to its
sides and bounded away towards the forest. But
it was a clumsy beast, not the blooded animal w^hich

a lad of thirteen ; a bright, brave little fellow, who believed
in his father, and feared nothing. Right up to the enemy, —
right up anywhere, — if the father went, there went the boy ;
but when the bullets swept in sheets, and grape and canister
cut ragged roads through the columns of blue, and plashed them
with red, the father bade the young orderly out of the fiery gust.
The little fellow wheeled his horse and rode for the hospital.
The hospital was captured, and the boy a prisoner." — B. F.
Taylor, in Chicago Journal.

44 Patriot Boys.

had borne him so nobly through the day's conflict
Slowly it trotted along, though the rowels pierced
its flanks till the blood ran down them in a rivulet.
The forest was yet a long way off when the rangers
caught sight of the boy and the sleepy animal, and
gave chase, brandishing their carbines and yelling
like a regiment of demons. The boy heard the
shouts, and slung himself along the side of his horse
to be out of range of bullets; but not one of the
rangers offered to fire, or even lifted his carbine ;
for there is something in the breasts of these half-
savage men that makes them in love with daring ; and
this running with a score of rifles following at one's
heels is about as dangerous as a steeple-chase over
a country filled with pitfalls and torpedoes.

Soon the rangers' fleet steeds encircled the boy's
clumsy animal, and one of them seized his bridle,
crying out, " Yer a bully 'un ; jest the pluckiest
chunk uv a boy I uver seed."

Willie was now a prisoner, and prudence coun-
selled him to make the best of a bad business ; so
he slid nimbly to the ground, and coolly answered,
" Give me a hundred yards the start, and I '11 get
away yet, — if my horse is slower than a turtle."

" I 'm durned ef we won't," shouted the man. " I
say, fellers, guv the boy forty rod, and let him go
scot free ef he gits fust ter the timber."-

The Illinois Boy. 45

" None uv* yer nonsense, Tom," said another, who
seemed some petty officer. " Luck at the boy's
does ? He 's son ter some o' the big 'uns. I '11
bet high he b'longs ter ole Linkum hisself. I say,
young 'un, hain't ye ole Linkum's boy ? "

" I reckon ! " answered Willie, laughing, in spite
of his unpleasant surroundings.

But what he said in jest was received in earnest ;
and with a suppressed chuckle the man said : " I
knowed it. Fellers, he 's good fur a hundred thou-
sand, — so let 's keep a bright eye on him."

Willie was a boy of truth. He had been taught
to value his word above everything, even life j but
the men were deceiving themselves, and he was not
bound to undeceive them to his own disadvantage.
He had heard of the barbarity they had shown to
helpless prisoners, and his keen mother wit told him
to be silent, for this false impression would insure
him kind and respectful treatment. After a short
consultation, the rangers told him to mount his horse
again, and then led him by a circuitous route, to
be out of range of the fire of our retreating forces,
to a hospital a short distance in the rear of the Rebel
lines, where a large number of prisoners were gath-
ered. On the way one of them asked Willie the
time of day, and, when he drew out his watch, coolly

46 Patriot Boys.

took it and placed it in his pocket ; but they offered
him no other wrong or indignity.

Arrived at the station, the leader of the rangers
rode up to the officer in charge of the prisoners, and
said : " I say, Gunnel, we 'se cotched a fish yere as
is wuth CQtchin', — one o' ole Linkum's boys ! "

The officer scrutinized Willie closely, and then
said, " Are you President Lincoln's son ? "

" No, sir," answered Willie ; " but I am ^ one of
Linkum's boys.'"

• " Ye telled me ye war, ye young hound ! " cried
the ranger, breaking into a storm of oaths and
curses.

"I did not," said Willie coolly; "I let you de-
ceive yourself, — that was all."

The rangers stormed away as if they were a dozen
hurricanes exercising their lungs for an evening con-
cert ; but the Colonel, who at first had gone into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter, now turned upon them
with a torrent of reproaches. "You 're a set of
cowards,'^ he said. "You have got this up to get
away from the fight. A dozen of you to guard a
twelve-year-old boy ! Begone ! Back to the lines
every one of you, or I '11 report you. Old Bragg
has a way of dealing with skulkers such as you are."

The rangers needed no further hint. They gal-

* The Illinois Boy. 47

loped off, and Willie walked away and joined the
other prisoners.

About a thousand of our tired and wounded men,
under guard of two companies of Rebel soldiers, were
collected in an open field not far from the hospital ;
and with them, without food, without shelter, and
with nothing but the hard ground to lie on, the lit-
tle boy remained till noon of the following day.^

At night he lay down to rest in a crotch of the
fence and counted the stars, as one by one they came
out in the sky, telling of the Great All-Father who
has his home in the high heavens, but comes down
to visit and relieve his heart-weary children who
are wandering here on the earth. Was he not heart-
weary, — heart-weary with thinking of his home and
his mother, who soon would be sorrowing for her only
son, lost amid the wild storm of battle ? And would
not God visit and relieve him ? As he thought of
this, he prayed. Rising to his knees, he said the
little prayer he had said every morning and evening
since his earliest childhood ; and even as he prayed,
a dark cloud broke away over his head, and the
north star came out and looked down, as if sent by
the good Father to guide him homeward.

He watched the star growing brighter and brighter,
till its gentle rays stole into his soul, lighting all

48 Patriot Boys.

its dark corners ; and then he sunk to sleep and
dreamed, — dreamed that a white-robed angel came
and took him in its arms and bore him away, above
the tree-tops, to his father's tent beyond the moun-
tains. His father was on his knees praying ; and
while he prayed the angel vanished, and in its place
came the spirits of his ancestors, — the hunted Hu-

Snots, who had gone up to Heaven from many
ood-sodden battle-field. They took the boy by
the hand and said, "Be strong, and fear not. Put
your trust in God, and he will show you a safe way
out of the wilderness."

In the morning he woke hopeful and stout-hearted.
Kneeling down, he prayed again ; and then a plan
of escape came to him, — clear and distinct as ever
plan of battle came to a general. He did not think
it out ; it came to him like a beam of light breaking
into a dark room; or like a world-stirring thought
flashing into the soul of genius from the Source of
all thought in the heavens. But this thought was
not to stir a world \ it was only to stir a small boy's,
legs, and make him a man in resource and resolu-
tion. Long he pondered upon it, turning it round
and round, and looking at it from all sides ; and
then he set about working it out into action,

The Colonel cammanding the guard was a mild-

The Illijiois Boy. 49

mannered man, with pleasant features, and a heart
evidently too good to be engaged in the wicked
work of rebellion. Him the boy accost id as he
made his morning round among the prisoners. "You
seem to be short-handed at the hospital, sir," he
said ; " I have done such work, and would be glad
to be of service."

" You 're a good boy to think of it," replied the
officer, — " too good to be one of Lincoln's boys,"
— and he laughed heartily at the recollection. "But
won't you tr}' to get away if I let you go there?"

" I can't promise," said Willie ; " you would n't if
you were a prisoner."

" No, I would n't," answered the Colonel, kindly.
"But it won't be safe for you to try. Some of our
men are wild fellows, and they would shoot you
down as soon as they would a squirrel. The Union
lines are twelve miles away, and our pickets are
thicker than the fleas in this corniield."

" I 'd rather not be shot, — I 'd rather be a pris-
oner," said Willie, smiling.

" You 're a sensible lad," answered the officer,
laughing. " I '11 let you into the hospital, and you
may get away if you can ; but if you are shot, don't
come back and say I did it."

"I don't believe in ghosts," said the little boy,
3 ^

50 Patriot Boys.

following the Colonel on his rounds, to be sure he
should not forget him.

When the officer's duties were over, he took, Willie
from the cornfield and gave him in charge to Doctor
Hurburt, chief surgeon of the hospital. The doctor
was a humane, kind-hearted man, and he laughed
heartily at the story of the boy's capture by the rang-
ers. "You served them right, my little fellow," he
said, " and you are smart, — smart enough to be a
surgeon. There is plenty to do here, and if you go
to work with a will, I '11 say a good word for you."

And the kind surgeon did ; and Willie's father af-
terwards bore him his thanks across many leagues of
hostile country.

The hospital was a little village of tents, scattered
about among the trees, and in it w^ere nearly a thou-
sand Rebel and Union soldiers, all of them either
wounded or dying. Among them WilHe worked for
a fortnight. He scraped lint for their wounds, bound
bandages about their limbs, held water to their
parched lips, wTOte last words to their far-away
friends, and spoke peace to their souls as, weary and
sin4aden, they groped their way through the dark
valley that leads to the realm of the departed.

Among the patients was one in whom Willie took
especial interest, — a bright-eyed, fair-haired boy, not

The Illinois Boy. 51

far from his own age, who had been wounded in the
great battle. He was a Rebel boy, but he had gone
into the war with the same purpose as Willie, — to
do all he could for what he thought was freedom.
He had been told that the North wanted to enslave
the South, and his soul rose in a strong resolve to
give his young life, if need be, to beat back his coun-
try's invaders. In all this he %as wrong ; but only
a demagogue will say that the spirit which moved
him was not as noble as that which has led many a
Northern lad to be a mart}T for real liberty. Young
as he was, he had been in half a dozen battles, and
in the bloody struggle of Chickamauga had fallen
pierced with two Union bullets. For two days and
nights he lay on the battle-field before he was dis-
covered by the part}^ of men who brought him to
the hospital. ' "Willie helped to bear him from the
ambulance, and to lay him on a blanket in one of
the tents, and then went for the chief surgeon. A
bullet had entered the boy's side, and another crushed
the bones of his ankle. His leg had to come off,
and the amputation, the long exposure, and the loss
of blood, rendered his recovery almost hopeless.
The kind-hearted surgeon said this to AVillie^ as he
finished the operation, and bade him tell it to the
Rebel lad as gently as was possible. Willie did

52 Patriot Boys.

this, and then the wounded boy, turning his mild
gray eye to WilHe's face, said calmly : " I thank you,
— but for two days I have been expecting it I
have a pleasant home, a dear mother, and a kind
little sister, and it is hard to leave them ; but I am
willing to go, for God has other work for me — up
there — where the good angels are working."

He , lingered for a ^^^eek, every day growing weaker
and weaker, and then sunk to sleep as gently as the
water-drop sinks into the depths of the ocean. A
few hours before he died he sent for Willie, and said
to him : " You have been very good to me, and I
would, as far as I can, return your kindness. My
clothes are under my pillow. Take them when I
am gone. They may help you to get back to your
mother. I am going soon. Be with me when I
die."

They laid him away in the ground, and Willie
went about his work ; but something loving and pure
had gone out of his life, leaving him lone and heart-
weary. He did not know that the little acts of kind-
ness he had done to the dying boy would be reflected
back in his own heart, and throw a gentle radiance
round his life forever.

I would like to tell you all the details of Willie's
escape, — how he dressed himself in the Rebel boy's

The Illinois Boy. 53

clothes, and one cloudy night boldly passed the sen-
tinels at the hospital ; how he fell in with several
squads of Rebel soldiers, was questioned b\^ them,
and safely got away because of his gray uniform ;
how, on his hands and knees, he crept beyond the
Rebel pickets, and, after wandering in the woods
two days and nights, with only the sun by day and
the north star by night to guide him, got within our
lines, and, exhausted from want of food and worn
out \\dth walking, lay down under a tree by the
roadside, and slept soundly till the following night
approached. I would like to tell you of all this, but
if I did there would not be room for the other
stories. So I will only say that WiUie was roused
from his slumbers under the tree by some one shak-
ing him by the shoulder, and, looking up, saw a small
party of Union cavalr}^

" "WTiat are you doing here, my young grayback ? "
said the orderly, who had awakened him.

Willie was about to answer, when he caught sight
of a face that was familiar. It was that of his moth-
er's own brother. Colonel ]McInt}Te, of the Fort}'-sec-
ond Regiment of Indiana Infantr}'. The boy sprang
to his feet and called out, " Why, uncle ! don't you

know me, — Willie ?" In a moment he was

on the back of the Colonel's horse, and on the way
to his father.

54 Patriot Boys.

But what of the boy's father, while his only son
was a prisoner with the Rebels, or wandering thus
alone ii^the wilderness?

I have told you that slowly and steadily the brave
Colonel moved the remnant of his regiment out of
the fiery storm on that terrible Sunday. At dusk
of that day, he threw his men into bivouac at Ross-
ville, miles away from the scene of conflict. There
he learned that the regimental hospital had been
captured, and Willie flung out alone — a little waif
— on the turbulent sea of battle. Was he living or
dead, — well or wounded ? Who could tell him ? and
what tale could he bear to the mother ? These were
questions which knocked at the father's heart, drove
sleep from his eyelids, and made him, for the first
time in his life, a woman. All night long he walked
the camp," questioning the stragglers who came in
from the front, or the fugitives who had escaped
from the clutches of the enemy. But they brought
no tidings of Willie. The hospital was taken, they
said, and no doubt the boy was captured. This was
all that the father learned, though day after day he
questioned the new-comers, till his loss was known
throughout the army; but he did not give up hope,
for something within told him that Willie was liv-
ing, and would yet be restored to his mother.

The Illinois Boy. 55

At last, after a week had passed, a wounded sol-
dier who had crawled all the way from the Rebel
lines came to the camp of the regiment, and said
to the Colonel : " I was in the hospital when it was
taken. The boy sprung on a horse_ and tried to
get away, but was followed by the rangers, and, the
last I saw, was falling to the ground wounded. They
must have killed him on the spot, for he gave them
a hard ride, and they were a savage set of fellows,
— savage as meat-axes."

The next day another came, and he said : " I saw
the boy three days ago, lying dead in a Rebel hos-
pital, t^velve miles to the southward. He was
wounded when taken, and lingered till then, but
that day he died, and that night was buried in the
timber. I know it was Willie, because he looked
just like you, and he said he was the son of a
colonel."

The same day another came, and he said : " I
know the boy, — a brave little fellow, — and I saw
him only two days ago in the Crawfish hospital.
When he was captured, his horse fell on him and
crushed his right leg to a jelly. They had to take
it off above the knee. There are a thousand chances
to one against his living through the operation."

Similar accounts were brought by half a score

56 Patriot Boys.

within the following days, but still the father hoped
against hope, for something within him said that his
boy was safe, and would yet be restored to his
mother.

At last, when a fortnight had gone by with no
certain tidings of Willie, Captain Pratt, one of the
officers of the regiment, came to the Colonel's
tent one morning, and said to him: "I have good
news for you. Willie will be back by sunset. You
may depend upon it, for in a dream last night I
saw him entering your tent, alive and as well as
ever.

The Colonel had little faith in dreams, and is very
far from being himself a dreamer \ but the confident
prediction of the Captain, according as it did with
his own hopes, made a powerful impression on him.
All day long he sat in his tent, listening to the
sound of every approaching footstep, and watching
the lengthening shadows as the sun journeyed down
to the western hills. At last the great light touched
the tops of the far-off trees, and the father's heart
sunk within him; but then — when his last hope was
going out — a quick step and a glad shout sounded
outside, and AVillie burst into the tent followed by
one half of the regiment. The boy threw his arms
about his father's neck, and then the bronzed Colonel,

The Illinois Boy. 57

who had so often ridden unmoved through the storm
of shot and shell, bowed his head and weptj for
this his son was dead, and was alive again, — was
lost, and was found.

3*

THE OHIO BOY.

I AM now going to tell you about a little boy who
worked his own way to manhood. He was very
poor, — few of you are so poor, — but he rose to be
one of the foremost men of Ohio. As he rose so
can you rise, if you do as he did ; that is, work, and
improve your opportunities of gaining knowledge.
It is to show you the power of work and the worth
of knowledge, that I tell you his story.

On the 19th of November, 1831, he was born
in a little log cottage in the depths of the Ohio
-wilderness. Ohio then was not the great State it is
now : its settlements were few and far between, and
a large portion of its surface was covered with great
forests. Right in the midst of one of these forests
stood the little log cottage, miles away from any
other dwelling.

It was a little cottage, — only eighteen feet one
way and thirty feet the other, — and was built of
rough logs to which the bark and moss still were
clinging. Its door was of plank, swinging on stout

The Ohio Boy. 59

iron hinges, and it had two small windows, a floor
of split saplings, hewn smooth with an axe, and
a roof covered with pine slabs, and held down by
long cleats fastened to the timbers. The spaces
between the logs were filled in with clay, and the
chimney was of sticks laid in mud, and went up on
the outside something in the shape of the Egyptian
pyramids. If not altogether a mud hovel, there was
a great deal of mud about it ; but it was cool in sum-
mer, and warm in winter, and quite as much of a
house as was then to be found in that region.

It held, too, all that the little boy had in the
world, — his father, his mother, his two sisters, and
his brother ; and they were a happy family, — happy
because united ; for the distance which divided them
from the rest of the world brought them nearer to
one another, bound them together like separate spires
in a sheaf of wheat, with different characters, but
with only one life.

But an autumn wind blew, and the sheaf was
rent asunder. Before the little boy was two years
old, the strong, broad-breasted man who bound these
lives together was borne out of the low doorway,
and laid in a comer of the little wheat-field for-
ever. Nothing now remained to bind up the droop-
ing spires but the weak, puny arms of the mother;

6o Patriot Boys.

yet she threw them about the broken sheaf, and
once more it stood up to meet the storms of win-
ter, — and it was a cold, hard winter, and they
were alone in the wilderness. The snow lay deep
all over the hills ; and often, when lying awake at
night in his mother's narrow bed, the little boy would
hear the wolves howling hungrily around the little
cabin, and the panthers crying and moaning before
the door, like children who had lost their way in a
forest.

One night, in the midst of a terrible storm, a
heavy drift burst open the door, and piled great
heaps of snow all over the lower floor of the little
dwelling. The mother sprang out of bed, for she
saw the danger, — the wolves would be upon them
as soon as they detected the opening ! She was a
fragile little woman, and her arms were weak; but
all at once they grew strong, with the lives of her
children. Seizing the big back-log, which was smoul-
dering on the hearth, she bore it to the doorway,
and, piling dry fagots upon it, lighted a great fire
on the snow. The strong wind fanned the flame,
and soon it blazed up, scaring the wolves away. All
night long she piled the fagots on the fire, and in
the morning cleared away the snow and closed the
door. After that they slept in safety.

The Ohio Boy. 6 1

The long, dreary winter wore away at last, but
spring brought no fair weather to the little house-
hold. They were not only poor, but in debt. The
debt must be paid, and the future — ah ! that stared
darkly in their faces. But the brave mother went
to work bravely. Fifty acres of the little farm of
eighty acres were sold, and they set at work upon
the remainder. Thomas, who was twelve, hired a
horse, and ploughed and sowed the little plat of
cleared land; and the mother split the rails, and
fenced in the little house-lot. The maul was so
heavy that she could only just get it to her shoulder,
and with every blow she came down to the ground ;
but she struggled on with the work, and soon the
lot was fenced, and the little farm in tolerable order.

But the corn was running low in the bin, and it
was a long time to the harv^est. Starv^ation at last
looked in, like a gaunt wolf, at the doorway. This
wolf could not be frightened away with fire, but the
mother went out bravely to meet him. She meas-
ured out the corn, counted what her children would
eat, and went to bed without her supper. For
weeks she did this ; but the children were young
and growing; their little mouths were larger than
she had measured, and after a while she forgot to
eat her dinner also. One meal a day ! Think of

62 Patriot Boys.

it, ye children who have such a mother, and build
to her such a monument as these children have
built to theirs, — pure, true, and useful lives.

So this brave woman and her children drew slav-
ish breath, while forty miles of free air was all above
and about them. But neighbors gathered round the
little log cottage in the wilderness. The nearest was
a mile away ; but a mile in a new country is not half
so long as a mile in an old one, and they came
often to visit the poor widow. They had sewing to
do, and she did it \ ploughing to do, and Thomas
did that; and, after a time, one of them hired the
boy to work on his farm, paying him twelve dollars
a month for fourteen hours' daily labor. Thomas
worked away like a man ; and — while I do not state
it as a fact for history, — I verily believe that no
man ever was so proud and happy as he when he
came home and counted out into his mother's lap
his first fortnight's wages, all in silver half-dollars !

"Now, mother," he said, "the shoemaker can
•come and make James some shoes."

James was the little boy about whom I am writ-
ing; and though the earth had made four revolu-
tions since he first set foot upon it, he had never
yet known the warm embrace of shoe-leather.

A school had been started at a village three miles

The Ohio Boy. 63

away, and Thomas wanted the others to attend it;
so he worked away with a will to earn money enough
to keep the family through the winter. The shoe-
maker came at last, and made the shoes, boarding
out a part of his pay ; and then Mehitable — the older
sister — took James upon her back, and they all
trudged off to school together, — all but Thomas.
He stayed at home to finish the barn, thrash the
wheat, shell the corn, and force a scanty living for
them all from the little farm of thirty acres.

The village, as I have said, was three miles away.
It was then not much of a village, — only a school-
house, a grist-mill, and a little log store and dwell-
ing, — though now it is a thriving place with a thou-
sand people, and rejoicing in the name of Chagrin
Falls. An odd name you may think, but it has a
meaning. The emigrant Yankee who settled the
village built the mill in the winter, when the stream,
which forms the falls, was a foaming torrent ; but
summer came, and lo ! the stream stopped running,
and the falls stopped falling; and with the little wa-
ter remaining he baptized it Chagrin Falls. Very
many of us build mills that grind our grist only half
of the year, but not all of us are honest enough to
thus publish our chagrin to the world. But this is
rather a roundabout way of stating the simple fact,

64 Patriot Boys.

that when the colder weather came, and the snow
lay deep in the roads, Mehitable was not stout
enough to carry her little brother to school, and so
he staid at home and learned to read at' his moth-
er's knee.

He was a mere scrap of a boy, not five years old,
and only able to spell through his words, when one
day he came across a little poem about the rain. Af-
ter patient effort he made out this line :

"The rain came pattering on the roof."

"Pattering on the roof!" he shouted; "why,
mother ! I 've heard the rain do that myself ! " All
at once it broke upon him that words stand for
thoughts ; and all at once a new world opened to'
him, — a world in which poor boys are of quite as
much consequence as rich men, and it may be of a
trifle more, for nearly all the work and thinking of-
the world has been done by poor boys. Well, this
new world opened to him ; and though a mere scrap
-of a boy, he set himself zealously to work to open
the door which leads into it. Before he was out of
bed in the morning he had a book in his hand ; and
after dark — the family being too poor to burn can-
dles— he would stretch himself upon the naked
hearth, and, by the light of the fire, spell out the
big words in Bartlett's Reader, until he had the

The Ohio Boy. 65

whole book in his memory, and there it remains to
this day.

Seeing his fondness for learning, his mother de-
termined to do all she could to gratify it ; and
thinking him still too young to trudge three miles
to school, she called the neighbors together, and
offered them a corner of her little farm if they would
build upon it a school-house. It would be as far
away from the homes of most of them as the other
was, but they caught the spirit of the little woman,
and in the course of the autumn the great trees bowed
their heads, climbed upon one another's . backs, and
became a school-house. It was only twenty feet
square, and had a puncheon floor, a slab roof, and
log-benches without backs or a soft spot to sit on ;
but it was to turn out men and women for the na-
tion.

Before the winter set in the schoolmaster came, —
an awkward, slab-sided young man, rough as the
bark, and green as the leaves of the pine-trees which
grew about his home in New Hampshire j but, like
the pines, he had a wonderful deal of sap in him, —
a head crammed with knowledge, and a heart full of
good feeling. He was to "board around" among
the neighbors, and at first was quartered at the little
cottage, to eat the widow's corn-bread, and sleep in

66 ' Patriot Boys.

the loft with James and Thomas. He took at once
a fancy to James, and as the Httle fellow trotted
along by his side on the first day of school, he put
his hand upon his head, and said to him : " If you
learn, my boy, you may grow up and be a general."

The boy did not know exactly what it was to be
a general ; but his mother had told him about the
red and blue coats of the Revolution, and of their
brass buttons and gilded epaulets, so he fancied it
must be some very grand thing; and he answered,
" O yes, sir ! I '11 learn, — I '11 be a general."

It was one of the rules of the school, — and I be-
lieve it is of every school, — that the scholars should
sit still and not gaze about the school-room. But
James ne\^r sat still in all his life. He had a gal-
vanic battery in his brain which let off an electric
shock every other minute, jerking his arms and legs
about like a dancing Jack's when pulled by a string ;
and when put upon the rough log benches he kept
up the movements.

" Sit still, James," said the teacher, noticing his
uneasy motions. "Yes, sir," answered the little
boy, and he tried hard to do it ; but " Sit still,
James," again, after a while, said the teacher, and
" Yes, sir," again answered the little boy ; and again
he tried to do it, and tried so hard that he minded

The Ohio Boy. 6/

nothing else, and entirely' neglected to study. The
result was that his lessons were not learned, and
after a few days the teacher said to his mother, "I
don't want to wound you, ma'am ; but I fear I can
make nothing of James. He won't sit still, and he
does n't learn his lessons."

But he did wound the little woman; nothing
had wounded her so much since the death of her
husband. Bursting into a flood of tears, she cried :
" O James ! " This was all she said, but it went
to the heart of the five-year-old boy. He thought
he was very wicked, that he had done very wrong,
and burying his face irf her lap, he sobbed out :
" O niother ! I 'm so sorry ! I will be a good boy !
I will sit still! I will learn!" I

The sorrow of the child touched the heart of the
teacher; and he tried him again, and tried him in
the right way. He let him move about as much as
he liked, calling to mind that he came to school to
become a scholar, not a block of wood. At the end
of a fortnight he said to the widow : " James is per-
petual motion; but he learns, — not a scholar in the
school learns so fast as he." This cur^d the moth-
er's sorrow ; for she had set her heart upon this boy
becoming a. man of learning.

This restlessness was a characteristic of the boy.

68 Patriot Boys.

It was born in him, and clmgs to him even now that
he is a man. Every night when lying, in his narrow
bed, in the Httle cottage, he would kick off the
clothes, and turning over, half awake, say to his
brother, "Thomas, cover me up." A quarter of a
century later, with General Sheridan he lay down one
night on the ground after a great battle, with only
a single blanket between them. His eyes were
no sooner closed than, after his usual fashion, he
kicked off the clothes, and turning over, half awake,
said to Sheridan, "Thomas, cover me up." Sheri-
dan covered him up, and in doing so awakened him,
and repeated the words he had said. Then the
man, who all that day had ridden unmoved through
a hurricane of bullets, turned his face away, and
wept like a child, for he thought of Thomas, an^ of
the little log cottage in the wilderness.

When the term was over, the teacher gave James
a Testament, — his way of saying that, for his years,
he was the best scholar in the school. He took it
home, and I verily believe that the little cottage
then held the happiest mother on this continent;
for the little woman thought she saw in her home-
spun boy one of the future men who were to sway
this nation.

So things went on, — Thomas tilling the farm or

The Ohio Boy. 69

working for the neighbors, and James going to
school and helping his brother mornings and even-
ings, until one was twelve and the other twenty-one
years old. Then, wanting to make more money
than he could at home, Thomas went to ^Michigan,
and engaged in clearing land for a farmer. In a
few months he returned with seventy-five dollars all
in gold. Counting it out on the little pine table,
he said, " Now, mother, you shall have a framed
house."

All •these years they had lived in the little log
cottage, but Thomas had been gradually cutting the
timber, getting out the boards, and gathering to-
gether the other materials, for a new dwelling ;- and
now it was to go up, and his mother have a com-
fortable home for the rest of her days. Soon a
carpenter was hired, and they set to work upon it.
James took so handily to the business that the joiner
said to him, "You were born to be a carpenter."
This gave the boy an idea. " Shall Thomas," he
said to himself, "make so much money for mother,
and I make none ? No. I '11 set up for a carpen-
ter, and buy her some chairs, a bedstead, and a ma-
hogany bureau," — and straightway he did it.

During the next two years he built four or five
barns, going to school only at intervals ; and then

yo Patriot Boys.

had learned all that is to be learned from Kirk-
ham's Grammar, Pike's and Adams's Arithmetics, and
Morse's (old) Geography, — that wonderful book
which describes Albany as a city with a great many
houses, and a great many people, " all standing with
their gable ends to the street" With this immensity
of knowledge he thought he would begin the''world.
Not having got above a barn, he naturally concluded
he was not "born to be a carpenter," and so cast
about for some occupation better suited to his genius.
One — about its suitableness I will not venture an
opinion — was not long in presenting itself

About ten miles from his mother's house, and not
far away from Cleveland, lived a man who had
founded a village, and done his best to get his name
into history. He was unable to write it, but. what
of that ? other people could, and if he gave it to the
village they would print it in the newspapers, from
whence it would get into the geographies, and
finally creep by the back door into history. It was
an ugly name ; but it was the best the man had,
and might sound better at the distance of a cen-
tury; and the village was a little village, but it
might grow, — in fact it was gi'owing, — so without
being considered a dreamer, its founder might in-
dulge in dreams of a moderate immortality. The

The Ohio Boy. yi

village was growing, for James had just added a
wood-shed to the half-dozen log shanties of which it
was composed ; and so it came about that he met
its proprietor, and the current of his life was changed,
— diverted into one of those sterile by-ways in which
currents will now and then run, wdthout being able
to give any good reason for so useless a proceeding.

" You kin read, you kin write, and you are death
on figgers," said the man to the boy one day, as he
watched the energetic way in which he did his work ;
"so stay with me, keep my 'counts, 'tend to the
saltery, and travil round, gittin' up the ashes and
dickerin' off the tin-ware. I '11 find you, and give
you fourteen dollars a month."

Fourteen dollars a month was an immense sum to
a boy of his years, so that night he trudged off
through the woods to consult his mother. The little
woman was naturally pleased that the services of
her son were so highly valued; but she had misgiv-
ings about the proposed occupation, — a world of
wickedness, she thought, lurked between buying and
selling.

"That may be, mother," said the boy, "but be-
cause it makes other people rogues, should it make
me one ? I shall see the world (ten square miles of
woods, and ten log-houses), and besides, the house

72 Patriot Boys.

needs painting, and I do so want to build you a pi-
azza."

"I can do without the paint or the piazza," re-
plied the little woman. " I want you to go on with
your studies. Some day, if you do, you may be as
great a preacher as Hosea Ballou."

Hosea Ballou was a near relative of the family,
and that, I presume, proves that preaching runs in
the blood, for the boy afterwards took to it as nat-
urally as a duck takes to water.

"But, mother," rejoined the lad, "Thomas is
working too hard. My fourteen dollars a month
will give him a chance to play a little."

Ah ! the tact and logic of unselfish boyhood !
This little speech broke down the barricade of pru-
dence behind which the mother had intrenched her-
self; and after a momentary struggle she surren-
dered. " Very well, my son," she said, " let it be as
you say; only be a good boy and come home as
often as you can."

And thus our hero became prime minister to a
blacksalter. With a two-horse wagon he ranged the
country, bartering away tin-pans, and gathering up
wood-ashes. To this useful pursuit he applied the
rules of arithmetic and the principles of grammar.
And he did it well. So many ashes never were

The Ohio Boy. . 73

sold, so many tin-kettles never were bought, and
so much good grammar never was heard by the sim-
ple housewives of that region, as during the two
years that he flourished his whip about the black-
salter's wagon. He won the hearts and emptied
the pockets of ever}' old man and old woman within
a circuit of ten miles of the little village at the cross-
roads. One of them wrote to me, when I was gath-
ering materials for this little histor}^, "I always loved
the lad ; and I remember telling on him once, that
if he 'd run for Congress I 'd vote for him, and I
done it. He was a Black-Republican, and I a born
Democrat ; but I help put him where he is, and I 'U
do it again, no matter what he goes for,"

The founder of the village, though a little weak
on the subject of immortalit}^ had a keen eye to
his mortal interests. He thoroughly appreciated
the tact, good sense, and restless activity of his
homespun assistant, and he would occasionally say
to him, in his rough but hearty fashion : " You 're
a good boy. Keep on, and one of these days you '11
have a saltery of your own ; and, may be, some-
where out West be called after a village as big as
ourn."

And so he might, had not good or bad fortune
thrown in his way the few choice works which com-
4

74 Patriot Boys.

prised the blacksalter's library. These books, se-
lected by the daughter of the village, — who wrote
"poetry" for a Cleveland newspaper, and therefore
had some literary taste, — were such standard produc-
tions as " Sinbad the Sailor," " The Lives of Emi-
nent Criminals," "Two Ways of Marrying a Wife,"
"Rinaldo Rinaldini," "The Pirate's Own Book,"
and Marryatt's Novels. Totally different from the
dry but wholesome reading on which he had been
nurtured, they roused the imagination, and fostered
the love of adventure which was born in the back-
woods boy. But soon an event occurred which
threw him upon the world these books told about,
and taught him that " all is not gold that glitters,"
and life not a gorgeous romance " full of sound and
fury, signifying nothing."

The blacksalter's daughter had attended school at
Cleveland, and, coming home, had drawn within her
narrow orbit one of the Professors of the Seminary,
who afterwards revolved round her as regularly as
the moon revolves round the earth, his feet coming
into conjunction with her father's andirons every Sat-
urday night precisely as the sun sunk below the ho-
rizon. The mother was immensely pleased with
these astronomical movements, for she was a woman
of lofty aspirations, and, above all things, desired to

The Ohio Boy, 75

see her daughter in matrimonial relations with one
of those heavenly bodies that move about the earth
in black " store-coats," white cravats, and shining calf-
skins. She looked for the coming of the Professor
as we look for the return of a comet; and, on such
occasions, dismissing her husband and his assistant
to some remote part of the house, would array herself
in her best Turkey calico, and add her own irresisti-
ble , magnetism to the powerful attraction of her
daughter.

That calico was a wonderful calico. Of flaming
red and yellow, covered over with huge horns of
plenty, — all, by the odd taste of the wearer, turned
upside down, and spilling their roses and dollars
upon the ground, — it was enough to terrify a wolf,
or a wild-buffalo. But it did not terrify the Profes-
sor. He insisted that in it she looked like Venus
just rising from the sea; but to other eyes she re-
sembled, as it hung about her gaunt, bony figure,
and stood out in strong relief against her jaundiced
complexion, a barber's pole rigged out for a holi-
day.

Well, regular as the moon, the Professor appeared
every Saturday night at sunset ; but the moon now
and then suffers an eclipse, and once, and once
only, the Professor did come after dark. The family

"J^ Patriot Boys.

had given him up for the night, and its plebeian
members had been admitted to the sitting-room, —
which, by the way, w^as drawing-room, living-room,
wash-room, and kitchen, all combined, — and the
master of the house had taken his usual seat before
the fire, and James, in his work-day clothes, smeared
with black-lye and ashes, had sunk into his accus-
tomed nook in the chimney-corner, when the door
:t>|)ened, and the "store-coat" and calf-skins ,came
into conjunction with the andirons. The luminary
was more than ordinarily brilliant that night, and
soon began to blaze away about the "fathers" in a
fashion which would have scorched the beards of
those worthies had they been present All this was
" stunning " to the country lad, who, with ears, eyes,
and rhouth wide open, sat there swallowing every
rocket that went off, until the red calico, which had
moved about uneasily for some time, at last jerked
out, in a sentence bristling with exclamation-points,
" Husband ! hain't it time that servants was abed ! "

" Servants ! " He a servant ! He, who had read
all about the battle of Bunker Hill ! whose great-
grandfather had seen a signer of the Declaration of
Independence ! He a servant ! How the blood
boiled in his veins, rushed to his face, and tingled
way down to the tips of his toes ! O that a man

The Ohio Boy. yj

had said it ! But it was a woman ; so his hands and
feet were tied. With the latter, however, he managed
to bound up the rickety ladder wliich did duty as
a stairway ; and then, burvdng his face in the bed-
clothes, he cried the night away.

In the morning he announced to the blacksalter
that a boy and a bundle of clothes were about to be
subtracted from the population of his village. The
worthy man saw the main prop of his fortunes falling,
and demeaned himself accordingly. But entreaties
and remonstrances were alike unavailing. Outraged
dignity could be appeased only by an apology, and
a change of manners on the part of the red calico.
But the colors of Turkey red, and the manners of
shallow old women, are unchangeable ; so in half
an hour our hero, with his little bundle slung over
his shoulder, was on his way homeward. His mother
received him with open arms and a blessing. " Prov-
idence," she said, "will open some better way for
you, my son." And Providence did; but it took its
own time and way about it.

Now the virus the boy had imbibed from the
blacksalter's books began to work. He determined
to go out into the great world, and to car\'e out a
destiny — where carving is easy — on the breast of
the waters. His mother opposed this; but finally

yS Patriot Boys,

said that he might go to Cleveland, view the grand
city, and return at once if he could not procure some
respectable employment. So, with ten dollars of
his little earnings in his pocket, and his small bun-
dle of clothes over his shoulder, he set out in a few
days on the journey.

He arrived at Cleveland just at dark, and after a
good night's sleep and a warm breakfast went out
to view the city. It was scarcely a fourth of its pres-
ent size; but to the boy it was an immensity of
houses. He had never seen buildings half so large,
nor steeples half so high ; in fact, he had never seen
steeples at all, for the simple people among whom
he had lived did not put cocked hats and cockades
upon their meeting-houses. He wandered about all
day, stepping now and then into the business places
to inquire for employment; but no one wanted an
honest lad who could read, write, and was "death
on figgers." Everybody could read and write, and
there was no end to their figuring, — so said a good-
natured gentleman, who gratuitously advised the
boy to go home, teach a district school, or do honest
work for a living.

Night found him, weary and footsore, down upon
the docks, among the shipping. "These," he said
to himself, as he looked around on the fleet of little

The Ohio Boy. 79

sloops and schooners, " are the great ships that Cap-
tain Marrj^att tells about " ; and visions of Midship-
man Easy, ^vith a wife in every port, and of Japhet
searching for a father, and finding only lewd adven-
tures, danced before his eyes, and made him long
for a free life upon the water. He sat down on the
head of a pier, and looked out on the great lake,
heaving and foaming and rolling in broken waves
all about him. He watched it creeping up the white
beach, and gliding back, singing a low hymn among
the shining pebbles, or muttering hoarse cries to the
black rocks along the shore ; and then looked out
on the white sails dancing about all over its bosom.
His mother's little cottage, and the little woman her-
self— even then, it may be, seated in the open
doorway, looking up the road for his comings faded
from his sight as he gazed, and — he stepped down
upon one of the tossing vessels.

It was a dirty fore-and-aft schooner, with ragged
sails, a greasy deck, and a low, sunken cabin. In
this cabin, which was thick with tobacco-smoke,
about a dozen men, with reeking clothes and sooty
faces, were drinking and carousing. A dirt-bedrag-
gled woman sat in one comer; and on a shelf in
another, among a score of brandy-bottles, stood the
boy's old friends, " Rinaldo Rinaldini," and " Sinbad

8o Patriot Boys,

the Sailor." This surely was not the life he had
seen in his dreams ; but he was not a boy who ever
went backward. Boldly he went down ; his foot was
on the last step, and he was about to accost the
sailors, when there, right out of the blue tobacco-
smoke, came a vision that held his foot to the floor,
and his tongue to the roof of his mouth, as if bound
by a palsy. It was a little log cottage and a little
pale-faced woman ! The bones were starting from
her flesh, but with her wasted hand she was dealing
out her last morsel of food to her children. The
boy 'gazed, and for the first time in his life went
backward. O, mighty power of mother's love, which
can thus stretch its arms across leagues of country,
and save the life it has created !

He lingered about the streets on the following
day, unable to tear himself from the strange sights
all about him ; and it was long after noon before he
set out on his weary walk homeward. The morning
had been clear and pleasant ; but the evening came
on with dark, heavy clouds filling all the heavens.
Toward night he entered a forest, and soon the wind
sighing among the trees, and low mutterings sound-
ing afar off on the lake, told him that a storm was
coming. He pressed rapidly on to find the shelter
of some house, but no house appeared, and after

• The Ohio Boy. 8 1

a while the rain came down in torrents. It w^et him
through and through, but he kept on, not daring to
take refuge under the trees ; for he had heard that
the hghtning, drawn by their slender tops, often came
down and left the footsore traveller forever by the
wayside.

It was now pitch dark, and the road grew wet and
mir}-, and his legs ^veak and weary wdth w'alking.
At last he came to a bridge, over what seemed to
be a deep and wide river. Laying dow^n his bundle,
he leaned against the railing of the bridge, and took
a long look up and down the stream. It was broad,
but too straight for a river. Ah ! now he remem-
bered ! He had come further than he counted. It
was the canal, and there, far off in the distance, was
a light moving towards him. It was a boat, and it
would give him shelter from the storm which then
was raging even more furiously than ever. It would
take him out of his way, but he could come back in
the morning.' That w^ould be better than staying all
night in the storm ; and go on he could not. It was
a weary while ; but at last the black outlines of the
boat crept out of the darkness, and glided under the
bridge on which he was standing. A moment more,
and he had dropped upon its deck, and entered its
little cabin.

4* F

83 Patriot Boys.

The Captain of the boat received him kindly ; fur-
nished him a warm supper, a suit of dry clothes, and,
in the morning, proposed to take him into his em-
ployment, and to pay him "sixteen dollars a month
and found," — man's wages.

The boy consented, and so he rose — it may have
been an Irish hoist — from the station of prime min-
ister to a blacksalter to the post of driver of a canal-
boat. He held this position five months j and then
an event occurred which changed the whole current
of his life, gave him a purpose, and made him a
man.

One rainy midnight, as the boat was leaving one
of the long reaches of slack-water which abound
in the Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal, he was called
up to take his turn in attending the bowline. Tum-
bling out from his bunk, his eyes heavy with sleep,
he took his stand on the narrow platform below the
bow-deck, and began uncoiling the line to be in readi-
ness to work the boat through a lock it was ap-
proaching. Slowly and sleepily he unwound the
coil until it kinked and caught in a narrow cleft in
the edge of the deck. He gave it a sudden pull,
but it held fast; then another and a stronger pull,
and it gave way, but sent him backward over the
bow of the boat into the water. Down he went into

The Ohio Boy. 83

the dark night, and the still darker river, and the
boat glided on to bury him among the fishes. No
human help was near ; God only could save him, and
He only by a miracle ! So the boy thought as h°e
went down, saying the prayer his mother had taught
him. Instinctively clutching the rope he sank be-
low the surface, when he felt it tighten in his grasp,
and hold firmly. Seizing it hand over hand, he
drew himself up on deck, and was again a live boy
among the living. Another kink had caught in an-
other crevice, and saved him. Was it that prayer,
or the love of his praying mother, which had wrought
this miracle? He did not know; but long after the
boat passed the lock, he stood there, in his dripping
clothes, pondering the question.

Coiling the rope again, he attempted to throw it
again into the crevice; but it had lost the knack of
kinking. Many times he tried, — six hundred, says
my informant, — and then sat down and reflected.
"I have thrown this rope," he said to himself, "six
hundred times, — I might throw it ten as many times
without its catching. Ten times six hundred are
six thousand ; so, there were six thousand chances
against my life. Against such odds, it could have
been saved only by what mother calls Providence.
Providence, therefore, thinks it worth saving; and

84 Patriot Boys.

if that 's so, I '11 not throw it away on a canal-boat.
I '11 go home, get an education, and become a man."

Straightway he acted on this resolution, and not
long afterward stood before the little cottage in the
wilderness. It was late at night \ the stars were out,
and the moon was down ; but by the fire-light which
shone through the window he saw his mother kneel-
ing before an open book which lay on a chair in the
corner. She was reading, but her eyes were off the
page, looking up to the Invisible. " O turn unto
me," she said, "and have mercy upon me; give thy
strength unto thy servant, and save the son of thine
handmaid." More she read which sounded like a
prayer ; but this is all that the boy remembers. He
opened the door, put his arm about her neck, and
his head upon her bosom. What words he spoke I
do not know; "but there, by her side, he gave back
to God the life which he had given. So the moth-
er's prayer was answered ; so sprang up the seed
which, in toil and tears, she had planted.

Then the boy set about securing an education.
While Thomas took care of his mother, he worked
his way through college with a saw and a jack-plane,
and at twenty-five was chosen President of the Col-
legiate Institution at Hiram, Ohio. At twenty-seven
he was elected to the Senate of his native State ;

The Ohio Boy. 85

but, before his term expired, the war broke out, and
Governor Dennison offered him the command of a
regiment He went home, opened his mother's Bible,
and pondered upon the subject. He had then a
wife, a child, and a few thousand dollars. If he gave
his life to the country, would God and the few thou-
sand dollars provide for his wife and child? He
consulted the Book about it. It seemed to answer
in the affirmative ; and, before morning, he wrote to
a friend : " I regard my life as given to the country.
I am only anxious to make as much of it as pos-
sible, before the mortgage on it is foreclosed,"

Thus, with a life not his own, he went into the
war, and on the sixteenth of December, 186 1, he
was given command of the little army which held
Kentucky to her moorings in the Union.

He knew nothing of war beyond its fundamental
principles ; which are, you know, that a big boy can
whip a little boy ; and that one big boy can whip
two little boys, if he take them singly, one after the
other. He knew no more about it ; and yet he was
called upon to solve a military problem which has
puzzled the heads of the greatest generals ; namely,
how two small bodies of men, stationed widely apart,
can unite in the presence of an enemy, and beat him,
when he is of twice their united strength, and strongly

86 Patriot Boys.

posted behind intrenchments ? With the help of
many " good men and true," he solved this problem \
and, in telling how he solved it, I shall relate one
of the most remarkable exploits of the war of the
Rebellion.

Humphrey Marshall, with five thousand men, had
invaded Kentucky. Entering it at Pound Gap, he
had fortified a strong natural position near Paint-
ville, and, with small bands, was overrunning the
whole Piedmont region. This region, containing an
area larger than the whole of Massachusetts, was
occupied by about four thousand blacks and a
hundred thousand whites, — a brave, hardy, rural
population, with few schools, scarcely any churches,
and only one newspaper; but with that sort of pa-
triotism which grows among mountains, and clings
to its barren hillsides, as if they were the greenest
spots in the universe. Among this simple people
Marshall was scattering firebrands. Stump orators
were blazing away at every cross-road, lighting a fire
which threatened to sw^eep Kentucky from the Union.
That done, — so early in the war, — dissolution might
have followed.

To the Ohio canal boy was committed the task
of extinguishing this conflagration. It was a diffi-
cult task, one which, with the means at command,

The Ohio Boy. 8/

would have appalled any man not made equal to
it by early struggles with hardship and poverty,
and entire trust in the Providence that guards his
country.

The means at command were twent}--five hundred
men, divided into two bodies, and separated by sixty
miles of mountain country. This country was in-
fested with guerrillas, and occupied by a disloyal
people. The sending of despatches across it was
next to impossible ; but communication being opened,
and the two columns set in motion, there was dan-
ger they would be fallen on, and beaten in detail,
before they could form a junction. This was the
great danger. What remained — the beating of five
thousand Rebels, posted behind intrenchments, by
half their number of Yankees, operating in the open
field — seemed to the young Colonel less difficult
of accomplishment.

Evidently, the first thing to be done was to find
a trustworthy messenger to convey despatches be-
tween the two halves of the Union army. To this
end, the Ohio boy appHed to the Colonel of the
14th Kentucky.

" Have you a man," he asked, " who will die,
rather than fail or betray us ? "

The Kentuckian reflected a moment, then an-

88 Patriot Boys.

swered: "I think I have, — John Jordan, from the
head of Blaine." *

Jordan was sent for. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow
man of about thirty j with small gray eyes, a fine,
falsetto voice, pitched m the minor key, and his
speech the rude dialect of the mountains. His face
had as many expressions as could be found in a
regiment, and he seemed a strange combination of
cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and undoubt-
ing faith ; yet, though he might pass for a simple-
ton, he talked a quaint sort of wisdom which ought
to have given his name to history.

The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly; for
the fate of the little army might depend on his fidel-
ity. The man's soul was as clear as crystal, and
in ten minutes James saw right through him. His
history is stereotyped in that region. Born among
the hills, where the crops are stones, and sheep's
noses are sharpened before they can nibble the thin
grass between them, his life had been one of the
hardest toil and privation. He knew nothing but
what Nature, the Bible, the " Course of Time," and
two or three of Shakespeare's plays had taught him ;
but somehow in the mountain air he had grown to

* The Blaine is a small stream which puts into the Big Sandy,
a short distance from the town of Louisa, Ky.

The Ohio Boy. 89

be a man, — a man as God and the angels account
manhood.

" Why did you come into the war ? " at last asked
James.

"To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin'ral," an-
swered the man ; " and I did n't druv no barg'in
wi' th' Lord. I guv him my life squar out; and ef
he 's a mind ter tuck it on this tramp, — why, it 's
a his'n; I've nothin' ter say ag'in it."

" You mean that you 've come int-o the war not
expecting to get out of it ! "

"That's so, Gin'ral."

"Will you die rather than let the despatch be
taken ? "

"I will."

James recalled what had passed in his o\vn mind
when poring over his mother's Bible that night at
his home in Ohio ; and it decided him. " Very
well," he said ] " I will trust you."

The despatch was wTitten on tissue paper, rolled
into the form of a bullet, coated with warm lead,
and put into the hand of the Kentuckian. He was
given a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the fleet-
est horse in his regiment, and, when the moon was
down, started on his perilous journey. He was to
ride at night, and hide in the woods or in the houses

90 Patriot Boys.

of loyal men in the daytime. It was pitch dark when
he set out ; but he knew every inch of the way, hav-
ing travelled it often, driving mules to market. He
had gone twenty miles by- early dawn, and the house
of a friend was only a few miles beyond him. The
man himself was away; but his wife was at home,
and she would harbor him till nightfall. He pushed
on, and tethered his horse in the timber ; but it was
broad day when he rapped at the door, and was ad-
mitted. The good woman gave him breakfast, and
showed him to the guest's chamber, where, lying
down in his boots, he was soon in a deep slumber.
The house was a log cabin in the midst of a few
acres of deadening, — ground from which trees have
been cleared by girdling. Dense woods were all
about it ; but the nearest forest was a quarter of a
mile distant, and, should the scout be tracked, it
would be hard to get away over this open space,
unless he had warning of the approach of his pur-
suers. The woman thought of this, and sent up
the road, on a mule, her whole worldly possessions,
— an old negro, dark as the night, but faithful as
the sun in the heavens. It was high noon when
the mule came back, his heels striking fire, and his
rider's eyes flashing, as if ignited from the sparks the
steel had emitted.

The Ohio Boy. 91

" Dey 'm comin', Missus," he cried, — not half a
mile away, — twenty Secesh, — ridin' as ef de Deb-
bel wus arter 'em."

She barred the door, and hastened to the guest's
chamber.

" Go," she cried, " through the winder, — ter the
woods. They'll be yere in a minnit."

"How many is thar?" asked the scout.

" Twenty, — go, — go at once, — or you '11 be
taken ! "

The scout did not move ; but, fixing his eyes on
the woman's face, said, —

" Yes, I yere 'em, Thar 's a sorry chance for my
life a'ready. But, Rachel, I 've thet 'bout me thet 's
wuth more 'n my life, — thet, may-be, '11 save Kain-
tuck. If I 'm killed, will ye tuck it ter Colonel
Cranor, at McCormick's Gap ? '

" Yes, yes, I will ! But go ; you 've not a minnit
to lose, I tell you."

" I know, but wull ye swar it, — swar ter tuck this
ter Gunnel Cranor, 'fore th' Lord that yeres us ? "

•"Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet.
But horses' hoofs were already sounding in the door-
yard. "It's too late," cried the woman. "O why
did you stop to parley?"

" Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout " Don't

92 Patriot Boys.

tuck on. Tuck ye keer o' th' despatch. Valu' it
loike yer life, — loike Kaintuck. The Lord 's callin'
fur me, and I 'm a ready."

But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord ;
but a dozen devils at the door-way.

"What does ye want.?" asked the woman, going
to the door. .

"The man as come from Garfield's camp at sun-
up,— John Jordan, from the head o' Blaine," an-
swered a voice from the outside.

"Ye karn't hev him fur th' axin','' said the scout.
" Go away, or I '11 send some o' ye whar the weather
is warm, I reckon."

"Pshaw!" said another voice, — from his speech
one of the chivalry. "There are twenty of us.
We '11 spare your life, if you give up the despatch ;
if you don't, we '11 hang you higher than Haman."

This was in the beginning of the war, when swarms
of spies infested every Union camp, and treason was
only a gentlemanly pastime, not the serious business
it has grown to be since traitors are no longer dan-
gerous.

" I 've nothing but my life thet I '11 guv up," an-
swered the scout ; " and ef ye tuck thet, ye '11 hev ter
pay the price, — six o' yourn."

"Fire the house!" shouted one.

The Ohio Boy. 93

" No, don't do thet," said another. " I know him,
— he 's cl'ar grit, — he '11 die in the ashes ; and we
won't git the despatch."

This sort of talk went on for half an hour ; then
there was a dead silence, and the woman went to the
loft, from which she could see all that was passing
on the outside. About a dozen of the horsemen
were posted around the house ; but the remainder,
dismounted, had gone to the edge of the woods, and
were felling a well-grown sapling, with the evident
intention of using it as a battering-ram to break
down the front door.

The woman, in a low tone, explained the situa-
tion ; and the scout said, —

" It 'r my only chance. I must run fur it. Bring
me yer red shawl, Rachel."

She had none, but she had a petticoat of flaming
red and yellow. Handling it as if he knew how
such articles can be made to spread, the scout softly
unbarred the door, and, grasping the hand of the
woman, said, —

" Good by, Rachel. It 'r a right sorry chance ;
but I may git through. If I do, I '11 come ter-night ;
if I don't, get ye the despatch ter the Gunnel. Good
by."

To the right of the house, midway between it and

94 Patriot Boys.

the woods, stood the barn. That way lay the route
of the scout. If he could elude the two mounted
men at the^door-way, he might escape the other horse-
men; for they would have to spring the barn-yard
fences, and their horses might refuse the leap. But
it was foot of man against leg of horse, and a " right
sorry chance."

Suddenly he opened the door, and dashed at the
two horses with the petticoat. They reared, wheeled,
and bounded away like lightning just let out of har-
ness. In the time that it takes to tell it, the scout
was over the first fence, and scaling the second ;
but a horse was making the leap with him. His pis-
tol went off, and the rider's earthly journey was
over. Another followed, and his horse fell mortally
wounded. The rest made the circuit of the barn-
ilyard, and were rods behind when the scout reached
the edge of the forest. - Once among those thick
laurels nor horse nor rider can reach a man if he
lies low, and says his prayers in a whisper.

The Rebels bore the body of their comrade back
to the house, and said to the woman, "We '11 be
revenged for this. We know the route he '11 take ;
and will have his life before to-morrow; and you —
we 'd burn your house over your head, if you were
not the wife of Jack Brown."

The Ohio Boy. 95

Brown was a loyal man, who was serving his coun-
try in the ranks of Marshall. Thereby hangs a tale,
which one day I may tell you. Soon the men rode
away, taking the poor woman's only wagon as a
hearse for their dead comrade.

Night came, and the owls cried in the woods in
a way they had not cried for a fortnight. " T'whoot,
t'whoot," they went, as if they thought there was mu-
sic in hooting. The woman listened, put on a dark
mantle, and followed the sound of their voices. En*
tering the woods, she crept in among the bushes,
and talked with the owls as if they had been human.

" They know the road ye' 11 take," she said, " ye
must change yer route. Yere ar' the bullet."

"God bless ye. Rachel," responded the owl,
"yer a true 'ooman," and he hooted louder than
before, to deceive pursuers, and keep up the music.

" Ar* yer nag safe ? " she asked.

"Yes, and good for forty mile afore sun-up."

" Well, yere ar' suthin ter eat j ye '11 need it. Good
by, and God go wi' ye."

" He '11 go wi' ye, fur he loves noble wimmin."

Their hands clasped, and then they parted, — he,
to his long ride ; she, to the quiet sleep of those
who, out of a true heart, serve their country.

The night was dark and drizzly ; but before mom-

96 Patriot Boys.

ing the clouds cleared away, leaving a thick mist
hanging low on the meadows. The scout's mare
was fleet, but the road was rough, and a slosh of
snow impeded the travel. He had come by a strange
way, and did not know how far he had travelled
by sunrise ; but lights w^ere ahead, shivering in the
haze of the cold, gray morning. Were they the early
candles of some sleepy village, or the camp-fires of
a band of guerillas ? He did not know, and it would
not be safe to go on till he did know. The road was
lined with trees, but they could give no shelter;
for they were far apart, and the snow lay white be-
tween them. He was in the blue grass region.
Tethering his horse in the timber, he climed a tall
oak by the roadside ; but the mist was too thick
to discern anything distinctly. It seemed, however,
to be breaking away, and he would wait until his way
was clear; so he sat there, an hour, two hours, and
ate his breakfast from the satchel John's wife had
slung over his shoulder. At last the fog lifted a
little, and he saw, close at hand, a little hamlet, —
a few rude huts gathered round a cross-road. No
danger could lurk in such a place, and he was about
to descend and pursue his journey, w^hen suddenly
he heard, up the road by which he came, the rapid
tramp of a body of horsemen. The mist was thicker

The Ohio Boy. 97

below, so halfway down the tree he went, and waited
their coming. They moved at an irregular pace,
carrying lanterns, and pausing every now and then
to inspect the road, as if they had missed their way,
or lost something. Soon they came near, and were
dimly outlined in the gray mist, so the scout could
make out their number. There were thirt}', — the
original band, and a reinforcement. Again they
halted when abreast of the tree, and searched the
road narrowly.

" He must have come this way," said one, — he
of the chivalry. " The other road is six miles lon-
ger, and he would take the shortest route. It 's
an awful pity we did n't head him off on both
roads."

" We kin come up with him yet, ef we turn plumb
round, and foller on t' other road, — whar we lost
the trail, — back thar, three miles ter the deadnin',"
said one of the men.-

Now another spoke, and his voice the scout re-
membered. He belonged to his own company in
the 14th Kentucky. " It 'r so," he said, " he has
tuck that road I tell ye, I 'd know that mar's
shoe 'mong a million. Nary one loike it wus uver
seed in all Kaintuck, — only a Yankee could ha' in-
vented it."

5 G

9$ Patriot Boys.

" And yere it ar',"' shouted a man with one of the
lanterns, "plain as sun-up."

The 14th Kentuckian clutched the light, and while
a dozen dismounted and gathered round, closely ex-
amined the shoe track. The ground was bare on
the spot, and the print of the horse's hoof was cleanly
cut in the half-frozen mud. Narrowly the man looked,
and life and death hung on his eyesight. The scout
took out the bullet, and placed it in a crotch of the
tree. If they took him, the devil should not take
the despatch. Then he drew a revolver. The mist
was breaking away, and he would surely be discov-
ered, if the men lingered much longer, but he would
have the value of his life to the uttermost farthing.

Meanwhile, the horsemen crowded round the foot-
print, and one of them inadvertently trod upon it.
The Kentuckian looked long and earnestly, but, at
last, said, " Taint the track.' That ar' mar' has a
sand-crack on her right fore foot. She did n't take
kindly to a round shoe, so the Yanlf he guv her
one with the cork right in the middle o' the quarter.
'T was a durned smar^ contrivance, fur yer see, it
eased the strain, and let the nag go nimble as a
squirrel. The cork haint yere, — taint her track, —
and we'se wastin' time in luckin'."

The cork was not there, because the trooper's

The Ohio Boy. 99

tread had obliterated it. Let us thank him for that
one good step, if he never take another, for it saved
the scout, and, perhaps, it saved Kentucky. When
the scout returned that way, he halted abreast of
that tree, and examined the ground about it. Right
there, in the road, was the mare's track, with the
print of the man's foot still upon the inner quarter !
He uncovered his head, and from his heart went
up a simple thanksgiving.

The horsemen gone, the scout came down from
the tree, and pushed on into the misty morning.
There might be danger ahead, but there surely was
danger behind him. His pursuers were only half
convinced they had struck his trail, and some sensi-
ble fiend might put it into their heads to divide and
follow, part by one route, part by the other.

He pushed on over the sloshy road, his mare
every step going slower and slower. The poor beast
was jaded out; for she had travelled forty miles,
eaten nothing, and been stabled in the timber. She
would have given out long before, had her blood not
been the best in Kentucky. As it was, she stag-
gered along as if she had taken a barrel of whiskey.
Five miles farther on was the house of a Union man.
She must reach it or die by the wayside ; for the
merciful man regardeth not the life of his beast when
he carries .despatches.

lOO Patriot Boys.

The loyalist did not know the scout, but his hon-
est face secured him a cordial welcome. He ex-
plained that he was from the Union camp on the
Big Sandy, and offered any price for a horse to go
on with.

"Yer nag is wuth ary two o' my critters," said
the man. " Ye kin take the best beast I 've got, and
when yer ag'in this way, we '11 swop back even."

The scout thanked him, mounted the horse, and
rode off into the mist again, without the warm break-
fast which the good woman had, half-cooked, in the
kitchen. It was eleven o'clock ; and at twelve that
night he entered Colonel Cranor's quarters at Mc-
Cormick's Gap, having ridden sixty miles, with a
rope round his neck, for thirteen dollars a month,
hard tack, and a shoddy uniform.

The Colonel opened the despatch. It was dated,
Louisa, Kentucky, December 24th, midnight; and
directed him to move at once with his regiment, (the
Fortieth Ohio, eight hundred strong,) to Preston-
burgh. He would encumber his men with as few
rations and as little luggage as possible, bearing in
mind that the safety of his command depended on
his expedition. He would also convey the despatch
to Lieutenant-Colonel Woolford, at Stamford, and
direct him to join the march with his three hundred
cavalry.

The Ohio Boy. loi

Hours now were worth months of common time ;
and, on the following morning, Cranor's column was
set in motion. The scout lay by till night, then set
out; and, at daybreak, exchanged his now jaded
horse for the fresh Kentucky mare, even. He ate
the housewife's breakfast, too, and took his ease with
the good man till dark ; then he set out again, and
rode through the night in safety. After that his route
was beset with perils. The Providence which so
wonderfully guarded his way out seemed to leave
him to find his own way in ; or, as he expressed it,
"Ye see, the Lord, he keered more fur the despatch
nor he keered fur me ; and 't was nat'ral he should ;
'case my life only counted one, while the despatch
it stood for all Kaintuck."

Be that as it may, he found his road a hard one
to travel. The same gang which followed him out
waylaid him back, and one starry midnight he fell
among them. They lined the road forty deep, and
seeing he could not run the gauntlet, he wheeled
his mare and fled backwards. The noble beast did
her part ; but a bullet struck her, and she fell in the
road dying. Then — it was Hobson's choice — he
took to his legs, and, leaping a fence, was at last
out of danger. Two days he lay in the woods, not
daring to come out ; but hunger finally forced him

102 Patriot Boys.

to ask food at a negro shanty. The dusky patriot
loaded him with bacon, brown-bread, and blessings ;
and, at night, piloted him to a Rebel barn, where
he enforced the Confiscation act, — to him then " the
higher law," — necessity.

With his fresh horse he set out again ; and after
various adventures and hair-breadth escapes, too nu-
merous to mention, and too incredible to believe, —
had not similar things occurred all through the war,
■ — he entered, one rainy midnight, (the 6th of Janu-
ary,) the little log hut, seven miles from Paintville,
where his commander was sleeping.

He rubbed his eyes, and raised himself upon his
elbow, —

'^ Back safe ? " he asked. " Have you seen Cra-
nor.?"

" Yes, Gini-ral He can't be more 'n two days ahind
o' me, no how."

"God bless you, Jordan. You have done us a
great service," said James, warmly.

" I thanks ye, Giniral," said the scout, his voice
trembling. " That 's more pay 'n I expected."

Having now followed the scout safely back to
camp, we must go on with the little army. Th^y
are only fourteen hundred men, worn out with march-
ing, but boldly they move down upon Marshall.

The Ohio Boy. 103

False scouts have made him believe they are as
strong as he, — and they are ; for every one is a
hero, and they are led by a general. The Rebel
has five thousand men, — forty-four hundred infantry
and six hundred cavalry, besides twelve pieces of
artillery, — so he says in a letter to his wife, w^hich
General Buell has intercepted and the Ohio boy has
in his pocket. Three roads lead to Marshall's posi-
tion. One at the east bearing down to the river,
and along its western bank ; another, a circuitous
one, to the west, coming in on Paint Creek, at the
mouth of Jenny's Creek, on the right of the village \
and a third between the others, — a more direct
route, but climbing a succession of almost impas-
sable ridges. These three roads are held by strong
Rebel pickets, and a regiment is outlying at the vil-
lage of Paintville.

To deceive Marshall as to his real strength and
designs, the Ohio boy orders a small force of infantry
and cavalry to advance along the river, drive in the
Rebel pickets, and move rapidly after them as if to
attack Paint\dlle. Two hours after this force goes
off, a similar one, with the same orders, sets out
on the road to the westward ; and, two hours later
still, another small body takes the middle road. The
effect is, that the pickets on the first route, being

I04 Patriot Boys.

vigorously attacked and driven, retreat in confusion
to Paintville, and despatch word to Marshall that
the Union army is advancing along the river. He
hurries off a thousand infantry and a battery to re-
sist the advance of this imaginary column. When
this detachment has been gone an hour and a half,
he hears, from the routed pickets on the right, that
the Federals are advancing along the western road.
Countermanding his first order, he now directs the
thousand men and the battery to check the new dan-
ger; and hurries off the troops at Paintville to the
mouth of Jenny's Creek, to make a stand there. Two
hours later the pickets on the central route are driven
in, and finding Paintville abandoned, flee precipitately
to the fortified camp, with the story that the Union
army is close at their heels, and occupying Paintville.
Conceiving that he has thus lost the town, Marshall
hastily withdraws the detachment of a thousand men
to his fortified camp; and the Ohio boy, moving
rapidly over the ridges of the central route, occupies
the abandoned position.

So affairs stand on the evening of the 8th of Janu-
ary, when a spy enters the camp of Marshall, with
tidings that Cranor, with thirty-three hundred (!) men,
is within twelve hours' march at the westward. On
receipt of these tidings, the " big boy," — he weighs

The Ohio Boy. 105

three hundred pounds by the Louisville hay-scales,
— conceiving himself outnumbered, breaks up his
camp, and retreats precipitately, abandoning or burn-
ing a large portion of his supplies. Seeing the fires,
the Ohio boy mounts his horse, and with a thousand
men enters the deserted camp at nine in the evening,
while the blazing stores are yet unconsumed. He
sends a detachment off to harass the retreat, and
waits the arrival of Cranor, with whom he means to
follow and bring Marshall to battle in the morning.

In the morning Cranor comes, but his men are
footsore, without rations, and completely exhausted.
They cannot move one leg after the other. But the
canal boy is bound to have a fight ; and every man
who has strength to march is ordered to come for-
ward. Eleven hundred — among them four hundred
of Cranor's tired heroes — step from the ranks, and
with them, at noon of the 9th, the Ohio boy sets
out for Prestonburg, sending all his available cav-
alry to follow the line of the enemy's retreat, and
harass and delay him.

Marching eighteen miles, he reaches at nine o'clock
that night the mouth of Abbott's Creek, three miles
below Prestonburg, — he and the eleven hundred.
There he hears that Marshall is encamped on the
same stream, three miles higher up ; and throwing
5*

io6 Patriot Boys.

his men into bivouac, in the midst of a sleety rain,
he sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Shel-
don, who is left in command at Paintville, to bring
up every available man, with all possible despatch,
for he shall force the enemy to battle in the morn-
ing. He spends the night in learning the character
of the surrounding country and the disposition of
Marshall's forces ; and now again John Jordan comes
into action.

A dozen Rebels are grinding at a mill, and a dozen
honest men come upon them, steal their corn, and
make them prisoners. The miller is a tall, gaunt
man, and his clothes fit the scout, as if they were
made for him. He is a Disunionist, too, and his
very raiment should bear witness against this feed-
ing of his enemies. It does. It goes back to the
Rebel camp, and — the scout goes in it. That cha-
meleon face of his is smeared with meal, and looks
the miller so well that the miller's own wife might
not detect the difference. The night is dark and
rainy, and that lessens the danger ; but still, he is
picking his teeth in the very jaws of the lion, — if he
can be called a lion who does nothing but roar like
unto Marshall.

Space will not perm.it me to detail this midnight
ramble ; but it gave the Ohio boy the exact position

The Ohio Boy. 1 07

of the enemy. They had made a stand, and laid an
ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicir-
cular hill, at the forks of Middle Creek, on both
sides of the road, with cannon commanding its whole
length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting
his coming.

The Union commander broke up his bivouac at
four in the morning and began to move forward.
Reaching the valley of Middle Creek, he encountered
some of the enemy's mounted men, and captured a
quantity of stores they were tr\^ing to withdraw from
Prestonburg. Skirmishing went on until about noon,
when the Rebel pickets were driven back upon their
main body, and then began the battle. It is not my
purpose to describe it; for James has already ably
done that, in thirt}^ lines, in his despatch to the Gov-
ernment.

It was a wonderful battle. In the history of this
war there is not another like it. Measured by the
forces engaged, the valor displayed, and the results
which followed, it throws into the shade even the
achievements of the mighty hosts which saved the na-
tion. Eleven hundred men, without cannon, charge
up a rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, over fallen
trees, over high intrenchments, right into the face
of five thousand, and twelve pieces of artillery !

io8 Patriot Boys.

For five hours the contest rages. Now the Union
forces are driven back; then, charging up the hill,
they regain the lost ground, and from behind rocks
and trees pour in their murderous volleys. Then
again they are driven back, and again they charge
up the hill, strewing the ground with corpses. So
the bloody work goes on; so the battle wavers till
the setting sun, wheeling below the trees,' glances
along the dense lines of Rebel steel moving down
to envelop the weary eleven hundred. It is an aw-
ful moment, big with the fate of Kentucky. At its
very crisis two figures stand out against the fading
sky boldly defined in the foreground.

One is in Union blue. With a little band of he-
roes about him, he is posted on a projecting rock,
which is scarred with bullets, and in full view of
both armies. His head is uncovered, his hair stream-
ing in the wind, his face upturned in the darkening
daylight, and from his soul is going up a prayer, —
a prayer for Sheldon and reinforcements ! He turns
his eyes to the northward, and his lip tightens, as
he throws off his coat, and says to his hundred men,
— " Boys, we must go at them."

The other is in Rebel gray. Moving out to the
brow of the opposite hill, and placing a glass to his
eye, he, too, takes a long look to the northward.

TJie Ohio Boy. . 109

He starts, for he sees something which the other, on
lower ground, does not distinguish. Soon he w^heels
his horse, and the word "Retreat" echoes along
the valley between them. It is his last word, for
six rifles crack, and the Rebel Major lies on the
ground, quivering.

The one in blue looks to the north again, and
now, floating proudly among the trees, he sees the
starry banner. It is Sheldon and his forces ! The
long ride of the scout is, at last, doing its work for
the nation. On they come like the rushing wind, fill-
ing the air with their shouting. The rescued eleven
hundred take up the strain, and then, above the
swift pursuit, above the lessening conflict, above the
last boom of the wheeling cannon, goes up the wild
huzza of Victor}'. The Ohio boy has won the day,
and rolled back the disastrous tide which has been
sweeping on ever since Big Bethel. In ten days
Thomas routs ZoUicofifer, and then we have and hold
Kentucky.

For this very important ser\dce to his country,
President Lincoln conferred on James the appoint-
ment of Brigadier-General. In the course of sixty
days he was ordered to join General Buell, and with
him marched to the rescue of Grant at the bloody
field of Shiloh. Afterwards he was in many marches

no ' Patriot Boys.

and many battles, and, when General Rosecrans as-
sumed command of the army of the Cumberland,
was selected to be his chief-of-staff, — a ver}^ respon-
sible position, and one seldom given to officers who
have not received a regular militar)'- education. While
acting in that capacity he took part in the disastrous
battle of Chickamauga ; and, with Generals Gordon
Granger and George H. Thomas, saved our army
from total route on that bloody field. For his ser-
vices on that occasion he was highly complimented
by General Rosecrans, and promoted to a Major-
Generalship by the Government. But he soon re-
signed, to succeed the Hon. Joshua R. Giddings as
representative for his native district in Ohio ; and he
is now serving his country, and the cause of free-
dom, on the floor of Congress.

To all these honors and all this usefulness the
poor Ohio boy attained, because he worked and im-
proved every opportunity of gaining knowledge. His
name is James A. Garfield ; and whenever you see
it, I wish you would remember what I have told you
about him, and call to mind that, if you work and
study as he has done, you may be as useful as he
has been, and rise as high as he has risen.

THE VIRGINIA BOY

PART I.

SLAVERY.

ONE pkasacat day in July, 1864, I took passage
on a steamer running between Washington and
City Point, for a short visit into Virginia. The boat
was crowded with passengers, — furloughed officers re-
joining their regiments, convalescent soldiers return-
ing to their commands, and white and black recruits
going to the front to fill the places of the noble
fellows who had fallen in our long and bloody
struggle with the desperate slave power. Among
the latter were about a hundred and fifty men, re-
cently enlisted in the Thirt\'-first Regiment of United
States Colored Infantry. They were huddled to-
gether on the open bow of the boat ; and though
stout, healthy-looking fellows, were a motley group
of all ages, colors, and nationalities.

Among them were free negroes from the North,
freedmen from the South, Indians from the Mohawk
Valley, Malays from farther India, and even a shaved

112 Patriot Boys.

Chinaman, all the way from the Celestial Empire.
Men of every race except the white race, and from
every clime except the Arctic regions, were gathered
there in a space not more than forty feet square !
Here, thought I, is a chance to see the world ; to
"put a girdle round about the earth in forty min-
utes," at Uncle Sam's expense, and in a government
steamer ! It was an opportunity not to be lost ; so,
leaving my travelling companion to nod himself to
sleep in the shade of the pilot-house, I went down
amgn^ them.
\^dJ«^ HA^d here let me say to the young reader, who
would study human nature and the ways of men,
that he must take no stately airs and false dignity
out with him into the world. He must leave such
things at home, along with his stiff dickey and dandy
clothes, or the poorest man he meets will draw him-
self within his shell, and though the ear be put down
ever so close, it will fail to catch the music of his
life, — music, it may be, as strange as that which
throbs in the tiny lungs of the little sea wanderers
which are thrown up along the shore.

Well, I left my dignity behind me, and went down
among the black recruits. The first one I accosted
was an. old man with a seamed face, gray hair, and
eyes like two stars blazing through the black folds

The VirgtJtia Boy. 113

of a thunder-cloud. " You," I said to him, " are an
old man to be in the war."

" I can handle a musket as well as a younger man,
sir," he answered. "In a time like this every man
of my color, young or old, should be at the front."

This was in our darkest days, before the fall of
Atlanta; when Grant sat hand-tied before Peters-
burg, and Early's greyhounds were chasing Hunter
through the Shenandoah Valley, and barking away
at the very gates of Washington.

" I am glad to hear you say so," I said, warmly ;
"such pluck as yours would have freed your race
a century ago."

" They 've pluck enough," he said. " That is n't
what 's the matter. It 's ignorance. They don't
know their own strength. These Southern blacks
think because a white man can read and fire a gun
that he 's a superior being. I 've been telling them
it ain't so ; and, now that they have muskets in
their hands, they begin to believe me."

" I am told that in their first battle they fight bet-
ter than white men, because they think the musket
makes them invincible."

" Yes, it 's so. I 've seen them go where a white
man would n't venture, — these degraded black
slaves," — and there was a slight sneer in his tone

114 Patriot Boys.

as he said this, — "that you and I are accustomed

to despise."

" Not /, old man," I answered. " I 've known the
Southern negro ahnost all my life, and think him of
better blood than the chivalry. But are not you a
freedman ? "

" No, sir ! " he replied, " I 'm a/r^^man ; born free,
in York State, right under the droppings of the sanc-
tuary,— close to Scripture Dick's (Hon. Daniel S.
Dickinson) in Binghampton."

'' And you left a comfortable home, at your time of
life, to come out and fight for the rest of your race .? "

" I did. I stood it till I could n't stand it no
longer, and then I come. You see, I 'd worked sixty-
one years for myself, and the little rest of my days
I thought I 'd work for my race and my country."

"You are a brave, true man," I answered. "I
am glad to* know you."

" Thank you," he rejoined. " I am glad to know
you, sir, if you can look below the skin, and detect
the man, whatever his clothes or color."
- Continuing the conversation, I learned that the
name of this man was William Pierce ; that he had
been in Washington recruiting for his regiment, and
was then going to City Point with the squad of col-
ored soldiers, — two thirds of whom, he said, were

The Virginia Boy. 115

escaped slaves from Virginia and the Carolinas. On
my remarking, that I wanted to know such of them
as were worth knowing, he said : —

" Ah, yes ; you want to crack their cocoa-nuts, —
to get the juice out of them. I always do that myself
I never meet a man, no matter how poor he is, but
I get some good out of him. That 's the way to
get real learning ; the way to study natur', — human
natur'."

Within the next hour he called a score or more of
his comrades up to the water-tank, on which we were
seated, and I "cracked their cocoa-nuts." Some of
them were tolerably soft, others intolerably hard ; but
all had something in them, which flowed out when
tapped by a free word or a kind look, rich, racy, and
original, as are the utterances of all uncultivated men,
of whatever color.

One, whose story interested me greatly, was a stout,
jovial young fellow, who gave his name as Sam Nich-
ols, and said he had been the slave of a Major Jarvis,
of Louisville, Kentucky. Another was an aged man —
turned of sixty-six — named Henry Washington, who
had belonged to James Blain of Nottaway County,
Virginia. Though so old, he was wearing his coun-
try's uniform, and bearing the hardships of the field
in the service of Captain Pitkin, Quartermaster-Gen-

Ii6 Patriot Boys.

eral of the department One of his sons, he said,
was in the army; the other — a man "done grown"
• — had been sold a few years before at Petersburg,
and was then languishing his life away at the far
South.

The stories of these two men might interest you \
but they would not so well illustrate the life of the
Virginia slave, both before and during the war, as
the history of a quadroon boy, whom the old Sergeant
brought up to me on that greasy hatchway, and who,
till far into the night, sat on a low stool in my state-
,room, living over again his short but strange and
eventful career.

He was a youth of about nineteen, with an erect,
well-knit frame, glossy black hair, a clear olive com-
plexion, straight, comely features, and an eye like a
coal burning at midnight. He was born in a little
hut on a plantation not far away from Charlestown,
Virginia. The hut was of logs laid up in clay, and
it had a mud chimney, an earthen floor, board win-
dows, and a slat door, through which the wind and
the overseer could look in of winter nights, and see
that the occupants were all snug and warm as they
should be.

Besides the boy, the cabin contained an iron crane,
a cracked kettle, a half-dozen bricks doing duty as

The Virginia Boy. wy

andirons, a rough bench, a three-legged chair, a few
wooden bowls and spoons, a low bedstead on its
ver}^ last legs, another boy blacker than he, but said
to be his brother, and a pale-faced, fragile little wo-
man, who was his mother. This was when the youth
was born. Two weeks later the little woman was
driven to the field to work, and — she never came
back again.

Then the olive-faced boy changed his residence.
He was taken to the children's quarters, — a long,
low, log shant}^, where the plantation orphans were
huddled. There he was consigned to the tender
mercies of a toothless hag, whose soul, from long
looking on her own black visage, had caught its
murky hue, — the ver}' blackness of midnight. How
much he suffered from this old woman, how many
blows she made his little back to bear, how many
cold days she drove him shivering away from the
fire, how many winter nights she sent him supperless
to his hard bed on Ihe cabin floor, — the boy did
not knowj but he well remembered that one night,
when he was about five years old, she fell over upon
the hearth and was roasted like a partridge. The
older children tried to rescue her ; but he went off
into a corner by himself, and falling on his knees,
thanked God that he was about to take the old

Ii8 Patriot Boys.

hag to heaven, as he took Elijah, in a chariot of
flame.

Another old woman took the place of the one who
was "translated," and she was some improvement
on the last ; but her spirit, too, had been soured by
long oppression, and the selling away, one by one,
of all her children. At times, when the bitter mem-
ories came over her, she would vent her bad feelings
on the helpless little ones about her; but she at-
tended to their physical wants, and gave them enough
to eat, and a warm seat by the winter's fire. And
so the little boy grew up, a neglected weed in this
great garden of a world.

One day, when he was eight years old, his mastei
came to the cabin with two bewhiskered and be-
jewelled "gentlemen," and ranging all the children
in a row across the floor, he said, " There they are !
Take your pick. Five hundred dollars apiece ! "

They "picked" half a dozen boys of about his
own age, and among them his black "brother,"
but left him behind. One of the men was disposed
to take him, but the other objected that he was "too
smart," and so he escaped a journey to the far South
and a toilsome life on a sugar plantation, — for these
men were negro-traders.

Though so young, he had before this learned that

The Virgi7iia Boy. 1 19

his master's business was the raising of slaves for
market ; that he fed and fattened the younger ones,
and every year sold off as many as were above five
years old ; and so made his living by coining into
money the blood and bones of beings whose bodies
were as strong, and whose souls were as much in the
likeness of the Maker, as his own was.

Some few days after the traders went away, the
overseer came to the cabin, and asking the old wo-
man for "Yaller Joe," took the boy by the collar,
and marched him off to the tobacco-field. There
he was set at work from sunrise to sunset; and he
went no more to the children's quarter, being sent
to lodge with some of the field- hands.

This was the first great sorrow of the boy's life ;
not that he disliked work, but his young heart had
wound itself about his little companions ; and though
he had felt cold and hunger and every grief in the
old cabin, it was his home.

But his sorrow, like all the sorrows of childhood,
soon passed away, and he found other Mends among
the black folks w^ho worked with him in the fields.

Among them was a little boy of about his own age,
who had somehow escaped being sold to the South.
He was very black, but very bright; and though a
poor slave child, with no friend in all the world but

I20 Patriot Boys.

his slave mother, he had a heart so light and happy
that he made everybody about him almost as happy
as he was. The two boys slept together in the same
cabin, and worked together in the same field, and
soon became as fast fi"iends as were David and
Jonathan.

And so three years went away, and the annual sale
of young immortals left the two boys, Joseph and
Robert, still at work on the old plantation.

One morning, about this time, and right in the
hoeing season, word was circulated through the quar-
ters that all the slaves, old and young, were to have
a holiday, and to come up to the green in front
of the "great house" for a general jollification. It
was a' strange event, and a strange time for it to hap-
pen ; but all the negroes arrayed themselves in their
best, and, with cheerful faces and merry hearts, went
up to the mansion. The two boys, unsuspicious of
any wrong, were following the rest, when an old
negro, hobbling along beside them, said : —

" I say, you boys, I reckon dar 'm a cat in dis yere
meal-tub. Massa hain't ober loikely ter feast him
darkies right in de middle ob wuck-time. Dis chile
doan't keer, fur he 'm too ole ter fotch a bad dollar,
but ye young 'uns had better tuck yer legs off ter
de woods, and leff de jollyfiration go."

The Virginia Boy. 12 1

At this, the boys paused, and took counsel to-
gether. It could not be, they thought, that their
master would be so base as to sell them under such
pretences ; but the old negro said he would ; that
he had lived with the white man seventy years, and
knew him capable of any kind of meanness or de-
ception. This inclined them to be wary ; but duty,
they thought, required they should obey their master,
and so they went to the mansion.

The court-yard contained several acres, tastefully
laid out, and bordered by a dense growth of flowering
shrubs and currant-bushes ; and among these bushes
they quietly hid themselves until the "merr}^-mak-
ing " began in true Virginia fashion.

About two hundred negroes, of both sexes and all
ages, had gathered in little knots on the lawn, eagerly
waiting the signal to engage in their usual holiday
sports, when their master and the overseer came out
of the mansion. Going among them, the white men
ordered this one and the other off to the field, till
less than fifty were left clustered about the court-
yard. These were told to sit down on the grass,
and to rem.ain- quiet until they were wanted. This
they did, and in half an hour several strange white
men rode up to the house, and the "sport" of the
day began. Then the faces, lately so radiant with
6

122 Patriot Boys.

sunshine, became overshadowed with clouds and del-
uged with rain. It was a sad, sad time. For years
these simple people had associated together, and
now, without a word of warning, they were to be
separated; parents from children, brothers from sis-
tfers, husbands from wives, to meet no more this side
of heaven. It seems to me — and I have seen
many such scenes — that all the misery which can
be borne by weak human nature has been borne by
the poor blacks at these slave-sales. Such things,
thank God, are now gone by forever ; but it may be
well to once in a while recall them, for they remind
us that the men who have been guilty of so great
cruelty in the past must be kept in check, or they
may do still greater wickcidness in the future.

Watching their opportunity, the two boys after a
while stole away to the woods, where they remained
until nightfall. Robert had a mother, and he feared
that she might have been sold ; and it was with a
heavy heart that he at last turned his steps towards
the quarter. Joseph had no mother, but he sympa-
thized fully with the feelings of Robert; and it was
a great relief when the good woman met them at
the door-way of the little cabin. She had not been
sold, but "Aunt Ruth" and "Uncle Jake," Joseph's
only remaining relatives, were already on their way
to the far South.

The Virginia Boy. 123

Four more toilsome years went away, and the boys
were nearly fifteen, before another large sale oc-
curred ; but every year a half-dozen or more poor
people were disposed of privately.

Among them was a young girl on whom Joseph
had cast such eyes as young men very naturally cast
on young women. Her name was Deborah. She
was not far from fifteen and was ver}' beautiful, with
comely features, and a bright, clear complexion. She
was a ser^^ant at the mansion, and her intelligence
and gentle disposition had won her the confidence
and affection of all on the plantation. One day her
master told one of the men-servants to accompany
her to Winchester ; and, mounted on the back of an
ancient mule, they set out, not suspecting the real
object of the journey. Arrived at Winchester, they
sought out the man to whom Deborah was consigned.
He proved to be a slave-trader, and — the poor girl
never came back again.

This occurrence sank deep into the hearts of the
two boys. They were only fifteen, but they deter-
mined to be free, — free if they had to walk over
burning ploughshares, and make their home among
the icebergs of the northern seas. Soon an event
occurred which led them to put their resolution into
immediate action.

124 Patriot Boys.

Another great holiday, another great "jollyfira-
tion," came to the slaves on the old plantation.
Again all ages went up to the mansion, and this
time Joseph and Robert were too much grown to
hide away among the currant-bushes. With the
other slaves they were ranged along the lawn, and
offered to the inspection of the men-dealers. The
trader's cross was already on the back of Robert and
his mother, — they were sold, — when he paused be-
before Joseph, and asked him his age.

" I don't know, sir," answered the boy.

" Don't know ! " exclaimed the trader ; " this boy
is a fool!" and he passed on, much to the boy's re-
lief. Once before he had been let off because he
was " too smart " ; now he escaped because he was
a fool ; and the same man was the judge in both
cases.

But the boy did not know how old he was.
Scarcely any slave does know. He was born in the
" dog-days," or at the first snow-fall ; and he died
at Christmas, or "a month after New-Year"; and
that, written on the rude stake which marks his
grave, is the whole of the slave's history.

But Robert and his mother were sold, and that
was a sad night at the little cabin.

They were to set out on the following morning

The Virginia Boy. 125

for Richmond, New Orleans, or some other slave
market, there to be again sold, and, no doubt, sepa-
rated forever.

The prospect was appalling to the wretched moth-
er; but she cared less about it for herself than for
her son. WTiatever became of herself, she wanted
him to be free; and as she sat that evening by the
meagre hearth, stirring silently the embers of the
low fire, which, like her own hopes, was fast going
out in the darkness, she turned suddenly to Robert,
and said : " Run, Robby ! Go ter-night, — ter onst.
Keep de North Star right afore you, and travel on
till you come ter freedom ! "

For a moment Robert, too, sat gazing vacantly
into the fire, but then he looked up, and answered,
" Joe and I hab planned ter go, mother ; but we '11
not stir a step widout you."

" I can't go. I 'm too old. I has rheumatiz. I
could n't walk four mile a day. You 'd only be
kotched wid me along ! " groaned the poor woman,
rocking her body back and forth in her grief

" Wall ; if we is kotched we '11 be no wuss off.
We won't go widout you," now said Joseph.

This decided her, and she at once set about pre-
paring for the dangerous journey. What surplus
food was in her own and' the adjoining cabins — for

126 Patriot Boys.

the other blacks were let into the secret — was soon
collected in two small bundles ; and, about midnight,
they all sat down by the cheerless hearth, to wait till
the moon should set, and they could go off in safety.

Every night for six long years the boys had sat
there ; and every night, during all of that time, they
had gone to sleep on the narrow cot in the corner j
but, whether the tranquil stars were telling of the
peace and joy of heaven, or the wailing storm was
echoing the unrest and sorrow of the earth, they
had never lain down without a dark shadow settling
about them, shutting out the green fields, and the
blue skies, and the golden-tinted clouds which color
the dreams of other boys, and leaving in sight only
the narrow pallet, the wretched hut, and the sweat-
sprinkled fields of the old plantation. But that night
their spirits rose from out the shadow; and, though
thick clouds were shrouding all the sky, they saw the
stars shining ; and one star — to our eyes only a lit-
tle speck, twinkling away in the Northern heavens —
come out, and grow, hour by hour, till it seemed a
great sun sent to light them on their journey. Years
rolled away as the boys looked, and they became
men, with strength to endure any hardship and over-
come any obstacle that might be in their way to
freedom.

The Virginia Boy. 12/

In the midst of their reverie a rap came at the
rickety door, and a low voice said : " Ho ! in dar !
You — brack folks!"

Rising, Joseph undid the rude fastening, and let
in the old man — Uncle David — who, years before,
had warned the boys away from the great "jollyfira-
tion." Helping him to settle himself upon a rude
bench beside the hearth, Joseph said : " It 'm late
fur you ter be round, Uncle Dave. What 'm done
broke now ? "

" Nuffin 's done broke," answered the old negro ;
*'but suffin 'ould be mighty sudden, ef old Dave
had n't a come ; b'case you 's a gwine off widout eber
axin' him, when he know-ebery crook and turn ob
dat road, jess like he 'd a trabelled it all his life."

" And why did n't you eber trabel it, Uncle ? "
asked Robert's mother.

"'Case de ole 'ooman lub de Missus, and would
n't go ; but young Dave he went 'fore you was born,
and arter he bought hisseff and git inter big business
down dar in Baltimore, he holped a heap ob pore
folks ober dat ar road ; and he '11 holp you j and
dat 's what I 'se come ter tell you 'bout."

" But we hain't a gwine ter Baltimore," said the
boys. "We'se a gwine stret up Norf."

" And dat 's jess how you '11 be took, and brung

128 Patriot Boys.

back, and sole whar you '11 neber git away agin.
Massa '11 be shore ter foller on de stret road. You
muss lay low at de ole cabin on de mount'in till
dey 'm off on de hunt ; den you take de Norf star
ober your leff shoulder, and put fur Baltimore. Go
ter Dave, — ony brack folks '11 tell you whar he
am, — and he '11 fix you de ress ob de way."

They thanked the old man ; and, as he passed
out of the low doorway, he put his hands on the
heads of the boys, and asked Him who is the Fa-
ther of the fatherless to be their guide and pro-
tector. Not long afterwards, they silently unbarred
the door again, and stole out into the darkness.

The Virginia Boy. 129

PART II.
ON THE WAY TO FREEDOM.

The plantation was on the western slope of the
Blue Ridge, and, changing their route when they
entered the forest, the fugitives climbed the long
ascent, and made their way to a deep ravine which
indents the eastern side of the mountain. In this
ravine, hidden by a thick growth of pines and ce-
dars, was the " ole cabin " to which " Uncle David "
had alluded.

It was a wild, secluded spot, seldom, if ever, visited
by a white man. About a year before, the two bo3^s
had discovered it, when rambling over the mountain
on a Sunday ; and its existence becoming known
to the other slaves, it had been the refuge of the
few who, since then, had staked their lives in a race
with the dogs of their master. Shut in by high
rocks and mountain-pines, and approached only by
a shallow brook, which drowned the traces of foot-
steps, and balked the scent of bloodhounds, it was
a spot where the runaway could lie for months as
secure as if buried chin-deep amid the snows of
Can^a.

6* ' I

130 Patriot Boys,

The hut was a rude structure of stones, roughly
laid up in the mud of the stream; and it looked,
overgrown as it was with moss and lichens, as if it
had stood there since the antediluvian ages ; but
old David, who knew everything, — when it had once
been told him, — insisted that it was built by one
of his master's slaves, who ran away when he was
a boy, and never afterwards was seen or heard of,
— except now and then of a dark night when some
late-stirring negro caught a glimpse of his ghost issu-
ing from the smoke-house with a juicy ham or a
brace of fat pullets over his shoulder. This could
hardly be; for though the invisible gentry are ac-
cused of overturning chairs and tipping tables, it
cannot be supposed that any ghost — even a black
one — ever descended to the robbing of hen-roosts
and smoke-houses. But, whether old David was right
or wrong, it was certain that a human skeleton, its
bones bleached to a snowy whiteness, and its clothing
rotted away to the merest tinder, was found extended
on the floor of the strange cabin when it was first
discovered.

Into this cabin, just as the sun was saying " Good
morning" to the world, the fugitives entered. The
food they had brought, if carefully husbanded, would
last them a week ; and so they determined to re-

The Virginia Boy. 131

main there a couple of days ; and by that time they
hoped their pursuers would be far away in a wrong
direction.

Having decided on this delay, they sat down un-
der a tree, and were watching the sun as it rose
slowly above the mountain, when they heard the
cry of dogs in the distance. Moving silently into
the cabin, they waited. Swiftly it came on, — the
yell of hounds and the shouts of men, — till it
sounded directly over their heads ; a shrill, terrible
cry, like the peal of the bell which summons the
condemned man forth to his funeral. The woman
sank to her knees, her hands clasped together, and
her lips moving in mute supplication ; and the boys
stood like statues, their teeth clenched, and their ears
strained to catch the lightest sound which should
come from the ravine below them.

They were not long in waiting. Soon the dogs
reached the spot where the fugitives had struck the
stream in their ascent to the cabin. Halting there, the
fierce beasts sent up cry after cry, which rang through
the deep wood, till even the still leaves seemed to
tremble with terror. Erelong the voices of men min-
gled with the cry of the dogs, and then came the crisis
in the lives of the dark people. The hounds had lost
the scent in the water ; the men knew it, and were

132 Patriot Boys.

deliberating whether to follow up or down the little
rivulet. If they went up, the fugitives were lost ; if
down, their way might yet be clear to freedom. The
boys listened, and heard the words which were
spoken. There were three of them, — their master,
his brother, and the overseer. The latter thought
the fugitives had gone up the ravine, but the others
said, "No. The boys are smart and fleet-footed.
They have taken to the water \ but they '11 make as
many miles as they can before dark. If we follow
down the run, the hounds will catch the trail again
in half an hour."

They went down ; but the danger was not yet over.
The pursuers might return, and discover the cabin
before nightfall. The fugitives feared this, and throw-
ing their little bundles over their shoulders, they
silently waded farther up the stream into the wind-
ing ravine. As they went, the rippling rivulet dwin-
dled to a slender thread, scarcely covering the stones
in its bed, and leaving their footprints plainly vis-
ible in the yielding sand. It would not do to go
farther, for only running water will wash away the
trace of human feet, and hounds will scent a single
tread made on dry ground. A clump of small cedars
was growing near the edge of the stream, and among
them they would secrete themselves ; but how to

The Virginia Boy. 133

hide the traces of their footsteps was the question.
Danger sharpens invention, and — whatever may be
said to the contrary — the black brain is as fertile as
the white one. They made a bridge of loose stones ;
Robert and his mother passed over it ; and Joseph,
following, carefully took up every stone, and threw
it back into the rivulet.

The sun turned downward in the heavens, and the
night came slowly on, — too slowly for the hunted
people crouching amid the cedars, — until the shad-
ows deepened along the dark ravine, and the stunted
pines, standing' among the gray rocks, looked like
giant men, brandishing their arms against the murky
sky, and about to close down on the poor fugitives.
There was terror in the sight, but a greater terror
in the sounds which now came faintly up from the
foot of the mountain. It was the cry of the hounds
returning, balked in the pursuit, and thirsting for
the blood of these trembling people.

Slowly it came up, as if the men were with the
dogs, and, wearied with the fruitless chase, were
every now and then halting by the way. At last
it ceased near the spot where the fugitives had
taken to the water; and then it broke out again
in hollow echoes, — winding up along the stream,
towards the old cabin ! Soon it burst forth into

134 Patriot Boys,

fierce yells, which broke the stillness of the dark
night, and smote on the hearts of the hunted people
like the strokes of a hammer on a blacksmith's anvil.
The men had discovered the hut, and the hounds
had scented the fugitives ! The boys bent forward
to catch the words that were spoken ; and the woman
sank to her knees, and stretched out her arms to
~the great Father. A jutting rock hid the cabin from
their view ; but the boys saw the torches, and heard
the talk of their pursuers.

" Some runaway built this," said the master, " and
perhaps lived here, feeding on my hen-roosts."

"And they have been here, all of them," cried
the overseer. "Here are their tracks, made since
sun-up ! The hounds know it, and that is the rea-
son they make such a howling."

"Let us go up the run," rejoined the master.
" They may have hidden farther up the ravine."

Then the red torches stole from behind the black
rock, and came towards the little clump of cedars.
The boys no longer held their breath, but the wo-
man kept on with her praying.

"You mought as well stop," said Joseph. "De
Lord don't yere you. We am gone up ; dat am
sartin ! "

But. the woman heeded him not. Still she kept

The Virginia Boy. 135

on her knees ; and still she stretched out her arms
to the great Father.

The hounds were quiet, for they had again lost
the trail, and the men paused, scarcely a hundred
paces below the fugitives, and lifting their torches
high in the air, looked narrowly round in the dark-
ness. At last the master spoke : " They are not
here," he said; "and if they were, I would n't risk
breaking my neck over these rocks for all the nig-
gers in creation."

Then they turned, and went down the ravine ; and
the woman's prayer changed to a low thanksgiving.
Rising from her knees she said to the boys, " It
am de Lord's doin's. He hab saved us from our
enemies, — from de hand ob dem dat hate us." And
every man and woman, from whose souls a true
prayer has ever risen, knows that she spoke truly.

That night they lay down on the rough floor of
the cabin, and slept soundly. In the morning, be-
fore the sun had thrust his head above the trees
which fringe the top of the mountain, they heard
the baying of hounds far away on the route, which,
but for Old David, they would have taken.

"Shank's mares am de mares fur us now," cried
Joseph, springing to his feet ; " and de sooner we 's
stirrin' de better." •

136 Patriot Boys.

The woman tied her stout brogans over her shoul-
der,— the boys wore untanned "leathers," warranted
to last a lifetime, — and they began the descent of
the ravine, walking along the bed of the stream until
the water grew too deep to wade in. Then they
struck directly into the woods, keeping the sun all
the wliile in their faces. They walked on for several
hours, when they came to a cleared field, near which
they paused, and hid themselves in a cedar thicket.

For four days they journeyed thus, in the woods
by day, and in the road by night, until, near the
close of the fourth day, they came to a hill from
which they could see the steeples of Baltimore.
• Crouching behind some large trees near the high-
way, they waited there for the darkness. Slowly it
came down, the blessed night, — so blessed to the
weary worker and the hunted fugitive, — and the
shadows deepened until the great trees looked like
a regiment of black soldiers standing guard over the
silent cornfields. Then they took to the highway,
hoping to be soon safely housed with the black Chris-
tian of Baltimore.

They had not gone far before they heard wheels
creeping along the road behind them. Hiding in
a bend of the fence they waited. It was an old
man, an» old horse, and an old wagon, carrying

The Virginia Boy. 137

a load of vegetables to market. "When he came
abreast of where they were, they saw that the man
was black ; and that assm-ed them of aid and friend-
ship. Stepping out from the shadow of the fence,
Joseph accosted the traveller. "Aunty yere am all
beat out, Uncle ; she can't hardly walk no furder.
Will you gub her a lift ter de city?"

"And who am you?" asked the negro, scanning
them as closely as he could in the darkness.

Joseph stepped back a few paces, as he answered,
" Jess what you am, — brack people dat hab wuckd
der bery lives out fur de white folks."

"YaS," answered the old man; "and now you 's
runnin' away, — runnin' right inter de jaws ob de
Philistin's ! "Why, honey, you won't sot foot in Bal-
timore, 'fore you '11 be shot inter de lock-up, jess
loike you wus stray critters dey cotch runnin' loose
in de streets. Who does you know dar?"

"No un but young Dave, — Dave Pegram, what
come frum Charlestown way."

" I knows. I knows. And you call him young ! "
exclaimed the old man, laughing. " Why, he 'm
older dan I is, on)^ d^ay ob de week."

"But he'm young, dough," said Joseph, earnestly;
"younger dan his fader."

"Well, you 'm a smart chile, ter tink a son

138 Patriot Boys.

younger dan his fader ! But, hurry up. I can't be
stayin' yere in de road, — some one '11 be comin'
along. Leff de ole 'ooman git in under de punkins,
— I '11 sell her fur one ef she don't keep quiet, — and
you put across de field ter de fuss shanty. Stay dar
till you yeres de Baltimore bells soundin' fur nine ; den
you follow you' noses ter de market; — you '11 find it
by de smell. I '11 tote de ole 'ooman ter ole Dave's,
and he '11 be dar waitin' fur you. Ef you come outer
ary one in de streets dat eye you suspicious loike,
you jess say you b'longs ter Squire Daniels, and am
come in arter ole Jake, down ter de market. Ebery
one know me, and dey '11 b'lieve what I says,* 'case I
neber lies, neber, — 'cept now and den, jess ter keep
my hand in."

The boys did as they were bidden; and at ten
o'clock that night were accosted in the market-place
by the sable Moses who led stray black children out
of the wilderness. He took them to his own house,
and concealed them for nearly a week. Then, with
money furnished them by this true Israelite, they
started on the journey northward.

Now they set the North Star directly before their
faces. A few hours after noon of a pleasant day in
July, they left Baltimore in a market-wagon, and were
driven openly to the house of a planter living some

The Virginia Boy. 139

twelve miles from the city. They thought it strange
•they were thus consigned to the tender mercies of
a slaveholder; and had not "Young David" been
the son of his father, would have suspected him of
treachery. As it was, their minds were greatly dis-
turbed when, halting at the doorway of the planter's
house, they were pointed out by him to another gen-
tleman as "a prime lot," which he had just bought
in Baltimore. Robert was about to protest that this
was not true, when his mother checked him, and
whispered in the boy's ear, "Ef he 'm our friend, he
hab ter say dat ter make de ting luck clar ter de
gemman*; ef he haint our friend, we can't holp our-
selfs. We must trust in de Lord."

They were taken to a neighboring cabin, and given
a hearty supper by an old negress who was in attend-
ance. After the meal was over she said to them :
"Now, chillen, you muss lay down and get all de
sleep you kin, 'case you 'se a long way afore you,
and you won't get off till nigh onter midnight."

"And den you' massa '11 holp us on ter de Norf,
jess loike Young David say he would!" said Joseph,
greatly reassured by the w^ords of the woman.

" Ob course he will," answered the negress. " Mas-
sa hab bought more 'n twenty folks widin de year,
jess loike he buy you, ha! ha! and hab sole 'em

« ^

140 Patriot Boys.

agin, way up Norf. He 'm one o' de directors ob
de underground railroad, — one ob de biggest on'
'em. He make a heap in de business j and he 'm
a layin' it all up — up dar — whar de moth doan't
eat, and de tief doan't steal, and by de time he come
ter die, I reckon he '11 hab such a pile in de Lord's
han's, dat nuffin but de interest on it will leff him
lib loike a gemman foreber."

" He must be a good man ; but — haint he a
slaveholder?" asked Joseph hesitatingly.

" Ob course he am ; dat 's how he kin holp you ;
fur nobody wud 'spect him ob doin' what he do fur
de hunted ones. He hab eighteen; but we all
knows de free papers am made out agin he die ;
and nary one on us wud leab him, not ter lib wid
Garrison hisseff."

After a few hours sleep the fugitives were put into
a covered wagon, with a negro driver, and driven off
towards Pennsylvania. The horses were fleet, and
an hour before daybreak set them down at a house
in the outskirts of the little town of Gettysburg;
where, since then, a great battle has been fought on
which hung the fate of the nation.

It was an old house, clad in a coat of faded gray ;
and a huge sign swinging before its door told that
it was a tavern. The driver tapped three times on

The Virginia Boy. 14 1

one of the lower windows, and soon a side-door
opened, and an old man, in a night-cap and a dress-
ing-gown, came out into the moonlight. He greeted
the driver cordially, and ushered the fugitives into
a small room on the ground-floor adjoining the kitch-
en. Asking them to be seated, he lit a candle, and
gave them a look of close scrutiny.

" Aha ! " he said, turning his eyes from them to
a printed handbill above the mantel-piece. "Here
you are, and your master asleep in the room over-
head ! Now, I could make five hundred dollars so
quick it would make your heads swim ! "

Robert's mother sank to her knees ; but the boys
sprang to their feet, and, with flashing eyes, cried
out : " Der yer mean ter betray us ? "

" Hush, you fools," said the man, " or he '11 hear
you. He came here a w^eek ago, and has been
scouring all Pennsylvania. He returned last night,
and will go back after breakfast ; then you '11 be
safe for a short century ; for he thinks you 're hid
somewhere in Baltimore. Don't stir from this room ;
keep the door locked, and don't even look out of the
windows. At night I '11 send you on to the next
station."

It was a long day to the fugitives, but it came
to an end at last; and, about an hour after dark,

142 Patriot Boys.

they set out again towards the North Star, which
once more, Uke a sun, lighted their way to freedom.
For two nights they journeyed, and just at sun-
rise, on the morning of the second day, haUed at a
farm-house in the edge of CHnton County. There
they were washing their faces at a httle spring, and
brushing off the dust of the journey, when a young
girl came rushing from the house, and, throwing her
arms about Joseph's neck, almost devoured him with
kisses.

It was Deborah ! The trader had sold her to a
planter near to Winchester ; and, after a year's service,
she had escaped, and, aided by the good "under-
ground " people, had found a quiet home among the
hills of Pennsylvania,. She begged her master to
give Joseph work, -and he did so ; paying him five
dollars a month and his clothing. He also secured
employment for Robert and his mother on a farm
in the neighborhood ; and so the fugitives found
freedom, and knew the blessing of working for wages.

The Virginia Boy. 143

PART III.

FREEDOM.

About thirty negro men — one half of them es-
caped slaves — were working on farms within a cir-
cuit of three or four miles of the one on which
Joseph had found employment. These men had
formed among themselves a combination which they
called the "Defensive League," with the object of
preventing the legal arrest of any of their number
under the Fugitive Slave Law, or their illegal cap-
ture by any of the bands of kidnappers who now
and then entered the district, and, without warrant
or the pretence of authority, tore fugitives, and some-
times free colored men from their beds at dead of
night, and bore them into hopeless slavery across
the border. Every member of the League was fur-
nished with a rifle and a hunting-knife, and was at
liberty to use, in case of need, the horse of his em-
ployer, or of some neighboring farmer. They acted
strictly on the defensive ; but, within a fortnight of
our fugitives coming into the district, had rescued
a colored woman from the clutches of the men-steal-
ers, and, during the previous five years, had done

144 Patriot Boys.

similar service to many a hunted runaway. With
their first earnings, Robert and Joseph procured the
necessary weapons, and then joined this organiza-
tion.

Everything went on quietly for a year, and the
new garments of freedom were beginning to sit easily
on the growing limbs of the two boys, when, late
one night, Joseph was roused from sleep by a heavy
pounding on his master's window. Thrusting his
head out, he saw a woman, — the wife of the farmer
with whom Robert was working. Listening, he heard
her say, "I stole away before they got into his
room ; but there are three of them, and they have
him half-way to the Haven by this time."

He waited for no more ; but, throwing on his coat
and trousers, seized his rifle, and rushed to the barn
for one of his master's horses. Taking the fleetest
animal in the stable, he galloped down the road the
kidnappers were supposed to have taken, stopping
only to rouse such of his confederates as lived on
the route. In half an hour four had joined him,
and with them he rode rapidly on to the village of
Lock Haven.

The party had ridden two hours, seeing no one,
and getting no trace of the kidnappers, when they
entered the village, and halted at its only tavern

The Virginia Boy. 145

The door was ajar, and a dim light was burning in
the bar-room. Springing from his horse, Joseph
questioned the sleepy hostler. " Yes, I Ve seed
'em," said the man. " They stopped here for drinks,
— two on horses, and one with the darky, tied in
a wagon. They 've tuck the stret road ; but yer
three miles ahind of them."

"Three miles am nuffin," shouted Joseph, bounding
into his saddle. "De drinks hab saved Robert."

In an hour they caught up with the kidnappers.
The wagon drove rapidly on, while the horsemen
made a stand in the road ; but eluding them, Joseph
dashed after the fleeing vehicle. In twenty minutes
he caught up with it, and, dealing the driver a blow
which stretched him senseless on the ground, he
undid Robert's bonds, and, mounting him on the back
of his horse, rode off, by a circuitous route, home-
wards. Meanwhile the other kidnappers had made
a brave defence, and were not overpowered until one
of them was mortally wounded. He was taken to the
nearest house, and there died at noon of the follow-
ing day. This unfortunate occurrence caused a great
hue-and-cry, and led to the arrest of many of the
black men in the neighborhood. Suspicion natu-
rally pointed to Joseph, and he escaped the officers
only by the help of friends and the greatest vigi;
7 . J

146 Patriot Boys.

lance. So it was that, with Robert and Dinah, —
Robert's mother, — he again became a fugitive.

Where should they go ? Canada was too cold j
and the men-stealers, they were told, patrolled every
rural district of New York and Pennsylvania. They
would seek a great city, and among a multitude of
strangers hope to find safety. Taking a letter to a
worthy Quaker, they set out one night for Phila-
delphia.

The Quaker received them cordially, procured
them quiet lodgings, gave Joseph work in his own
store, and secured Robert employment with a neigh-
bor. Dinah took in washing, besides keeping house
for the boys ; and it was not long, with their united
economy and industry, before they had a snug little
sum on deposit in a savings-bank.

But Joseph was not happy. He looked back with
regret to the smaller wages and harder work of the
little farm in CHnton County. "Why is this?" he
asked himself; as he set about a quiet inspection
of his internal mechanism.

All at once it flashed upon him that Deborah was
not with him ! She it was who had made the farm-
work light, and the farmer's silver dollars outweigh
the Quaker's golden eagles ! That night he went
to the worthy Quaker, and the result of an hour's

The Virginia Boy. 1 47

conversation was the following letter, written by the
latter, to Deborah.

" Dear Deborah : —

" Thee is young, — so am I. Thee is poor, — so
am I. Thee is all alone in the world, — so am I.
But thee won't be poor, nor all alone, nor always
young, — for we '11 grow old together, — if thee will
become my wdfe. The old Quaker that I work for,
and who pays me thirty dollars a month, has put ten
dollars into this letter to buy thee a wedding-gown,
and to pay thy passage to thy affectionate

"Joseph.

"P. S. — Come at once. Don't thee* wait for the
gown. Calico is cheap in Philadelphia."

She came at once, and had the wedding-gown, all
of silk, on the wedding-day.

Then a year went away, the happiest year that
Joseph and Deborah had ever known. In their
snug little room up four pair of stairs they looked
down with a feeling akin to pity on the gaudily-
dressed ladies and gentlemen who rolled along in
gilded carriages below them. And well they might;
for were they not exactly four stories nearer heaven
than those white people?

148 Patriot Boys.

But the war broke out. Fort Sumter fell; and a
great storm arose in the North, stirring even the
quiet atmosphere of that httle room in the fourth
story. Joseph grew silent and abstracted; some
earnest thought was working within him, driving
smiles from his face and slumber from his eyelids.
One night, when Dinah and Deborah were clearing
away the tea-things, he turned abruptly to Robert,
who had seated himself to his evening lesson in
the spelling-book, and said : " Rob, ef I goes ter de
war, and gits killed, will you marry Deborah ? "

"Marry Deborah!" exclaimed Robert; and "Mar-
ry me ! " echoed Deborah. " I reckon it '11 tuck
two ter mak^ dat bargain."

" Yes," answered Joseph, " it '11 tuck three^ — Rob,
and you and me! What does ye say, Rob? Is ye
willin'?"

" Ob course I is," laughed Robert. " But what do
de gal say ter dat ? "

" She haint a willin', and you sha' n't go," said
Deborah, throwing her arms about the neck of Jo-
seph.

" You need n't fear 'bout dat," said Robert ; " he
carn't go. I knows, 'case I 'se axed de sodger round
de corner. He say dey won't tuck no folks dat am
brack in de face."

The Virginia Boy. 149

" Not fur sodgers," answered Joseph ; " but I 'se
seed a Cap'n ob de Ninf h New York, dat say he '11
tuck me along as his servant, and guv me a chance
ter handle a musket when dey comes on ter de Se-
cesh."

This put a more serious aspect upon the matter ;
and while Deborah hung more closely about Joseph's
neck, old Dinah said : " But ye carn't mean ter go,
— ter leab firty dollar a month, and a kind master,
ter wuck fur only firteen, and a gubment as doan't
keer de price ob a sorry nigger fur all de brack folks
in de worle ! "

" Well, massa say I orter. He say he 'd go ef
he was only ob my color," replied Joseph.

" Den he 'm a ole h}^percrit," said Deborah,
"'case all dem Quaker folks preach up non-resist-
unce."

" Dat 's w^hat massa say," answered Joseph ; " but
he say dat ar doctrine warn't meant fur dese times.
In dese times, he say, ebery man ob my color orter
shoulder a musket."

And so, Joseph went to the war, and was one of
those t^venty thousand men, who, with the doughty
Patterson, "marched up a hill, and then — marched
down again."

The army had been marching and countermarch-

150 Patriot Boys.

ing through the mud and dust of Virginia for many
weeks, when, at the close of a hot day in July, 1861,
it came in sight of the steeples of Charlestown.
This was Joseph's early home, and the spot where
was builded a gallows for that brave old man whose
soul, these four years, has "been marching on," car-
rying terror to every slaveholder from the Potomac
to the Rio Grande. The town was the very hot-bed
of Secession, and, when our army entered it, sing-
ing,

"John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave,
But his soul is a-marching on,"

every door was closed, every window curtained, and
every street as deserted and silent as a graveyard.

But with the morning a change came over the
spirit of its dream. The blacks, who had somehow
discovered they were not to be sold to Cuba, or
burned as back-logs by the Northern men, came
timidly from their hiding-places, and gazed idly on
the strange spectacle ; and the whites unbarred their
doors, and, with a leg of greasy bacon under one
arm, and a pot of milddy coffee, or a loaf of soggy
corn-bread under the other, sallied forth, and charged
boldly on the Yankee soldiers, intent on capturing
their Yankee gold.

The soldiers bought freely; and, far and near, the

The Virginia Boy. 151

news travelled, until, at last, it reached the ear of
Joseph's former master; and then followed such a
baking of pies and brewing of beer as was never
known on the old plantation. The master was too
old, or too cowardly, to meet the Yankees in the
open field, with an honest rifle ; but he determined
to waylay them in the crowded street, and with lead-
en pastr}^ strike them such heavy blows — in the
stomach — as would prove more fatal than a braver
man's leaden bullets. He was one of the ChivaW ;
and so you may think that he would not so far forget
his own dignity, and the pride of his class, as to in-
dulge in the peddling propensities of the Yankees ;
but if you think this, you do not know the Chivalr}-.
I know them, and I never knew one of them who,
in this kind of warfare, was not the equal of any
five Yankees in the w^orld.

Well, the planter determined to scatter death
among the invaders ; so he got out the old market-
wagon, filled it with stale hams, unripe fruit, and
pastry hea\7 enough to sit hard on even his con-
science ; and then, ^ith old David as driver, set
out for Charlestown. Entering the village not far
from sunset, he directed his steps at once to the
spot where the largest number of people were gath-
ered. This happened to be a street-corner, where a

152 Patriot Boys.

Union soldier, mounted on a barrel, was holding
forth to a motley collection of whites and negroes
on the inestimable blessings of freedom, — how it was
a good thing for the white man, and would not do
any sort of harm to the black one. At the close of
one of his finest periods, the wagon came to a halt,
and old David sung out : " Dat am all so, gemman
and ladies j but yere am yer fine fresh pie, yer nice,
juicy ham, and yer boilin' hot coffee. So walk up,
walk up, gemman and 1-a-d-i-e-s. Only s-e-v-e-n-t-y-
f-i-v-e cents for a slice ob ham, a cup ob coffee, and
a piece ob pie what wa'n't made o' shoe-leather."

The orator was at the beginning of another glow-
ing sentence; but he turned abruptly on the old
negro, and called out, " Shut up, you old fool ; take
your apple-cart somewhere else."

" And dat 'm de sort ob freedom you 'se come
down yere ter talk 'bout ! " responded old David,
grinning very widely. " I reckons I haint lib'd yere
fur sebenty year, widout findin' out dat dat haint no
freedom ter preach in dese diggin's."
• "Go it, old man!" "Give it to him, Yankee!"
" Hustle him out ! " and a score of similar exclama-
tions arose from the crowd, which now swarmed
round the wagon, like an army of flies round a mo-
lasses hogshead, threatening to devour its sweets

The Virginia Boy. 153

without paying the revenue officer. The keen eye
of the old darky saw the danger; and, mounting
upon the top of the pile, he laid about with his whip
in a way that kept both friends and enemies at a
distance. At last his lash, unluckily, came in con-
tact \\dth a soldier's profile. This was more than the
freeman could bear, and, with a blow on the old
man's breast, he sent him sprawling into the middle
of the street.

The planter, meanwhile, had slunk away into the
crowd, leaving his load of eatables and his faithful
old servant to their fate ; and there is no telling
what that fate might have been, had not a new actor
appeared on the scene. It was Joseph. Seizing the
soldier by the collar, and tossing him over the wheels
of the wagon as if he had been a bag of feathers, he
planted himself above the prostrate old man, and cried
out to the now half-riotous crowd, " Come on ! you cow-
ards, dat tackle a ole man loike dis. Come on! and
I '11 guv you a lesson in freedom dat 's wuth larnin'."

No one seeming disposed to come on, the old
darky, rising to his feet, added his invitation. " Yas,
come on ! " he cried. " One Suddem man kin whip
five Yankees, and two kin whip twenty. We am
Suddern men, so you come on ! "

This ridiculous challenge restored the good-nature
7*

154 Patriot Boys.

of the assemblage ; and, after old David had suf-
ficiently hugged his unexpected deliverer, they " come
on," and emptied the planter's wagon, leaving in the
hands of Joseph, who acted as "sub-treasurer" and
"money-changer," a larger quantity of "current coin"
than could then be found in the vault of any bank
in the " Old Dominion."

In this altered condition of affairs, the planter
emerged from the mass of people, and came toward
Joseph, with a face as smiling as an April day after
a shower. " Ah, Joseph ! " he said, "I am glad to
see you back, — glad to see you again serving your
old master ! "

Joseph* drew himself up with all the dignity of
an exalted functionaiy receiving some cringing sup-
plicant for office, and answered : " And who am
you, sah ? "

" Why, I 'm your old master ! " replied the planter,
with a look of blank amazement.

" My massa, sah ! " exclaimed " the property," " I
haint no massa 'cept Uncle Sam, as you kin see by
my clo'es, — and you ! Now I 'member you, —
you 'se one o' dem ole Secesh what hung John Brown,
and we 'se come out yere ter hang you^ — 'spressly
ter do dat, sah I "

The planter was now half petrified with astonish-

TJie Virgmia Boy. 155

ment ; but he faltered out in a conciliatory tone :
" Old friends should n't quarrel, Joseph. I make no
claim to you. You have earned your freedom."

At this the dignit}^ of the " chattel " suddenly for-
sook him, and bending forward he whispered in the
ear of his master : " Make out de free papers den, —
make 'm out ter night; and den you '11 sabe you'
neck, and git you' money " ; and he coolly placed
the bag of specie in the breast of his coat.

The planter watched the vanishing bag as the
British bondholders may be supposed to have watched
the falling Confederate loan, — going down inch by
inch, till it sunk at last with a sudden plunge, fully
out of sight ; but he coolly said, " Well, f will.
Come to the plantation to-night, at nine o'clock, and
the papers shall be ready."

" No, sah ! " said Joseph, " you don't cotch ole
birds wid salt ! You come ter me^ — ter de camp ob
de Ninf h New York, — dat 's de rigimen' I b'longs
ter ! "

" Well, I will," answered his master. " At nine
o'clock, — you '11 be there ? "

" I '11 be dar ! " answered the colored gentleman*
walking away with the dignified strut of a New York
alderman, who has just thrust his hand into the
" public crib," and — is proud of the achievement.

156 Patriot Boys.

In much the same mood, he was, about nine o'clock
that night, pacing the grass in front of his Captain's
tent, when his master and another gentleman ap-
proached him. The latter wore a blue uniform, and
Joseph saw, at a glance, wa's the Provost- Marshal of
the army. What could the officer be doing with his
master? But Joseph was not long in doubt about
his errand.

" That is the boy ! " said the planter, pointing to
his property, without giving it even a look of recog-
nition.

"Come with me, boy," said the Marshal, laying
his hand on Joseph's shoulder.

" 'Scuse me, sah," answered Joseph with consider-
able of his recent dignity, — for so much could not
be expected to evaporate in a moment. "I 'se en-
gaged wid de Cap'n."

" Never mind the Captain j come with me," said
the officer.

" I t'anks you, sah ! I 'd rudder nut," answered
Joseph, stepping back towards the door of the tent.

The Captain, who had listened to this conversa-
tion from the inside of the tent, now came out, and
said to the Marshal, " Major, what does this mean ?
What do you want with Joseph ? "

"He is claimed by this gentleman as his slave,"

The Virginia Boy. 157

said the officer j " and the General's orders are to
harbor no runaways."

" But Joseph is not a runaway. I got him in Phila-
delphia. What evidence have you that he ever be-
longed to this man ? "

" Heaps of evidence." cried the planter, in an
excited tone. " My word, sir ! I tell you he is my
property, and has stolen a bag of my money. He
has it now about him."

"You He, you ole debble," shouted Joseph, dra\&-
ing out the bag, and launching it at the head of
the planter. " I haint got you' money ! "

According to rule, Joseph " aimed low," and miss-
ing his face, the bag struck the master in the region
of his pocket. The blow brought him down, and
at the same time loosened the fastening of the bag,
and scattered the coin, in a silver shower, all over
the ground. Rising soon to his knees, the planter
groped about for his runaway dollars, apparently for-
getful of his other runaway property, which, even
then, was not of much value for " general circula-
tion " in Virginia.

While the planter was searching for his stray gold,
the Captain and the Provost-Marshal continued the
conversation. The former declined to give up the
fugitive without express orders from the General;

158 Patriot Boys.

but, it being too late to obtain access to that officer
that evening, he at last consented to Joseph's being
lodged over night in jail, to await his decision in
the morning. So, in half an hour, the slave lad
found himself a tenant of the little cell from which
John Brown went forth to die on the scaffold.

His reflections, when the great key turned in the
lock, and he was left alone in the gloomy room, were,
as you may imagine, not of a very cheerful character.
He thought of Deborah, of Robert, and of Robert's
mother, from all whom he soon would be separated
forever \ he thought of the far South, of its hot sugar-
fields, and deadly rice-swamps, to which he would
be sold as soon as the army went away ; and he
thought of the faithless government, for which he had
offered his life, and which was now plunging him
again into the abyss of slavery. He thought of all
this, for already he knew his fate. The Captain had
whispered, as he bade him " Good night " at the
door : " Get away, Joe, if you can, — it is your only
chance. Old Patterson is a pro-slavery man, if not
a traitor. I shall do all I can ; but I have no hope.
He will give you up."

" Get away ? A camel may go through the eye
of a needle ; a rich man may go to heaven j but
no human creature ever went through these prison-

TJie Virginia Boy. 159

walls." So thought Joseph, as he looked round his
gloomy cell, and laid down to rest on a bundle of
straw in the corner.

In the morning a soldier came in with his break-
fast. The man had a kindly face, and Joseph, drawing
him into conversation, soon learned that he was from
Massachusetts. " You did n't cum out yere ter stand
guard ober runaway darkys, — shore ! " said Joseph.

"Well, I did n't," answered the man. "I enlisted
for another sort of work, — for freeing 'em. I 'd help
you if I could ; but I must obey orders. What do
you mean to do ? "

" Die, sooner dan go back ter slavery ! "

" That 's the talk," responded the soldier, " and
here 's a knife to help you. But, whatever happens,
don't hurt yourself. Kill the men-stealers, — never
kill yourself"

" Dar 's a gal up Norf would keep me frum doin'
dat, anyhow," said Joseph, putting the weapon —
which was half dirk, half butcher-knife — into the Hn-
ing of his jacket. "Wid dis I'll git my freedom!"

The soldier left him, and the hours wore slowly
away until he came again with his dinner. The
man's face wore a look of more than usual anima-
tion, and, closing the door carefully, he said : "Your
Captain has just been here. He did all he could,

i6o Patriot Boys.

but old Patterson has decided against you. The
Captain says your master will no doubt come here
within an hour; and he wants you to go with him
peaceably ; for to-night, with half a dozen men, he '11
kidnap you, and have you twenty miles away by
morning. He '11 do it, if it costs him his commis-
sion."

Tears were in the slave boy's eyes as he sat down
and ate his dinner in silence. He was not utterly
forsaken ; white men were not utterly false ; some
of them had yet hearts somewhere about their bodies.
This feeling was uppermost in him, when, an hour
or two later, he was summoned to meet his master.

The old man had come alone, with an open wagon.
With the lieutenant of the guard, and half a dozen
other soldiers, he was standing at the doorway of the
jail as Joseph came out with the attendant. A
look of grim satisfaction was on his face when he
caught sight of he chattel ; but it changed to an ex-
pression of serious concern as he noticed that neither
his hands nor his feet were manacled. Turning to
the soldiers, he said : " Here, give me a piece of
rope. I ^m sure the General don't know you have n't
tied the boy."

The General was high in favor with the slave-
owner ; and deservedly so. He had not only poured

The Virginia Boy. i6i

out loyal gold by the bushel in payment for Rebel
crops, — which gold was at once converted into the
sinews of Rebel war, — but had also allowed every
kidnapper in Virginia free access to his camp in pur-
suit of runaways ; and thus afforded Johnson full in-
formation of the strength and probable movements
of his army. History will be at no loss for the reason
why Patterson, with "twenty thousand men, marched
up a hill, and then marched down again."

The Lieutenant, gave no heed to the planter's re-
quest ; but one of the men threw him a piece of tent-
rope, with which he attempted to tie Joseph's ankles
together. But, strange as it may seem, the ankles
objected to being tied ! Only one of them could
possibly be made to submit to the operation ; and,
after tugging away at the other until he was out of
breath and red in the face, the planter turned to the
officer, and said, — a sickly smile placing round the
corners of his sunken mouth, — " I say, Leftenant,
just let one of your men lend me a hand to tie the
boy's legs. He 's durned lightfooted."

The officer was a Boston boy, and this was work
he was not accustomed to. With great effort he had
smothered his wrath until then ; but then it burst
forth like a clap of thunder. " Begone, you infernal
ruffian ! " he cried. " Take your property, and be-

1 62 Patriot Boys.

gone ! If one of my men touches your rope, I '11
give him what will make him hate rope as long as
he lives. Begone, I say ! Take your propert}', and
begone ! "

The planter had heard thunder before j but never
any thunder that foretold such a storm as then was
brewing. Hastily turning to Joseph, he said, in a
whining, pleading tone : " Joseph — won't you —
won't you — get into the wagon?"

Joseph could gain nothing by a refusal. He could
not possibly escape in the midst of the camp, sur-
rounded as he was by thousands bound to obey the
orders of their General j so, releasing his ankle from
the rope, he stepped nimbly into the wagon, and
bade "Good by" to the soldiers. His master took
a seat beside him, and applying the whip to the
horse, drove rapidly away.

He drove down the broad street which runs
through the centre of the town ; but what was Jo-
seph's consternation when, reaching the outskirts, he
turned into a road leading directly away from the
plantation ! By a flash of thought, the slave lad
took in " the situation." He was not going " home."
He could not be liberated by the Captain ! His
master had already sold him, and was driving him
away for "delivery." These thoughts flashed upon

The Virginia Boy. 163

him, and his plan was formed in an instant. It in-
volved an old man's life ; but he would be free, if
the lives of forty old men had to be sacrificed.

" Massa," he said coolly, " you 'se tuck de wTong
road." -

" I know which road I 've taken, boy," said the
master j " we 've not far to go." And he put whip
to his horse, and urged him on even more rapidly.

An ordinary meal-bag lay in the bottom of the
wagon. What was in it Joseph did not know ; but
it evidently contained something which his master
would not care to leave behind. When the planter's
face was turned a trifle, Joseph touched the bag with
his foot, and tossed it into the road, exclaiming,
"Golly, massa, who'd a tort sich a lettle kick as dat
would a sent de bag ober. But you need n't neber
mind ; I '11 jess git out and hab it in a jifiin."

The master looked at him for a moment, then
said : " No, I reckon not. I reckon, if you get out,
you '11 take to your legs. I '11 get the bag myself."

Joseph's heart beat faster ; a cold shudder passed
over him ; for by this ruse he had hoped to save his
master's life, and now he saiv him rushing blindly on
his fate ! The planter got out of the wagon, and with
the reins backed the horse to w^here the bag lay in
the highway. Then he threw it into the wagon, and

164 Patriot Boys.

was preparing to get in himselfj when a happy
thought struck Joseph, — a thought which no doubt
saved the planter's Hfe, The reins were in the
planter's hand, and his hand was on the side of the
wagon, when, quickly drawing his knife, Joseph sev-
ered them at a blow, and, springing up, applied
the whip to the horse's back. The frightened ani-
mal bounded away, leaving the astonished planter
standing in the middle of the road. His shouts and
curses came down the wind, but they only struck
fire from the horse's heels, and widened the distance
between him and his propert}^ On they went, over
the stones, through the mud and the mire, till the poor
animal could go no farther. Then Joseph halted,
tied him to a tree by the roadside, and opened the
meal-bag. In it were a revolver, a pair of handcuffs,
and a flask of whiskey.

" Dese yere is contraband ob war," said Joseph
to himself; "but I '11 jess be fa'r, and di\-ide wid
massa. I '11 leab him de bag, and de han cuffs ;
and tuck de 'volver and de wiskey. If I doant,
what wid his wrof, and de wiskey, he '11 kill hisseff
wid de Volver, jess ter releab his feelin's."

But he must have uttered this solHoquy as he
walked forward ; for he lost no time in plunging into
the woods, and making his way into Pennsylvania.

The Virginia Boy. 165

It was tAvo days before he reached a place of safety ;
and, meanwhile, he lived upon the whiskey.

For nearly three years after these events he re-
mained at home, working for the good Quaker, and
happy with Deborah in the little room in the fourth
story. Then he went to the war again.

The government had at last learned that the black
man is a man, and had called upon him to assist
in putting down the Rebellion. Joseph was among
the first to respond to the call; and, leaving his
bounty with Deborah, and exacting again from Rob-
ert the promise that he would marry her, in the
event of his falling in battle, he enlisted as a private
in the Thirt}^-first Regiment of United States Col-
ored Infantry.

He was on his way to the front w^hen I met him ;
and this is the story he told me while we sat, till
the early hours of the morning, in the state-room of
a little government steamer, going down the Poto-
mac. I have not seen him since ; and heard noth-
ing about him till many months afterwards. Then,
one day, I happened to be in Philadelphia, and,
thinking of Joseph, I sought out the old Quaker.

He is known far and wide, and is a man with a
heart as broad as the brim of his hat, and "a hand
as open as day for melting charity." He told me that

1 66 Patriot Boys.

Joseph was still living, and still in the army. In the
attack on Petersburg, which occurred about a month
after I met him, Joseph's regiment was engaged, and
he was wounded. He was laid up for three months
with his wound, but then rejoined his regiment, and
was with it in all the great battles which followed.
He was again wounded in one of the fights before
Richmond, but remained with his command, and
stood bravely by till the last blow was struck and
the great Rebellion went down forever. For his
good conduct and bravery he had been promoted
to the rank of Sergeant.

Robert was working for the old Quaker, in the place
of Joseph; and he and Dinah and. Deborah were
still living together ; but no longer in a fourth story.
They had come down at least twenty feet nearer
the earth ; and there, after dinner, the old Quaker
and I called upon them. I found them living in
great comfort ; and Deborah showed me a little book
which told that they had eleven hundred dollars on
deposit in a savings-bank.

And here ends my story ; and I hope it has shown
you that black people are men and women, and
entitled, as such, to all the blessings and privileges
of freedom.

PRISON PICTURES

JEFF DAVIS AS A PRISONER.

I WAS coming from the South, one day during
the war, when I met an acquaintance on the
railway, who said to me : " What a grand thing it
would have been if you had captured Jeff Davis in
Richmond, and brought him along in an iron cage,
as Ney would have done with Napoleon ! You might
have made a fortune in the show business, and have
crushed the Rebellion at a single blow, into the bar-
gain."

" Do you think so ? " I replied, with the air of a
man who is conscious of having done something won-
derful, and — is aching to tell about it. "Do you
think Jeff Davis would draw good houses ? "

" Good houses ! " he exclaimed with enthusiasm.
" He would pack Cooper Institute a hundred nights
running, at a dollar a head."

" Then," I remarked, " I am tempted to go into the
show business ; for, to tell you the truth, I am out
of pocket on him a considerable sum, and would
like to be reimbursed."

I/O Prison Pictures.

" What do you mean ? " asked my friend, his eyes
dilating to an uncommon size. "What do you
mean?"

" Simply what I say," I replied, in a tone which
showed that my fancy was already jingHng those
dollars in my pocket. " I have caged Jeff Davis ;
got him safe under lock and key in a forward car."

My acquaintance seemed, for a time, stupid with
astonishment ; then, rising, he proposed that I should
allow him a sight of my captive gratis, in advance
of the rest of the world. I felt by instinct that he
thought I was romancing ; so I readily assented,
and, staggering forward over the jolting train, soon
gave him a view of the great Rebel through the car
window.

He gazed at him long and earnestly, — as an art-
critic gazes at a beautiful statue, or a jockey at a
blooded animal, — then, turning to me, said : " He' s
a splendid fellow, — has the carriage of a king, ' an
eye to threaten and command.' Why ! he 's fit to
lead any army in Christendom ! "

The gentleman was the least bit of a Secessionist ;
so I was not surprised at this exuberance of admira-
tion, and merely remarked : " Is n't he wonderfully
like his pictures ? "

" Wonderfully ! " he replied, adding, as he slapped

Jeff Davis as a Prisojier. 171

me familiarly on the shoulder, " Ah, my dear fellow,
you have a prize ; you 're well paid for going to
Richmond."

We resumed our seats, and I pondered over the
project my friend had suggested. We were leaving
New York, and going towards Boston, and there-
fore I could not act in the matter at once, even if
I ■ did resolve to turn showman ; for no mammoth
humbug ever originated in the "city of notions," —
that is, none worth naming. New York gave birth
to Barnum and the Woolly Horse ; and on the metro-
politan stage, if anywhere, Jeff Davis should make
his first bow to " the million."

I had pretty well settled this in my mind, when
we arrived at our journey's end, and stepped out
upon the platform. I settled with the conductor
for Jeff's fare ; paying him fort}^-five dollars, all in
greenbacks, — for you must know the aristocratic
Rebel had a whole car to himself; and then set out
for my home, a few miles from the city.

Jeff no sooher put foot on the sidewalk, than he
lifted his head, and tossed his nose into the air, as
if conscious that he was near the spot where Mr.
Toombs proposed to call the roll of his colored chil-
dren, and scorned the very ground he trod on. But,
notwithstanding his high looks, he was, as my friend

k

1/2 Pi'ison Pictures.

had observed, a " splendid, fellow," — with clean,
well-formed limbs, lithe, closely-knit frame, noble,
regular features, and an eye in whose dark depths
slumbered a thunderbolt.

He wore a snugly-fitting suit of black, — hand-
somer than any ever made by -a Yankee tailor, —
and made, altogether, an appearance not to be
ashamed of; but I carefully avoided introducing him
to my city friends, lest the receipts of the talked-of
exhibition should be lessened. I did, however, pre-
sent him to the editor of a Secession newspaper,
who, a short while before, had assured me he was
well acquainted with Jeff Davis, and knew him to
be a perfect gentleman, — "Yes, sir, a perfect gen-
tleman."

I naturally concluded that Jeff w^ould be particu-
larly glad to meet his Secession friend ; but, strange
as it may appear, he did not seem to recognize him.
In fact he turned up his nose at him, refusing to
answer even a word, though the gentleman greeted
him very cordially, and was profuse in his atten-
tions. This satisfied me that great Rebels thoroughly
despise small ones; and that Northern men, who
do dirty work for the South, are liable to be paid
with more kicks than coppers.

Then we started homewards. On the route Jeff

A

yeff Davis as a Prisoner. 173

tried to get. away, and acted very much as if he would
like to tread me underfoot; but I clung to him as
death is supposed to cling to a dead herring, and
finally got him safely to the door-way of the old
house by the cemetery.

The children knew we were coming; and all of
them came out to greet us. Jeff stood somewhat
upon his dignit)^, but behaved very well for one
of the chivalr}'. Not so some of our young folks.
" Billy Boy " whispered in the hearing of the cap-
tive, "Is dat de ole Reb, Deff Davis, dat you reads
about in de newspapers ? " and his older brother an-
swered : " Of course it is. Father 's captured him,
down South. He says he 's uglier 'n Cain, and you
mus' n't go within a mile of him."

Having got the prisoner home, the next thing was
to lodge him where he could not get away, and
would be accessible at a moment's notice for the
possible exhibition. It would not do to take him
into the house with the family, for not a member of
it would sleep under the same roof with a Rebel.
But on " our farm of three acres " is an out-building
not large enough for a bam, and not small enough
for a stable, and with too little architectural ginger-
bread about it to pass for a pigeon-house. In that we
determined to confine his Southern Majesty. With

174 Prison Pictures.

great care we fitted up for him a parlor and bedroom,
and then ushered him into his domicile with great
ceremony.

The accommodations were really very fine, and
Jeff appeared perfectly satisfied with them j but I
had no sooner turned my back upon him than, with-
out any provocation, he came at me "tooth and
nail," putting his huge "grinders" through my coat-
sleeve and into my arm, as if he were a cannibal,
and wanted me for an evening meal. Luckily, I
know something of "the manly art of self-defence,"
so I let my fists fly into his face until it was black
as a hat, and he relinquished his hold, thoroughly
beaten. This was a most ungentlemanly proceeding
on his part, and not a very dignified one on mine ;
but it was the best I could do in the circumstances.

Then he grew so furious that I scarcely dared to
go near him ; and the man I had hired as his spe-
cial attendant utterly refused to set foot on the prem-
ises. I was deliberating what to do in this emer-
gency, when " Billy Boy's " older brother — a little
fellow of twelve — said to me : " Pshaw, father, there
is n't any danger. / 'm not afraid of him, if he is a
big Rebel. I '11 give him his meals myself."

I was not anxious the boy should be eaten ; so I
watched his first entrance into his Majesty's domain

Jejf Davis as a Prisoner. 175

with a good deal of solicitude, — standing by ready-
to rescue him in case of necessity. But my fears
were groundless. Jeff shook hands with the boy,
and treated him throughout the interview with the
utmost politeness and affability. After that they
grew very friendly together; nevxr meeting without
shaking hands, and caressing each other as if they
were twin brothers. But the big Rebel showed the
same surly disposition to me ; and I paid him off
with rations which none ■ of you would eat, — whole-
some, but coarser and harder to digest than the
wretched stuff dealt out to our poor boys at Salis-
bur}^ and Andersonville.

About this time I came across the " Life of P. T.
Barnum, written by Himself," and read it through
from end to end. It contains, as you know, the in-
structive histories of Joice Heath, the Woolly Horse,
and the Mermaid ; and, if you ever read them, you
will be at no loss for my reason for deciding not
to play second fiddle to a showman, and not to
adventure with my prize in the show business. So my
great exhibition turned out a glass palace after all.

But what to do with Jeff Davis, was now the ques-
tion. Notwithstanding his ugliness, it was cruel to
keep him so closely confined, when his captivity
seemed to have no effect whatever on the Rebellion.

1/6 Priso?i Pictures.

This was in November, just prior to the Presiden-
tial election ; and, while I was revolving the sub-
ject in my mind, several gentlemen rode up to the
house, and invited me to make a political speech
that evening at the Unitarian Church, where was to
be a grand " powwow," — the brass band, Hail Co-
lumbia, Yankee Doodle, Star-Spangled Banner, Old
John Brown, and the Big Fiddle. The gentleman
who had agreed to address the meeting had been
"Two Years before the Mast," and all round the
world, without accident, but that day had been ship-
wrecked on a railway; and if I did not consent
to make "a few remarks," "nothing would be said
by nobody," — except the brass band and the Big
Fiddle.

I had never made a political speech j never thought
of such a thing ; and had but four hours to put my
ideas together; so, naturally, I hesitated about ac-
cepting the invitation. But, of a sudden, an inspira-
tion came to me. I would make the speech, take
Jeff Davis along to hear it, and so — convert him
from the error of his ways, and make him a good
citizen. Then, perhaps, he would vote the Repub-
lican ticket, and our good President would pardon
him, and thus relieve me from longer acting as his
keeper.

Jeff Davis as a Prisoner. 177

The hour for the meeting came, and Jeff went
along wilUngly ; but when he reached the doorway,
firmly refused to go further than the hitching-post !
Whether he knew he would have to listen to loyal
sentiments, or objected to entering a building con-
secrated to the Unitarian faith, I could not conjec-
ture ; but there he stood, stubborn as a mule, and
frowning as a reef of rocks at midnight.

I had heard that one Southerner could whip five
Yankees, but that one Yankee could outgeneral a
nation of Southerners ; and I had some faith in the
adage ; but, could / outgeneral Jeff Davis ? Admis-
sion was free ; so the house was packed from base-
ment to dome, with small boys perched in the win-
dows; — and, as I went in, I said to the master of
ceremonies : " Be good enough to keep the door
open, or we shall suffocate."

I fired away right and left for an hour, and no
doubt hit somebody ; for the people, every now and
then, went into tremendous spasms of hooting and
shouting. But I cared little for them, — I kept my
eye on the open door, and there Jeff stood listening,
— quiet as a church mouse, and sober as a deacon !
So, after all, I did outgeneral him.

On the way home the great Rebel was surly and
silent as usual ; but the next day seemed more

1/8 ' Prison Pictures.

subdued and thoughtful ; and, within a week, actu-
ally extended his hand cordially to me, when one
morning I went into his apartments. I had made
an impression ! The hardened sinner was being
hopefully converted ! True, he said nothing of vot-
ing the Republican ticket; but what of that? Mr.
Lincoln was altogether too magnanimous to make
that a condition of pardon; and yet — he might re-
quire some assurance of such amendment in Jeff's
life and conversation as would make him a peaceful
citizen.

To be able to give that, I thereafter bestowed upon
him somewhat more of my personal attention ; and —
so the winter wore away, and the spring came, and
the grass grew green in' the meadows.

Jeff's moral progress during this time, owing to
a nature singularly perverse and self-willed, was not
rapid; but day by day we witnessed some improve-
ment. He became less abrupt and surly in his gen-
eral demeanor, and less violent in the company of
strangers ; but he never, after the date of my speech,
alluded to political subjects, and therefore could not
be counted among my proselytes ; but I had the
vanity to think that his moral regeneration began
with my evening harangue. My twelve-year-old boy,
however, ridiculed this notion ; and with a modesty

yeff Davis as a Prisoner. 179

which, perhaps, he has inherited, insisted that Jeff's
progress was due altogether to his own constant
attention and kindness ; adding, in that connection,
with a grand flourish not altogether original, " Kind-
ness, Dad ! why, it 's the mightiest power in the uni-
verse ! It will do for men, and is good for horses !
It will melt steel, dissolve granite ; and, in the lan-
guage of the poet, ' Soothe a savage, rend a rock,
and split a cabbage ! ' "

" Our farm of three acres " is almost entirely grass
and apple-trees ; and under these apple-trees, in pleas-
ant weather, I am accustomed to lie and read, and
muse, and \mte little stories for young people. Mr.
Lincoln was then dead, so there was no hope of
Jeff's pardon ; but, 13'ing there one afternoon in June,
I said to his affectionate friend, — my little boy, —
"Would not Jeff enjoy this delicious shade, this pure
air, this fragrant grass, and this pleasant prospect of
the graveyard ? "

" O yes, father ! " he shouted, springing to his feet
and clapping his hands together. " Let him out ! "

There is only a sunken wall about our premises,
and the gates are slimsy affairs ; but Jeff we thought
too much of a gentleman to attempt breaking from
the enclosure. He is one of the Chivalr}", — has a
pedigree longer than my arm, — and, out of regard

i8o Prison Pictures.

for his own reputation, and the fair fame of his fa-
mous ancestors, he would scorn to abuse my con-
fidence by running away. This I thought j and, with
a sweeping gesture, I said, " Let him out ! "

Out he came, greeted with the shouts of all the
children ; for, though not yet converted to the Re-
publican faith, he was already a favorite with the
whole family. First, he shook hands with all round,
and then, taking " Billy Boy " on his back, raced
about the "farm," trampling on the flower-beds, but-
ting against the clothes-lmes, overturning the rabbit-
pens, and raising high havoc generally. He was
taking a small " greenback " out of my treasury ; but
I gazed complacently on the demolition of my prop-
erty ; for were not the children enjoying themselves ?

In the midst of this carnival, " Grandma " came
racing from the house, — both pairs of spectacles
on her nose, — and, going straight up to Jeff, said,
in a tone in which anger and grief struggled for as-
cendency, " Ar' n't you ashamed of yourself.'' You
are behaving like a young colt ! If you go on at
this rate, you '11 leave nothing standing on the prem-
ises." Jeff eyed her sorrowfully for a moment, then
bowed his head, held out his hand, and, without a
word, turned away, and all the rest of the day be-
haved like a gentleman.

yeff Davis as a Prisoner. i8l

After that we let him out whenever the weather
was pleasant, and, for an individual of his peculiar
disposition and habits, Jeff became wonderfully social
and familiar. He would lie for hours under the
apple-trees, poring over my books, while I sat be-
side him, reading or writing ; or he would frolic with
the boys, rolling over with them on the grass, letting
them climb upon his back, hang about his neck, or
get between his legs, just as if he were only a boy
like themselves. But, strange as it may seem, his
warmest affection was reserved for our Irish cook.
That lady took complete possession of his heart, —
though his stomach may have sympathized in the
matter, for she pampered that organ outrageously.
Every day, and at all hours of the day, he came to
the kitchen window ; and while he fed her affection
with smiles and caresses, she fed his with apples,
pears, peaches, dumplings, cream-cakes, and all man-
ner of luxuries, until our provision bill grew to a size
perfectly enormous. Affection is a good thing in its
way, but this was carrjang a good thing a little too
far. It might lead to matrimony, and so deprive us
of a valuable serv^ant ; or, what was of more conse-
quence, it might swell our provision bill beyond my
power to pay, and so bankrupt that worthy man, our
grocer.. Either way, a stop must be put to the in-
timacy.

1 82 Prison Pictures.

One day we had tomato soup at dinner. When
the dish was removed from the table, some one stole
slyly into the kitchen, and gave it a strong dose of
red pepper. As we expected, directly after dinner.
Monsieur Jeff came to the window, and Madam
Cook handed him the soup tureen. He took a deep
draught of the savory fluid ; then, on a sudden,
opened his mouth, tossed his nose up in the air,
uttered some strange cries, and rolled over on the
ground in frantic agony ; but he never again paid
his addresses to the cook at the kitchen window.

With this enlargement of his liberty he developed
a most voracious appetite. One day he broke into
the garden, and consumed at one meal two hills
of corn, six heads of cabbage, and at least a peck
of tomatoes ; and I was deliberating whether con-
siderations of economy would not force me to again
reduce him to prison fare, when an event occurred
which changed the current of his life, and brought
him to an ignominious end.

As I have said, I let him out of prison, trusting
to his honor — the honor of a Southern gentleman,
with a long pedigree — that he would not attempt
to escape, but would religiously keep within " the
limits." But one day, not long ago, " Billy Boy "
came rushing into the house with the tidings that
" Deff Davis " was gone.

yeff Davis as a Prisoner. 183

True enough, he had leaped the garden fence,
and departed to parts unknown. After a long search,
I found him in a very disreputable quarter of the
town, and, with a heart heaiy with wounded affec-
tion, escorted him back to his lodgings. And then
that horse was tied to a beam in his stall, and his
neck was encircled with a halter ! He deserved his
fate on his own account ; and not only on his own
account, but on account of bearing the name of the
man who will go down as the most pernicious char-
acter in history.

CASTLE THUNDER.

I WAS in Richmond in the month of July, 1864,
and, in company with the Rebel Exchange Com-
missioner, made a visit to Castle Thunder. It is a
very famous prison ; and, as you may not have seen
it described, I have thought a short account of it
might be interesting to you.

It is on the same street with the Libby Prison, and
very near to it ; but is much smaller than that build-
ing, and was used for the confinement of Northern
civilians and Southern non-combatants, who had in-
curred the ill-will of the Rebel government. It has an
odd name, and came by it in a singular manner. Be-
fore the war, it was the private residence of a well-
to-do Irish gentleman, who had the misfortune to
have a Xanthippe for a wife. The lady frequently
performed on her husband's cranium with a broom-
stick, and this gave her the name, among the neigh-
bors, of Mistress Thunder ; and, by a natural tran-
sition, when her dwelling was transformed into a
prison, it took the title of Castle Thunder.

Castle Thunder. 185

As you may suppose, from its having once been
a dwelling, this prison was more comfortable than
the Libby, which had been used as a warehouse
for the storage of ship-chandlery and tobacco. Its
walls were plastered ; but its rooms were small, and,
when I visited them, filthy and desolate in the ex-
treme. In each one a dozen haggard, homesick men
were crowded ; and there, in a space not more than
twenty feet square, were obliged to eat, and sleep,
and dream their lives away, day after day, and month
after month, until the slow year rolled round, and
went down to the other years which had gone to
the great eternity.

I was not allowed to talk with any of the inmates,
and so learned little of their real condition ; but,
since I have come away, a friend has given me an
interesting account, written by Judge Finn, who
was imprisoned in the Castle for many months. I
will extract such portions of it as will give you an
idea of the prison, and of the wretched life led there
by the prisoners.

Mr. Finn was at one time Judge of the Superior
Court in the city of New York, but before the war
broke out removed to West Virginia, where he be-
came State's Attorney. He was a thoroughly loyal
man ; and his strenuous opposition to the Rebellion

I S6 _ Prison Pictures.

having excited the hatred of the Rebel leaders, he
was one night, early in 1864, kidnapped by a gang
of ruffians, who bound him hand and foot, and con-
veyed him a prisoner to Richmond.

On arriving at the Rebel capital he was taken
before a commissioner named Baxter, who, after ad-
ministering to him an oath to make true answers to
such questions as should be put to him, proceeded
to examine and re-examine him, with a view to con-
victing him, on his own testimony, of treason against
the Confederacy ! After this examination he was taken
to Castle Thunder, and — robbed of everything but
the clothes he had on — was thrust into a filthy room,
already occupied by half a score of half-starved men,
ragged, and broken-spirited from long confinement.

The only furniture of this apartment was a splint
broom, and a few shoddy blankets, alive with vermin.
One of these blankets was furnished to each of the
prisoners, and it was made to serve for both seat
and bed ; the prisoner, during the day, sitting on it
in the Turkish fashion, and at night wrapping it
about him, and lying down on the floor, with a bil-
let of wood for a pillow. The room was infested
with rats, bed-bugs, and " gray-backs," — creatures
which, at the South, grow to an enormous size, and
are " more terrible than an army with banners."

Castle Thunder. 187

They overran everything. An hour every morning
was spent by all of the prisoners in searching their
garments, and exterminating these detestable ver-
min j but often, when they supposed they had cast
out the last intruder, the Rebel soldiers on the floor
above would have a " hoe-down," and a copious
shower would again come upon the heads of the
hapless victims. A gray-haired man of seventy,
his sight dimmed with age, spent hours every day
in removing these creatures from his clothing ; and
a sick prisoner was almost devoured by them. He
became ver)^ weak, and was removed to the hospital,
and, on changing his clothing, a couple of negro
servants with a stout broom brushed more than a
pint of "gray-backs" from his person.

The food given the prisoners was of the poorest
and most unwholesome description. From the time
of the Judge's arrival until the latter part of May,
they received only two meals daily. At eight o'clock
in the morning a breakfast, consisting of only eight
ounces of stale corn-bread, and a cup of cold water,
was served up to them ; and at two o'clock in the
afternoon they were given for dinner another eight
ounces of corn-bread, and a pint of swill ; and this
was all they received until they were furnished with
the same kind of breakfast on the following day.

1 88 Prison Pictures.

This swill was made by putting a quart of cow-peas
(a wild pea used at the South exclusively for feed-
ing swine) into twelve quarts of water, and boiling
it for an hour. Then it was served out in a pail so
filthy as to be unfit for anything but a second-class
pig-sty.

In the latter part of May the rations, though not
increased in quantity, were somewhat improved in
quality, — the prisoners receiving four ounces of corn-
bread, one ounce of meal, and half a gill of rice
twice a day, at the same hours as before. But the
bread, a portion of the time, was made of cow-feed,
— corn and cobs ground up together, — and the meat,
too, was often spoiled. The J-udge has seen the
cooks, in preparing fifty pounds of it for boiling,
scrape off and take away eight quarts of maggots !

As 'may be readily conceived, life on such fare
was only an apprenticeship to starvation. Every rat
about the premises that could be caught was eaten.
The Judge was told of this, and at first could not
believe it ; but one evening when he had wrapped
himself in his blanket, and laid down to a troubled
sleep, a prisoner in the adjoining apartment called
to him for a little salt to season a fine rat he was
roasting. The Judge hastened to the bars with the
salt, and, sure enough, the man was cooking a large

Castle Thunder. 189

specimen over the jet of burning gas which illumined
the dark apartment. WTien cooked, he salted and
ate it, congratulating himself on being so fortunate
as to have a " meat supper " ! After that time the
Judge saw hundreds of rats eagerly devoured by the
starv'ing inmates of the prison.

On another occasion a wealthy Pennsylvania farmer,
who was captured by Stuart's raiders in the summer
of 1862, and had been confined in the prison nearly
two years, was seen to scrape the sawdust from one
of the spittoons, mix it with water, and eat it with
a spoon. When subsequently asked by his fellow-
prisoners why he had done this, he answered : " I
was so crazed with hunger that I did not know w^hat
I was doing."

The prisoners were allowed to send outside for
any food, excepting vegetables ; but the most of
them had no money to buy with, and were forced
to die slowly on the prison rations. The Judge
eked out his wretched fare with funds furnished him
by a noble-hearted Virginian, — Mr. John Marselas,
of Fauquier County. Why the prisoners w^ere re-
stricted from buying vegetables cannot be guessed,
unless it was to bring upon them the awful scourge
of scurvy, which is induced by an exclusive grain
and meat diet. One of them, fearing an attack of

190 Prison Pictures.

this disease, contrived to smuggle some potatoes into
his apartment j but the keeper found it out, and pun-
ished him by eight days' confinement underground,
in a dark and filthy cell, scarcely nine feet square,
and filled with an atmosphere so foul and oppressive
that it was next to impossible to breathe in it.

About a hundred prisoners were then confined in
the Castle ; and, however well and strong they were
when they went there, they had nearly all fallen ill,
and wasted away on the wretched fare, till they were
the merest skeletons. Among them were boys of
tender years, and old men of eighty, who, suffering
with hunger, nearly naked, and almost devoured by
vermin, languished and died there, with no friend,
no wife, no child, no mother, to smooth their dying
pillows, or give them the consolations which, in the
hour of death, so lighten the painful passage to the
final home.

One of the prisoners was a lad of only fourteen,
the son of Captain John Snyder of Pendleton County,
West Virginia. He was captured at his home by
Imboden's horse-thieves, who, having a grudge against
his father, sent him as a prisoner to Richmond.

Another was Judge John McGuire, of the Carter
County Court, Kentucky. He had been arrested and
imprisoned two years before ; but, after a month's

Castle Thunder. 191

confinement, had taken the oath of allegiance to the
Confederacy and been released. He at once ten-
dered his services to his country, and was commis-
sioned a Captain in an Ohio regiment. In the spring
of 1864 he was again captured by the Rebels, con-
veyed to Richmond, and confined in the dungeon
of Castle Thunder. It is supposed that he was
afterwards hanged.

Another was Carter Newcomb, of Albemarle
County, Virginia. He was a soldier of 1812 ; and,
being suspected of loving the old flag, was visited
by the Rebel provost-guard, who, representing them-
selves as deserters from the Confederate army, asked
him his opinion of the war. He was working in the
field \ and laying down his axe, and resting on a
fence he was building, he told them that, though he
was over threescore years and ten, he was obliged
to till his land alone, and earn a livelihood for his
family, because his sons, who had assisted him, had
all been conscripted by the Rebels, and he added :
" If the men who brought on this war had to fight
it out themselves, I would not care." For these
words he was arrested and incarcerated in Castle
Thunder !

One of the most aged and venerable of the pris-
oners was Thomas Tifi", an eminent lawyer of Jack-

192 Prison Pictures.

son, Mississippi. He owned a plantation of several
thousand acres, on which he lived with a little grand-
son of only twelve years, who was the last of all his
kindred. After his State seceded, he still expressed
himself in favor of the Union ; and, at last, a band
of Rebels came and laid waste his plantation, rob-
bing him of all he had, — thrusting their hands into
his pockets to steal his money, and even into his
mouth for the gold plate attached to the set of false
teeth he wore. Then they took him and his little
grandson to Richmond, and lodged them in Castle
Thunder. There, in the winter, Mr. Tiff became
coatless, and the Rebel officials offered him a new
garment. He examined it, and finding it was such
as was worn by the Rebel soldiers, refused to accept
it, saying he would not disgrace himself by wearing
the garb of the armed enemies of the nation. He
spent the winter with only an old blanket about his
shoulders ; and he died, — died in prison, a martyr
to freedom and his country. There are men at the
North who, even now, grumble about the war, and
groan over their taxes ; but this noble Mississippian
freely gave his all, even his life, as a sacrifice for
liberty.

There were several ladies in the prison ; and
among them Miss Mary E. Walker, Assistant Sur-

Castle Thunder. 193

geon of the Fifty-second Regiment of Ohio Infantry.
She was one day taking a morning ride in Georgia,
and, losing her way, rode into the Rebel lines and
was captured. She was afterwards exchanged, and
returned to her regiment.

The Judge passed several weary months in the
prison ; but at last was exchanged, and returned to
his home in safety. As soon as he was captured, the
Governor of West Virginia arrested several wealthy
Secessionists of the Shenandoah Valley, and held
them as hostages for his return. He also did all in
his power to effect his release ; and, early in May,
paroled one of the hostages, and sent him 'to Rich-
mond to accomplish it. The Rebel Secretary of
War made out an order for Judge Finn's liberation,
and forwarded a copy by the hostage to the Gov-
ernor of West Virginia, but he kept the Judge in
prison. The Governor, however, was not to be thus
duped by the Rebel Secretary. He refused to re-
lease the hostages until Judge Finn was safely re-
turned to his home.

On the 25 th of May, another hostage was pa-
roled and sent to Richmond, to learn why the
Judge had not been released. He saw the Rebel
officials, and they assured him that he was released
early in the month, and would go North by the first
9 M

194 Prison Pictures.

flag of truce boat, but had been detained because
no boat had since then departed from Richmond.
This was entirely false, yet they had the perfidy to
put it in writing, sign it, and then ask Judge Finn
to give it his signature. He refused, telling them
plainly that they knew well he had not been released,
and that two boats had left Richmond since the date
they had mentioned. Thus they failed in their base
design; but the Judge remained a prisoner.

Finally, on the 29th of June, Hon. G. H. C.
Rowe of Fredericksburg, Va., came to him and
asked his influence to eflect the exchange of some
Fredericksburg citizens, who were held as hostages
for some wounded soldiers alleged to have been be-
trayed into the hands of the Confederates by Mayor
Slaughter. The Judge saw that the Rebels were
aiming to drive a good bargain, — to exchange him
for a Fredericksburg citizen, and for the two hos-
tages besides ; but confinement had worn upon him,
he was failing fast, and it was plain he could not
endure prison-life more than a few weeks longer ; so
he consented to the arrangement, and was let out of
prison.

On the next day he was sent to the Libby by or-
der of the Provost- Marshal, who directed the keeper,
Major Turner to send him North by flag of truce on

Castle Thunder. 195

the following morning. The hour for the departure
of the flag at last arrived, and with joyful emotions
the Judge fell into the ranks with about fifty soldiers
and four other Union citizens; and, marching down
the main street to the railway station, was soon
aboard of the cars, and on his way to Hanover Junc-
tion. Arrived there, the prisoners were told they
must walk all the way to Occoquan, — a distance of
sixty miles. They could not have done it had they
been journeying towards Richmond ; but the pros-
pect of home and freedom buoyed them up, and they
felt equal to anything.

They marched under guard of a dozen Richmond
cavalry, who were mounted on splendid horses. They
were obliged, to wade the North Anna River, where
the water was two and a half feet in depth ; and the
guards grumbled because they took time to remove
their boots and roll up their trousers ! By noon
the Judge had become so much fatigued that he
could not keep up with the remainder of the column,
and, regardless of the threats of the Rebel Lieuten-
ant in command, fell behind with two of the guards,
who, unlike their comrades, had some feeling of hu-
manity. He marched until two o'clock of the next
morning before he reached the place where the oth-
ers had encamped for the night. The Lieutenant

196 Prison Pictures.

awoke about four o'clock, and observing the Judge,
ordered a guard to take him, and ten others who had
also lagged behind, and march forward with them
immediately, while the rest of the part}^ remained and
had breakfast He said this would teach them to
keep up another time.

When they had arrived within three miles of Fred-
ericksburg, several of the prisoners had become so
completely worn out that they could proceed no fur-
ther. They were then allowed to hire a horse-cart
of a lady of Southern principles, who, for nine dol-
lars in greenbacks, consented to send them on to
the \dllage. She desired, she said, to get some goods
through the blockade, or she would not have con-
sented to forward them for any amount of money.
As it was, she would let no one ride in tne cart but
residents of the sacred soil of Virginia.

At Fredericksburg the weary party remained over
night, and Union citizens visited their camp, giving
them warm food, hot coffee, and linen to bandage
their swollen limbs. There the guards left for Rich-
mond, after admonishing them to work for peace,
and vote for General McClellan.

With a new guard and a white flag they set out
again the next morning, and reached Occoquan — a
town on the Occoquan River — after a toilsome march

Castle Thunder, 197

of two days. In the river lay the flag of truce boat ;
they entered it ^^"ith joyful hearts, and were soon on
their way to Alexandria. As the boat glided into
the rippling Potomac, the flag of truce was lowered,
and the starry banner flung to the breeze, amid the
wild huzzas of the returned prisoners.

The Judge arrived at x^lexandria attired in a Rebel
coat and hat, and a pair of stockings -which scarcely
could hold together. The hat he had borrowed, (the
Rebels having stolen his,) and the coat he had ob-
tained in an exchange which realized for him fifteen
dollars of Confederate money, that he invested in
breadstuffs. As he marched from the wharf to the
Provost-Marshal's office in Alexandria, an old lady
pointed at him, and, deeming him a suspicious char-
acter, exclaimed : " See there ! they have caught one
bushwacker, thank the Lord ! "

The Provost-Marshal was ver^' kind to the prison-
ers, and procured a conveyance for those who could
not walk, in w^hich the Judge took passage, with
some of the returned soldiers, for Camp Distribution,
about two miles south of Washington. This camp
covered many acres, and was embowered in splendid
forest-trees ; and its wide streets, pebbled walks, and
neatly arranged barracks gave it the appearance of
a thriving town.

198 ■ Prison Pictures.

Here the Judge remained one day, and then Un-
cle Sam gave him a pass over the railway, and he
set out for his home in West Virginia.

But his troubles were not yet over. He had been
at home only two days, when a party of Rebels rode
up to his house, and demanded to see the State's
Attorney, who had just graduated from Richmond.
Luckily, he had warning of their 'approach, and was
absent. After that he had a varied experience ; but he
was never again within the walls of Castle Thunder.

THE GREAT PRISON.

SINCE I wrote the last storj' I have been again
in prison. Many people consider it a great dis-
grace to get into prison, and think that all prisons
are very bad places ; but it is not so. Some of the
best men who ever lived have passed years in dun-
geons j and the prison I have been in is a very
comfortable place, — a great deal more comfortable
than the houses which one half of its inmates have
been accustomed to live in. So one cold morn-
ing, not a great while ago, with my eyes wide open,
and knowing very well what I was about, I walked
into it.

All of you have heard of this famous prison, for
it is talked about all over the world ; so I have
thought you might like to know how it looks, and
something about the people who were in it, and the
important events which transpired in connection with
it during the great Rebellion.

It is called Camp Douglas, and is located on the
shore of Lake Michigan, about three miles from the

200 Prison Pictures.

city of Chicago, and is very large, — a good deal
larger than a small farm, — and had more inhab-
itants than any two of the biggest villages in the
country. It is enclosed by a close board fence, and
covered with just such a roof as Boston Common.
The fence is so high that you cannot see the whole
of the prison at once, unless you go up in a balloon,
or climb to the top of the tall observatory which
some enterprising Yankee has built on the street
opposite the front gateway. But it would cost
nearly as much as you paid for this book to enter
that observatory, and you might break your necks
if you should go up in a balloon ; so here is a
bird's-eye view of the whole prison, and, if you
choose, you may see it all for nothing, while seated
in your own cosey homes, with your heads on your
shoulders, and your heels on the fire-fender.

If you look at the lower left-hand corner of this
picture you will see an engine and a train of cars,
and below them a vacant spot resembling water.
That water is a few buckets-full of the great lake on
whose shore Chicago stands. Rising up from it in
a gentle slope are fenced fields and pleasant gar-
dens, dotted here and there with trees and houses,
and beyond them — a mere white line in the pic-
ture — is the public road which runs in front of the

Tlie Great Prison.

201

202 Prison Pictures.

Camp. Midway along this road, and right where
the row of trees begins, is the principal gateway of
the prison. It looks like the entrance to some old
castle, being broader and higher than a barn-door,
and having half a dozen soldiers, with loaded mus-
kets and fixed bayonets, pacing to and fro before
it. If you are not afraid of these soldiers, — and
you need not be, for you are loyal young folks,
and they all wear Uncle Sam's livery, — we will
speak to one of them.

" There is pos-i-tive-ly no admittance, sir," he says,
turning to walk away.

We know that very well, so I take a little note
from my pocket, and ask him to be good enough
<: to send it to the Commandant. He eyes the note
for a moment, and then looks at us, very much as
if we owed him a quarter's rent. You see he needs
to be vigilant, for we , might have a contraband
mail, or a dozen infernal machines in our pockets ;
but, touching his cap, he disappears through the
gateway. However, he soon returns, and, again
touching his cap, says : " Gentlemen," — (he means
you and me, and he has forgotten that some of
you are young ladies,) — -"the Colonel will be hap-
py to see you."

We follow him through the gate-house, where a

The Great Prison. 203

score of soldiers are lounging about, and into a
broad, open yard, paved with loose sand ; and then
enter a two-story wooden building, flanked by long
rows of low-roofed cabins, and overshadowed by a
tall flag-staff. In the first room that we enter, half
a dozen officers are writing at as many desks ; .and
in the next, a tall, fine-looking man in a colonel's
uniform is pacing the floor, and rapidly dictating to
a secretary who sits in the corner. He stops when
he perceives us, and extends his hand in so friendly
and cordial a way that w^e take a liking to him at
once. But when he asks us to sit down, and begins
to talk, we take a stronger liking io him than be-
fore, and wonder if this quiet, unassuming gentle-
man, with this pleasant smile, and open, frank,
kindly face, can be the famous Colonel Sweet, whose
wonderful sagacity ferreted out the deepest-laid con-
spiracy that ever was planned, and whose sleepless
vigilance saved Chicago and one half of the West
from being wrapped in flames.

Not wanting to encroach too long on his valuable
time, we briefly explain our business, and, seating
himself at his table, . he writes, in a straight up and
down hand — for his fingers are stiffened by a wound

in his arm — the following pass : " Permit

to enter and leave the camp, and to inspect the

204 Prison Pictures.

prison, and converse with the prisoners, at his pleas-
ure."

With this pass in our hand we are about to leave
the room, when the Colonel taps a bell, and an officer
enters, whom he introduces to us, and directs him
to escort us about the camp. Thus doubly pro-
vided, we emerge from head-quarters, and enter a
large enclosure where more than a thousand men
are under review. The old flag is flying from a tall
staff at one end of this enclosure, and at the other
end, and on both of its sides, are long rows of sol-
diers' barracks.

However, we have seen reviews and barracks be-
fore, so we do not linger here, but follow our escort.
Lieutenant Briggs, into the adjoining yard.

Here are the hospitals, those two-story wooden
buildings, nicely battened and whitewashed, which
you see in the picture. In each story of these build-
ings is a long, high-studded apartment, with plastered
walls, clean floors, and broad, cheerful windows,
through which floods of pure air and sunshine pour
in upon the dejected, homesick prisoners. These
rooms are the homes of the sick men, and here they
linger all through the long days, and the still longer
nights, tied down to narrow cots by cords stronger
than were ever woven by man. About five hundred

The Great Prison. 205

are always here, and four or five of them are borne
out daily to the little burial-ground just outside the
prison walls.* This may appear sad ; but if you
reflect that there are constantly from eight to nine
thousand prisoners in the camp, four or five will
seem a very small number to die every day among
so many idle, homesick, broken-spirited men. More
people die of idleness, low spirits, and homesick-

* On November 19th, 1864, there were 8,308 prisoners in
Camp Douglas, 513 invalids in the hospital, and 4 deaths
among the whole. On November 20th, there were 8,295 pris-
oners, 508 in hospital, and 5 deaths. On November 21st, 8,290
prisoners, 516 in hospital, and 4 deaths. Compare this mor-
tality with that of our own men in the Confederate prisons !
When only six thousand were at Belle Isle, eighty-five died
every day ; and when nine thousand — about the average num-
ber confined at Camp Douglas — were at Salisbury, Mr. Rich-
ardson reports that one hundred and thirty were daily thrown
into a rude cart, and dumped, like decayed offal, into a huge
hole outside the camp. The mortalityj>at Andersonville and
the other Rebel prisons was as great as this, and even greater ;
but I have not the reports at hand, and cannot, therefore, give
the statistics accurately. If our men were not deliberately
starved and murdered, would such excessive mortality have
•existed in the Rebel prisons ?

All of the prisoners at Camp Douglas were well fed, well
clothed, and well cared for in every way. Some Northern
traitors have said they were not, but they were. I was among
them for three days, mixed freely with them, and lived on their

2o6 Prison Pictures.

ness than of all the diseases and all the doctors
in the world ; so, my young folks, keep busy, keep
cheerful, and never give way to homesickness if you
can help it, and then you possibly may outlive Old
Parr himself; and he, some folks say, never would
have died at all, if he had not, in his old age, fool-
ishly taken to tobacco and bad whiskey.

After passing an hour in the hospitals, we go into

rations, and I know whereof I affirm. No better food than theirs
was ever tasted, and, with the best intentions, I could not, for the
life of me, eat more than three fourths of the quantity that was
served out to the meanest prisoner. As I have said, there were,
on the 19th of November, 1864, 513 prisoners in the hospital.
On that day there were issued to them (I copy from the official
requisition, which is before me) 395 pounds of beef, 60 pounds
of pork, 525 pounds of bread, 25 pounds of beans, 25 rations
of rice, 14 pounds of coffee, 35 pounds of sugar, 250 rations of
vinegar, 250 rations of soap, and 250 rations of salt. This was
the daily allowance while I was there. In addition, there had
been issued to this hospital, within the previous fifteen days, 250
pounds of butter, 66 pounds of soda crackers, 30 bushels of po-
tatoes, ID bushels of onions, 20 bushels of turnips, 10 bushels
of dried apples, 3 dozen of squashes, 2 dozen of chickens, 250
dozen of eggs, and 25 dozen of cabbages. Let any well man
divide this quantity of provender by 500, and then see how long
it will take him to eat it. If he succeeds in disposing of it in
one day, let me advise him to keep the fact from his landlady,
or the price of his board may rise.

The Great Prison. 207

the bakery, a detached building in the same enclos-
ure. Here a dozen prisoners, bred to the "profes-
sion," are baking bread, and preparing other food
for the invalids. The baking is done in immense
ovens, and the dough is kneaded in troughs which
are two feet wide, three feet deep, and forty feet
long ! From this building, where food is prepared
to support life, we go into another, where nostrums
are mixed that destroy it. Here are drugs enough
to kill every man in the camp. They are dispensed
by a Confederate surgeon, who was an apothecary
at home. H£ complains that his business is alarm-
ingly dull, and, from the way it is falling off, fears
that the world is growing wiser, — so wise that, when
the war is over, his occupation may be gone. It
seems a sad prospect to him, but we console ourselves
with the thought that what may be his loss will be
other people's gain.

From the drug store we pass to the rear of the
open yard which you see in the picture, and pause
before the little low building. on the right. This is
the quarters of Captain Wells Sponable, the inspec-
tor of the prison ; and over against it is a gateway,
which opens into the large enclosure where the pris-
oners are confined. Lieutenant Briggs raps at the
door of this little building, and in a moment a tall,

208 Prison Pictures.

compactly-built man, with broad, open features, and
hair enough on his face to stuff a moderate-sized
mattress, make his appearance. He glances at the
pass which we present to him, and then says, in a
rapid way, jerking out his words as if his jaws were
moved by a crank, — " I 'm glad to see you. Come
in. I '11 go with you myself"

We go into his quarters, and after half an hour's
pleasant conversation, — in which we find out that
the Captain, though blunt and outspoken, is one
of the most agreeable, whole-souled men in the world,
— we follow him and the Lieutenant into the prison-
yard. Here is the Captain's
picture, and I want you to
take a good look at it, for I
am sure you will like him when
I have told you more about
him.

The prison-yard is an en-
closure of about twenty acres,
surrounded by a board fence
fourteen feet high, and guarded by thirty sentinels,
who are posted on a raised platform just outside
the fence, and pace the rounds at all hours of the
day and night. Their beats are only a hundred and
twenty feet apart, and on dark nights the camp is

r r^

The Great Prison. 209

illuminated by immense reflecting-lamps, placed on
the walls and at the ends of the streets, so that it
is next to impossible for anything to occur within
it, at any time, without the knowledge of the guards.
Inside the enclosure, and thirty feet from the fence,
is a low railing entirely surrounding the camp. This
is the dead line. Whoso goes beyond this railing,
at any hour of the day or night, is liable to be shot
down without warning. In making our rounds the
Captain occasionally stepped over it, but I never
followed him without instinctively looking up to see
if the sentry's musket was not pointed at me. Half
a dozen poor fellows have been shot while crossing
this rail on a desperate run for the fence and free-
dom.

A part of the prison yard, as you will see in the
picture, is an open space ; — and there the men
gather in squads, play at games, or hold "political
meetings " j but the larger portion is divided into
streets, and occupied by barracks. The streets are
fifty feet wide, and extend nearly the whole length
and breadth of the enclosure. They are rounded
up in the middle, and have deep gutters at the sides,
so that in wet weather the rain flows off, and leaves
them almost as dry as a house floor. The barracks
are one-story wooden buildings, ninety feet long and

N

2IO Prison Pictures.

twenty-four feet wide, and stand on posts four feet
from the ground. They are elevated in this manner
to prevent the prisoners tunnelHng their way out of
camp, as some of Morgan's men did while Colonel
DeLand had charge of the prison. Here is a view
of one of the streets, taken from a drawing made
by a young prisoner, who, though scarcely yet a man,
has been confined at Camp Douglas eighteen long
months. All of the engravings which follow in this
and the next chapter are from drawings made by
him ; and when you look at the skill displayed in
them, I know you will think, with me, that one ' who
has such talent should not be forced to idle his life
away in a prison.

Each barrack is divided into two rooms ; — one a
square apartment, where the prisoners do their cook-
ing ; the other a long hall, with three tiers of bunks
on either side, where they do their sleeping. The
larger rooms are furnished with benches and a stove,
have several windows on each side, and ventilators
on the roof, and are as comfortable places to stay in
as one could expect in a prison. But the engraving
opposite will give you a better idea of them than any
description I could make.

The most perfect discipline prevails in the camp.
Each day is distinctly "ordered," and no one is al-

The Great Prisoft. 2ii

lowed to depart from the rules. At sunrise the drum
beats the reveille, and every man turns out from his
bunk. In half an hour breakfast is ready, and in
another hour the roll is called. Then the eight thou-
sand or more prisoners step out from their barracks,
and, forming in two lines in the middle of the street,
wait until the officer of the day calls their names.
Those who have the misfortune to be at the foot of
the column may have to wait half an hour before they
hear the welcome sound ; and in cold or rainy weath-
er this delay is not over-agreeable. With a feeling
sense of its discomforts, our artist has represented
such a scene in the accompanying sketch.

After roll-call the "details" go about their work,
and the other men do as they like until twelve
o'clock, when they are all summoned to dinner. The
" details " are prisoners who have applied to take
the oath of allegiance, and who are consequently
trusted rather more than the others. They are em-
ployed in various ways, both inside and outside of
the prison, but not outside of the camp. They are
paid regularly for this work, and it affords them a
small fund, with which they buy tobacco and other
little luxuries that they have been accustomed to.
Those who are not so fortunate as to have work sup-
ply themselves with these " indispensables " by sell-

212

Prison Pictures,

ing offal, old bones, surplus food, and broken bottles
to an old fellow who makes the rounds of the camp
every few days with a wagon or a wheelbarrow.
Here he is with his "Ammunition train."

After dinner the " details " go again to work, and
the loungers to play, though almost all of them find
some work if it is nothing more than whittling. They
seem to have the true Anglo-Saxon horror of noth-
ing to do, and therein show their relationship to us ;
for, say what we may, the great mass of Southerners
are merely transplanted Yankees, differing from the
original Jonathan only as they are warped by slavery,
or crushed by slave-holders. That number of Eng-
lishmen, hived within the limits of twenty acres, would

The Great Prison. 213

take to grumbling, Germans to smoking, Irishmen to
brawling, Frenchmen to swearing; but these eight
thousand Southerners have taken to whittling, and
that proves them Yankees, — and no amount of false
education or political management can make them
anything else. One has whittled a fiddle from a pine
shingle ; another, a clarionet from an ox-bone ; a
third, a meerschaum from a corn-cob ; a fourth, a
water-wheel — which he says, wall propel machinery
without a w^aterfall — from half a dozen sticks of
hickory ; a fifth, with no previous practice, makes
gold rings from brass, and jet from gutta percha;
and, to crown 'all, a sixth has actually whittled a
whistle — and a whistle that " blows " — out of a pig's
tail!

But they showed the trading as well as the inven-
tive genius of Yankees. One has swapped coats un-
til he has got clear through his elbows ; another,
pantaloons, until they scarcely come below his knees ;
another, hats, until he has only part of a rim, and
the " smallest showing " of a crown, — and yet every
time, — so he says, — he has had the best of the
trade ; and another regularly buys out the old apple-
woman, and peddles her stock about the camp at the
rate of a dollar "a grab," payable in greenbacks.

With such unmistakable manifestations of national
character, no one can doubt that these people are

214 Prison Pictures.

Yankees, and Yankees too, who, with free schools
and free institutions, would be the "smartest" and
" 'cutest " people in the world.

At sunset the drums beat the "retreat," and all
the prisoners gather to their quarters, from which
they do not again emerge until the reveille is sounded
in the morning. Then the candles are lighted, and
each barrack presents a scene worthy of a painter.
Look into any of them after nightfall, and you will
see at least seventy motley-clad, rollicking, but good-
natured " natives," engaged in all imaginable kinds
of employment. Some are writing, some reading
newspapers or musty romances, some playing at
euchre, seven-up, or rouge-et-noir; but more are
squatted on the floor, or leaning against the bunks,
listening to the company "oracle," who, nursing his
coat-tails before the stove, is relating " moving acci-
dents by flood and field," fighting his battles over
again, or knocking "the rotten Union inter everlastin'
smash." One of the most notable of these " ora-
cles" is "your feller-citizen, Jim Hurdle, sir."

Jim is a "character," and a "genius" of the first
order. His coat is decidedly seedy, his hat much
the worse for wear, and his trousers so out at the
joints that he might be suspected of having spent
his whole life on his knees ; but he is a " born gen-
tleman," above work, and too proud " to be be-

The Gi^eat Prison.

215

holden to a kentry he has fit agin." He knows a little
of everything under the sun, and has a tongue that
can outrun any steam-
engine in the universe.
The stories he tells never
were beaten. They are
" powerful " stories, —
so powerful that, if you
don't keep firm hold of
your chairs, they may
take you right off your
feet. Once, he says, he
shot eighteen hundred
squirrels in a day, with
a single-barrelled shot-
gun. At another time he

met a panther in a wood, and held him at bay for
nearly six hours by merely looking at him. Again,
when he was crossing a brook on horseback, the
bridge was carried away by a freshet, and floated
two miles down the stream, where it lodged in the
top of a tree. As nothing could be done, he dis-
mounted, and went quietly to sleep on the bridge
until the morning. In the morning the " run " had
subsided, but the horse and the bridge were still
perched in the top of the tree. " I tried to coax
the critter to git down," — so the tale runs, — "but

2l6 Prison Pictures.

he would n't budge ; and I piked for home, for I
know'd oats 'ud bring him. And shore 'nufF they
did. The hoss had n't more 'n smelled of the peck-
measure I tuck to him, 'fore down he come, quicker
'n lightnin' ever shot from a thunder-cloud."

" But how did the horse get down ? "

" How ! Why, hind eend afore, like any other
hoss ; and, stranger, that ar hoss was 'bout the laziest
critter ye ever know'd on. He was so lazy that I
had to hire another hoss to holp him dror his last
breath."

Jim's stories lack the very important element of
truth, and in that respect are not unlike some other
stories you may have read ; but they do illustrate
two prominent characteristics of all Southern peo-
ple, — a propensity to brag, and a disposition to mag-
nify everything.

Mr. Hurdle is guarded in expressing his political
opinions, but one of his comrades assured me that
he had lost all faith in the Confederacy. " The Con-
federacy, sir ! " he is reported to have said, ' " ar
busted, — gone all to smash. It ar rottener nur any
&gg that ever was sot on, and deader nur any door-
nail that ever was driv."

" But it bites a little yit, Jim," said a comrade.

" Bites ! " echoed Jim. " Of course it do. So will

The Great Prison. 217

a turkle arter his head ar cut off. I know'd one o'
them critters onst that a old darky dercapertated.
The next day he was 'musin' hisself pokin' sticks at
him, and the turkle was biting at 'em like time. Then
I says to the darky, ' Pomp, I thought he war dead.'
— ' Well, he am massa,' says Pomp, ' but the critter
don't know 'nuflf to be sensible bb it' So, ye see,
the Confederacy ar dead, but Jeff Davis and them
sort o' fellers don't know enough to be sensible of it."
But " Nine o'clock, and lights out ! " sounds along
the sentry-lines, and every candle is extinguished in
a twinkling. The faintest glimmer after that hour
will draw a leaden messenger that may snuff out some
poor fellow's light forever. Not a year ago a Rebel
sergeant, musing by the stove in the barrack we are
in, heard that cry repeated. He looked up, and
seeing nothing but darkness, went on musing again.
The stove gave out a faint glow which shone through
the window, and the sentinel, mistaking it for the
light of a candle, fired, crushing the poor fellow's
arm at the elbow. A few nights later another stove
gave out a faint glow, and another sentry sent
a leaden messenger through the window, mortally
wounding — the stove-pipe. Both sentinels were pun-
ished, but that did not save the sergeant's arm, or
mend the stove-pipe.

AMONG THE PRISONERS.

THE day is Sunday, and we spend it among the
prisoners. It is general inspection day at the
prison, and, by invitation of the Captain, we go
early to witness the interesting turn-out. It is a real
turn-out, for every prisoner in the camp on this day
turns out from his quarters, and, with all his house-
hold goods about him, waits in the street opposite
his barrack until every bed, and blanket, and jack-
knife, and jews-harp, and fiddle, and trinket, and
" wonderful invention " in the prison is examined and
passed upon by the Inspector. Of the latter articles,
as I have said, there is an infinite variety, but of
necessary clothing there is nothing to spare. A mat-
tress, a blanket or two, a hat, a coat, a pair of trou-
sers and brogans, and an extra shirt, are the sum
total of each one's furniture and wearing-apparel.
Every man's person must be cleanly, and his cloth-
ing as tidy as circumstances will permit; and woe
to the foolish "native" who has neglected to bathe,
or forgotten to exterminate his little brood of do-

Among the Priso7iers. 219

mestic animals. A high-pressure scrubbing, or a
march about camp in a packing-box, branded "Ver-
min," is his inevitable doom. This three hours' re-
view is an irksome ordeal to the prisoners, but
blessed be the man who invented it ; for it keeps the
doctors idle, and gives an easy life to the grave-
diggers.

It may be you have somewhere- read that "the
proper study of mankind is man." If you have and
believe it, you will he glad to go with me down the
lines, and study these people; and if you do this^
and keep your eyes open, you will learn something
of the real Southern man ; and you might waste
years among the " Chivalry " and not do that. The
" Chivalry " are not Southern men, they are only
Southern gentlemen, and counterfeit gentlemen at
that. But now we will go down the column.

The first man we meet is not a man. He is only
a boy, — a slender, pale-faced boy, with thin, white
hands, and wan, sad, emaciated features, on which
" Exchanged " is written as legibly as anything that
ever was printed. But he will not wait' the slow
movements of the Exchange Commissioners. The
grim old official who has him in charge is altogether
too wise to wrangle about the terms of cartels, where
the lives of men are in question.

220 Prison Pictures.

He receives our advances in a shy, reserved way,
and it takes many kind words to draw from him
more than a monosyllable. But kind words are a
power. They cost less, and buy more, than any-
thing else in the world. I never knew one of them
to be wasted; and not one is wasted now, for very
soon they reach the boy's heart, and with moistened
eye and quivering lip he tells us his story. It is a
simple story, — only a little drama of humble life,
with no fine ladies in rouge and satins and furbe-
lows, and no fine gentlemen with waving plumes
and gilded swords, and shining patent-leathers, dawd-
ling about the stage, or making silly faces at the
foot-lights. Its characters are only common people
who do something, — produce something, — and so
leave the world a little better for their living in it.
But it is only a short story, just a little drama, and
I will let it pass before you.

Now the curtain rises, and the play begins.

We see a little log cottage among the mountains,
with a few cattle browsing in the woods, and a few
acres of 'waving corn and cotton. Grape-vines and
honeysuckles are clambering over the doorway, and
roses and wild-flowers are growing before the win-
dows, and — that is all. But it is a pleasant little
cottage, all attractive without, and all cheerful within.

Among the Prisoners. 221

The candles are not lighted, but a great wood-fire
is blazing on the hearth, sending a -rich, warm glow
through all the little room ; and the family have
gathered round it for the evening. The older broth-
er is mending harness before the fire j the little sis-
ter is knitting beside him ; the younger brother and
another one — nearer and dearer to him than brother
or sister — are seated on the low settle in the chim-
ney-corner; and the aged mother is reading aloud
from a large book which lies open on the centre-
table. We can't see the title of this book, but its
well-worn leaves show that it must be the family
Bible. She closes it after a while, and, the older
brother laying aside his work, they all kneel down
on the floor together. Then the mother prays, —
not a fashionable prayer, with big, swelling, w^ords,
and stilted, high-flown sentences, such as you some-
times hear on a Sunday, — but a low, simple, ear-
nest petition to Him w^hg is her Father and her
Friend, who knows her every want, and loves her as
one of His dear children.

It is scarcely over when the door opens, and five
ruffianly-looking men enter the room. Four of them
wear the gray livery of the Rebels ; the other is clad
in a motley uniform, part gray, part reddish-brown,
and the other part the tawny flesh-color which peeps

222 Prison Pictures.

through the holes in his trousers. He looks for all
the world like the tall fellow yonder, — farther down
the lines, — the one in ragged " butternuts " and tat-
tered shirt, with that mop of bushy black hair, and
that hang-dog, out-at-the-elbow look. They both are
conscript officers, and the one in the play has come
to arrest the two young men, who have refused to
obey the conscription.

The older brother rises to his feet, and, with a
look of honest scorn and defiance, says : " I will
not go with you. No power on earth shall make
me fight against my country." No more is spoken,
but two of the soldiers seize the younger brother,
and two others advance upon the older one, while
the officer — standing by at a safe distance — gets
the handcuffs ready. In less time than it takes to
tell it, the two other men have measured their length
on the floor; but the officer springs backward, and
draws his revolver. He is about to fire, when the
older brother catches the weapon, and attempts to
wrest it from his hand. They grapple for an instant,
and the pistol goes off in the struggle. A low scream
follows, — but the officer falls to the floor, and the
older brother bounds away into the darkness.

In a moment every one is on his feet again ; but
not a step is taken, not a movement made. Even

Among the Priso7iers. 223

these hardened men stand spell-bound and horror-
stricken by the scene that is before them. There,
upon the floor, the blood streaming from a ghastly
wound in her neck, lies the fair young girl who was
the sunshine of that humble home. The younger
brother is holding her head in his lap, and moaning
as if his heart were breaking, and the aged mother
is kneeling by her side, trying to stanch the stream-
ing blood ; but the crimson river is running fast, and
with it a sweet young life is flowing, — flowing on
to the great sea, where the sun shines and the sweet
south-wind blows forever.

The soldiers look on in silence ; but the officer
speaks at last. "Come," he says; "it's all over
wdth the gal. The boy must go with me."

" He shall not go," says the mother. " Leave us
alone to-night. You can murder him in the morn-
ing!"

The look and tone of that woman would move a
mountain. They move even these men, for they turn
away, and then the scene changes.

Now we see a great wood, — one of those im-
mense pine-forests which cover nearly all of Upper
Georgia. The baying of hounds is heard in the
distance, and upon the scene totters a weak, fam-
ished man, with bleeding feet and matted hair, and

224 Prison Pichires.

torn, bedraggled clothing. He sinks down at the
foot of a tree, and draws a revolver. He knows
the hounds are close at hand ; and, starving, hunted
down as he is, he clings to life v/ith all the energy
of the young blood that is in him. Soon he stag-
gers to his feet, and puts up his weapon. He says
nothing, but the look in his eye tells of some des-
perate resolve he has taken. He tries to climb the
tree, but the branches are high up in the air; his
strength fails, and he falls backward. Again he
tries, and this time is successful. A moment more
and he would have been too late, for the hounds
have tracked him far, and now, with wild howls, are
right upon him. Down among those furious beasts
he would be torn limb from limb in an instant, —
and O horror ! the branch bends, — his arm trem-
bles, — he is losing his hold, — he is falling ! No !
he catches by a stouter limb, and once more is in
safety. Meanwhile, the hounds are howling hungrily
below, and the shouts of men are heard, far away
at the westward. He listens, and, drawing himself
nearer the trunk of the tree, takes out the revolv-
er. Five charges are left, and every cap is perfect.
His life is lost ; but for how many lives can he
sell it?

The shouts grow louder, and, guided by the cry

Among the Prisoners. 225

of the dogs, the men come rushing through the forest.
One nears the tree — hears a shot — staggers back — ■
and falls headlong. Another comes on, and another,
and still another, and they all give up man-hunting
forever ! The rest pause, and hide behind trees,
warned by the fate of their comrades. Four lives
for one ! Shall he have another, or shall his last
bullet be wasted ? At last a man springs into sight,
and gains a nearer cover. The pistol cracks, — a

rifle-shot cuts the air, and It is a dizzy height,

— our heads swim, and we turn away, while the
scene changes.

Once more we see the little log cottage among
the mountains. It is night, and midwinter. The
snow lies deep in the woods, and the wind sighs
mournfully around the little cabin, and has a melan-
choly shiver in its voice, as it tries to whistle " Old
Hundred" through the key-hole. The same wood-
fire is burning low on the hearth, and the same aged
mother and little sister are seated before it. The
same, and not the same, — for the roses are gone
from the young girl's cheeks, and the mother is wasted
to a shadow ! The cattle are stolen from the fields,
and the last kernel of corn has been eaten. What
will keep them from starving ? The mother opens
the Book, and reads how Elijah was fed by the ravens.
10* o

226 Prison Pictures.

Will not the same Lord feed them? She will trust
Him!

And again the scene changes. It is the same
play, but only one of the players is living. He is
the pale-faced boy in the prison. Kindly and gently
we say to him : " You look sick ; should you not be
in the hospital?"

"I think not, — I like the sun," he answers.
''When the colder weather comes, I may have to
go there."

He will go, and — then the curtain will fall, and
the little play be over!

Is it not a thrilling drama? With slight varia-
tions of scenery, it has been acted in ten thousand
Southern homes, with Satan for manager and Jeffer-
son Davis for leading actor and "heavy villain."

As we go down the lines, we pass the conscript
officer I have alluded to. We do not speak with
him, for a look at the outside of "the house he
lives in" represses all desire to become acquainted
with the inside. Virtue and nobleness can no more
dwell in such a body as his, than the Christian vir-
tues can flourish in a hyena. The thing is an im-
possibility, and the man is not to blame for it. His
very name is suggestive of what he may come to.
Alter one letter of it, and it would be J. B. Hemp, —

Among the Prisoners.

227

which, you all know, is the abreviation for Jerked
By Hemp ; and that is the usual end of such people.
As we pass this man, the Captain — who is mak-
ing the rounds with us, while the Lieutenant goes
on with the inspection — tells us something about
him. He is despised by every one in the camp ;
and though the Captain makes it a principle to show
no ill-will or partiality to any of the prisoners, he
has to feel the general dislike to him. He is prob-
ably about as mean as __
a man ever gets to be. — -- - " ~ ^
A short time ago he
planned an escape by
the " Air Line " ; and,
with the help of another
prisoner, made a ladder,
and hid it away under
the floor of his barrack.
The Captain found it
out, and charged him
with it. He denied it
stoutly, but the Captain told him to bring out the
ladder. With great reluctance, he finally produced
it; and, placing it against the side of the barrack,
the Captain said : " My man, this is a good ladder,
— a very good ladder ; and it ought to be used.

228 Prison Pictures.

Now, suppose you let it stand where it is, and walk
up and down upon it for a week. The exercise will
do you good, and the ladder, you know, was made
expressly for you." The prisoner was immensely
pleased at the idea of so light a punishment, (at-
tempts to escape, you know, are punished severely
in all prisons,) and began the walk, laughing heartily
at the " fool of a Yankee," who thought that sort of
exercise any hardship to a man accustomed to using
his legs.

Crowds gathered round to see him, and for a time
everything went right merrily ; but after going up and
down the ladder from sunrise to sunset, for four days,
— stopping only for his customary meals, — he went
to the Captain, saying : " I can't stand this no more,
no how. Guv me arything else, — the rail, the pork-
barril, the dungeon, bread and water, — arything but
this ! Why, my back, and knees, and hams, and
calves, and every jint and bone in me, is so sore I
can't never walk agin."

The Captain pitied the fellow, and deducted one
day, leaving only two to be travelled. But he plead-
ed for another. " Tuck off another, Captin'," he said,
" and I '11 tell ye who holped me make the ladder."
Here his natural meanness cropped out; even the
good-natured Captain was angered ; but he only said

Among the Prisoners. 229

to him : " I don't want to know. It is your business
to get out, if you can. I don't blame you for trying,
for I 'd do the same thing myself. But it 's my duty
to keep you in, and to punish you for attempting to
get out. I shall do my duty. Finish the six days ;
and then, if you make another ladder, I '11 give you
twelve." The Captain knew what prisoner he referred
to, and, sending for him, charged him with helping to
make the ladder. " Then the mean critter has telled
on me, Captin'," said the man. "No, he has not," re-
plied the Captain ; " I would n't let him. "When you
were a boy in your part of the countr}^, and other
boys told tales about you, what did you do with
them ? " " Whaled 'em like time, Captin'," answered
\he man ; " and if ye '11 only shet yer eyes to 't, I '11
whale him." " I can't allow such things in the
prison," said the Captain ; " and besides, the fellow
will be lame for a fortnight, and would n't be a match
for you in that condition. Let him get limber, and
then — if you don't whale him, I '11 make you walk
the ladder for a month."

The result was, the conscript officer received a
sound thrashing; and did not commit another act
worthy of punishment for a week. However, on the
day after the Captain related this anecdote, I saw
him going the rounds of the camp with a large board

230 Prison Pictures.

strapped to his shoulders, on which was painted
"Thief." He had stolen from a comrade, and that
was his punishment.

The Captain was relating to us various instances
in which prisoners had taken the "Air Line" out to
freedom, when a young " native," with a jovial, good-
natured face, and a droll, waggish eye, said to us :
"Speakin' of the 'Air Line' over the fence, stranger,
reminds me of Jake Miles takin' it one night to Chi-
cago. Ye see, Jake w-as fotched up in a sandy ken-
try, and never afore seed a pavin'-stone. Well, he
travilled that route one dark night, and made his bed
in a ten-acre lot, with the sky for a kiverlit It rained
'fore mornin', and Jake woke up, wet through, and
monstrous hungry. Things warn't jist encouragin',
but Jake thought anything better 'n the prison, — and
the fact ar', stranger, though we 'se well treated, and
the Captain 's a monstrous nice man, I myself had
'bout as lief be outside of it as inside. The poet
had this place in his eye, when he said, 'Distance
lends enchantment to the view.' Howsomever, Jake
did n't give up. He put out, determined to see what
this Yankee kentry ar' made of, and soon fotched up
'longside of a baker's cart in Chicago. The driver
was away, and Jake was hungry; so he attempted to
enforce the cornfiscation act ; but 'fore he got a single

Among the Prisoners, 231

loaf, a dog sprung out upon him. Jake run, and the
dog arter him; and 'fore long the dog cotched him
by the trousers, and over they rolled in the mud to-
gether. They rolled so fast you could n't tell which
from f other \ but Jake felt the pavin'-stones under
him, and tried to grab one to subjugate the critter.
But the stone would n't come up, — it was fastened
down ! Finally, Jake got away ; and, wet and hungry,
and with only one leg to his tiousers, tuck a stret
line back to camp, declarin' he 'd rather be shot up
yere, than go free in a ken try whar they let loose
the dogs, and tie up the pavin'-stones ! "

"That story will do to tell, my friend," we re-
mark; "but you don't expect us to believe it?"

" B'lieve it ! " he answers ; " why, stranger^ thar 's
heaps o' men yere as never seed a pavin'-stone."

That is true, but they are not the ignorant, de-
graded people they are generally represented to be.
The most of them are "poor whites," but so are
many people at the North, and in every other coun-
tr}^ They have no free schools, and it is that fact
which makes the difference between them and our
Northern farmers. But even with that disadvantage,
at least one half of them can read and write, and
many of them are as intelligent as any men you ever
spoke with. They are all privates, but there are

232 Prison Pictures,

scores of lawyers, and doctors, and teachers, and
clergymen among them. Farther down the lines is
Dr. Bronson, who was Demonstrator of Anatomy in
the Medical College of Louisiana \ and also a gentle-
man who was Clerk of the Texas Senate. Though
a prisoner, (he has since been released,) this man
has done more for the country than at least six Ma-
jor-Generals you know of. For two days and nights
he went through incredible dangers, that he might
blot out his record of treason. And he did it nobly.
God bless him for it ! Farther on in this book I shall
tell you the story, but now we must go on through
the prison.

This old man, near upon seventy, with thin, gray
hair, only one eye, a ridged, weather-beaten face,
and a short jacket and trousers, is "Uncle Ben."
He was one of Morgan's men, and was captured
while on the raid into Ohio. " You are an old man
to be in the war," we say to him. "What led you
into it ? " " Love of the thing," he answers. " I
allers had to be stirrin'. I 'm young enough to ride
a nag yet." Talking further with him, we learn that
he is a nurse in the hospital, and considers himself
well treated. "I never fared better in my life," he
says, "but I 'd jist as lief be a ridin' agin."

Most of the men of Morgan's command — and

Among the Prisoners.

236

there are tv\^enty-t\vo hundred in the prison — are
wild, reckless fellows, who went into the war from a
love of adventure, or the hope of plunder. They
would rather fight than eat, and give the keepers
more trouble than all the others in the camp. They
are constantly devising ways of escape ; and one
dark night, about a year ago, nearly a hundred of
them took the Underground Line, and got safely
into Dixie. Here is
a representation of the
route. It was formerly
a fashionable thorough-
fare, but the raising of
the barracks has inter-
cepted the travel, and
broken the hearts of the
stockholders.

As we go on a little far-
ther, a tall fellow, with seedy clothes and a repulsive
countenance, calls to the Captain, "I say, Captin',
I say." The Captain stops, and answers, "Well?"
" I 'se willing to take the oath," says the man. The
Captain's face flushes slightly. He is not angry, —
only indignant ; but the man withers as he answers :
"Willing! Such a man as you talk of being will-
ing! You 've shed the best blood in the world, and

234 Prison Pictures.

you are willing! Go down on your marrow-bones, —
come back like the prodigal son, — and then the
country will take you, — not before." " I '11 do any-
thing that 's wanted," says the man. " Very well ;
go to the officer, and put down your name," answers
the Captain ; — adding to us, as we pass on, " That
fellow is a great scamp, as thorough a Rebel as any
one in the camp."*

"This is my last Sunday here. Captain," says a
well-clad, intelligent-looking man, as we go down the
lines. " I 'm glad to hear it," replies the Captain ;
" I thought you 'd come over to our side." In an-
swer to some questions which we put to him, the
man explains that he is about enlisting in the Navy.
He says he has been " on the fence " for some time,
anxious to serve the country, but unwilling to fight
against his home and kindred. At last he has com-
promised the matter by enlisting for an iron-clad ; in
which, if his shots should happen to hit his friends,

* But a great many of them were not Rebels. At least one
quarter of the whole number confined at Camp Douglas were
truly loyal men, who were forced into the Rebel ranks, or had
seen the error of their ways, and desired to return to their alle-
giance. Captain Sponable assured me that he could, in one
day, enlist a regiment of a thousand cavalrymen among them,
who would be willing to fight for the country with a rope round
their necks, — the penalty if taken by the Confederates.

COUNTRY

liberty:

Among the Prisoners, 235

he may be tolerably certain that theirs will not hit
him ! With a full appreciation of his bravery, the
Camp Douglas artist
has drawn him here, homei
with his back to
home and country,
and his face to the
bount}^ and the iron-
clad.

But from among
this army of original
characters — and al-
most all uncultivated men are more or less original
— I can particularize no more. Nearly all are stout,
healthy, and fine-looking, although there are many
mere boys among them. Their clothing is gener-
ally badly worn, and scarcely any two are dressed
alike. The prevailing material is the reddish-brown
homespun so common at the South ; but many have
on Uncle Sam's coats and trousers, their own hav-
ing given out, and these being supplied by the gov-
ernment.

Among the scores that I conversed with, not one
complained of harsh treatment, and many admitted
that they fared much better than at home. The irk-
someness of confinement was all that they objected

236 Prison Pictures.

to. Some of them " talked fight," but much the
larger number wanted peace at any price. The re-
election of Mr. Lincoln they regarded as the death-
blow of the Confederacy. Within ten days after the
result ,of the national election was known among
them, nearly eight hundred applied to take the oath
of allegiance.

After the Sunday inspection is over, the prisoners
go to dinner ; and then such as choose attend divine
service, which is performed in the barracks by their
own chaplains. These are interesting gatherings, but
they are so much like our own religious meetings,
that I shall not attempt to describe them. But other
things about the prisoners, and about the camp, that
may interest you, !• shall tell in relating the story
of the Rebel prisoner boy, in the next chapter.

THE REBEL PRISONER BOY.

PRISON life is a flat, weary sort of life. Few
events occur to break its monotony, and after a
time the stoutest frames and the bravest hearts sink
under it. If the prisoner were a mere animal, content
with eating, drinking, and sleeping, or a twent}^-acre
lot, — his highest ambition to be bounded by a board
fence, — this would not be. But he is a man ; he
chafes under confinement, and, for want of better
employment, his mind feeds upon itself, and gnaws
the very flesh off" his bones.

The tiresome round of such a life none but a pris-
oner can know ; but I have caught a glimpse of its
dull days and weary nights, by looking over the
journal of a young man who was confined at Camp
Douglas for more than a year. There is little in it
to make you laugh : but if you have nothing better
to do, suppose you sit with me on the doorstep of
this barrack, and trace its noiseless current as it
flows, broken here and there by a bubble of hope,
or a ripple of fun, on to the dark and silent sea be-
yond.

238 P lis on Pictures.

He is a slender, dark-haired youth, apparently not
more than seventeen or eighteen years of age ; though
he has been in the war ever since the ist of March,

1862. On the afternoon of that day, in the low back
room of a store in Knoxville, he was mustered into the
service of the Confederate States, which now, thank
Heaven, have no existence except in the blood-red
history they have caused to be written. Eighteen
months later he found himself a prisoner in the jail
of the same town ; and, on the 20th of September,

1863, with fifty others, was marched" out of it on his
way to Camp Douglas. It seemed strange to go a
prisoner through streets in which he had passed his
lifetime, but such was his experience. Friends gath-
ered round to bid him "farewell," and, I am sorry
to say, some Union people to exult over his misfor-
tunes ; but kind voices spoke cheering words, telling
him to be of good courage, and to hope for a better
time coming, and he went away with a light heart.

A few miles of hard trudging, and he was out of
sight of the scenes of his childhood ; and night found
the captive company encamped near a little stream,
eating their supper of "hard tack" around a fire
built in soldier fashion, among a grove of cedars.
The boy bathed his tired limbs in the little stream,
and then joined his comrades, who, having lighted

The Rebel Priso7ier Boy. 239

their pipes, were making acquaintance with the guards
around the camp-fire. There they fought their bat-
tles over again ; held long arguments, which left each
party of "the same opinion still," and finally setded
the war on principles of justice and equity.

The next morning they were on the march again ;
and two days later passed through Cumberland Gap,
and looked up at the naked cliffs on which they were
quartered when forming a part of Zollicoffer's army.
This is a wild mountain region, and the scene of ^
campaign very disastrous to the Confederates. They
passed many deserted and dismantled houses, and
desolate spots where houses had been, — then only
heaps of ashes, and fire-blackened earth, on which
the blight of war had fallen.

The next day they came to a little town called
Loudon ; and there they halted awhile, to rest their
weary limbs, and refresh themselves from their long
foot-journey. No one gave them any sympathy j but
in marching along the street one accosted a lady who
was passing. She did not recognize the soldier, and
asked where they had met. "I was with Scott on
his last raid here," he answered. "Yaw, yaw,"
shouted several negroes, standing near; "you's on
you lass raid now, Mister. Sartin'."

On the following morning they were marched over

240 Prisoft Pictures.

Wild-Cat Mountain, — the scene of Zollicoffer's de-
feat. It is a wild, rocky region, and is appropriately-
named, as it seems a fit home for only wild-cats and
other wild animals. But human beings live there.
Before a wretched log shanty, without windows, and
with only a ragged hole for a doorway, the weary
company saw a half-clad woman and a half-dozen
nearly naked and dirt-encrusted children. Before
the doorway the woman stood, with a broom in her
hand, and, as they passed by, she shook the broom-
stick at them, and shouted: "O yes! Thet's how
ye Rebels orter be, — orter ben long ago." They
only laughed ; but if you and I had been there, we
would not have laughed, — we would have cheered
her. Though so very poor, she was richer than they,
for she was true to her country; and no doubt she
knew that it was such as they who had made her
poor, and were even then fighting to make her
poorer.

Another day and they reached the " pike," — a
hard, macadamized road, — and were transferred into
wagons. Many a joke they cracked about "Uncle
Sam's coaches"; and they made the woods ring with
such songs as " Dixie," and the " Bonnie Blue Flag,"
but they were truly grateful for the change, for it
relieved their wean^ feet from the tiresome exertion

The Rebel Prisoner Boy. 241

of marching. Sunset brought them to Camp Nel-
son; and there they encamped in the woods, and
were soon surrounded with Yankees. It rained hard,
but with his traveUing shawl stretched over a stick,
supported on two wooden forks, our prisoner made
a capital tent, and slept dry and soundly until morn-
ing. There they remained two days, when they
were marched to Nicholasville, — the end of the rail-
way,— and then their weary march of two hundred
miles was over.

Arriving at Lexington, they were put into a sort
of jail which the renowned freebooter, John Morgan,
used as a slave-pen when he was in the business of
negro-trading. It was a wretched place, and doubt-
less the noted horse and man stealer would have left
it in better condition, if he had supposed it would so
soon be turned into a hotel for the accommodation
of his friends. A little after dark on the following
day, the train on which they were rolled into the
streets of Louis\dlle. A crowd gathered round, when
they alighted from the cars, and one among it cried
out : " Here they are, — fifty Rebels, and one big
Injun. Rebs, I say, whar der ye come from?

" From Bragg's army," answered one of them.

"Ha! ha!" he shouted. "AVhar 's Bragg now?"

"Acting as rear-guard for Rosecrans's army," an-
II p

242 Prison Pictures.

swered the Rebel ; and it was true, for it was just
after the battle of Chickamauga. The Union man
wisely said nothing more.

They were marched into a prison on Broadway,
where they found nearly three hundred of their com-
rades ; and, weary and hungry, turned into the first
bunks they could find, too tired even to wait for their
suppers. After two days, they were again marched
through the streets to the river, where a ferry-boat
was in waiting to take them to the Indiana shore.
Arrived there, they entered the railway cars which
conveyed them to Camp Douglas.

The church bells were sounding twelve on a dark
October night,- when the train in which they had
journeyed all the day halted abreast of the camp,
and they heard the gruff summons of the guard :
" Turn out ! Turn out ! " All day long the rain
had poured through the roof of the rickety old car,
wetting them through and through ; and, cold, stiff",
and hungry as they were, the summons seemed a
cheerful sound, though it welcomed them to a prison.
Tumbling out in the mud, and scaling a wall breast-
high, they groped their way up the steep bank, and
over a couple of fences, and were at the gateway of
the camp. Then the ponderous doors rolled back,
and for almost the first time in their lives they

The Rebel Friso7ier Boy. 243

realized how blessed a thing is freedom. But an
extract here and there from the young prisoner's
journal will give you a better idea of his life in
Camp Douglas than any words of mine.

" Snow," he WTites, late in October, " came softly
feathering the ground this morning. ' Away down

in Dixie ' the golden sunshine of the Indian sum-
mer is gilding the hills, and its soft hazy blue is veil-
ing the landscape; but up here in this chilly north-
em clime we are shivering in the icy grasp of old
Winter ; and, worse than all, it is my turn to cook ! "
"Two months to-day," again he wTites, "have I
been a prisoner, and a weary long time it seems.
The newspapers say exchanges are suspended. If
that be true, we are 'in for the war.' A gloomy
prospect indeed." — "Christmas has come, — Christ-
mas in prison ! How much more we feel our con-

244 Prison Pictures.

finement on occasions like this. Reminiscences of
many another Christmas come to our minds, and set
us to thinking of home and the loved ones there.
The consequence is a fit of low spirits. Nearly all
of us have tried to prepare some ' good things ' from
our limited stores in honor of the day. A small
^greenback' has supplied our bunk with a few oys-
ters, and I suspect we are as gay over our modest
stew, eaten from a tin pan with an iron spoon, as
many an ' outsider ' is over his splendid feast of
champagne and 'chicken fixins.'" — '* But Christmas
has gone, and yet no hope of exchange ! How long,
O Lord ! How long ! "

"No prisoner at Camp Douglas will forget New-
Year's Day, 1864, if he should live a thousand years.
To say it was cold does not express it at all. It was
frightfully, awfully cold. When I awoke this morn-
ing the roof and rafters were covered with frost, and
in many places icicles, two or three inches long, hung
down from the beams. They were our breath which
had congealed during the night. The frost inside
was heavier than any I ever saw outside on a w^inter
day in 'Dixie.' A few of our men went down to
head-quarters, and, on returning, one had his ears,,
and another his ears and nose, frost-bitten. Some
of the guards froze at their posts, and one sentinel

w

■!'ii'Hl„

The Rebel Prisoner Boy. 245

fell down near our barrack, frozen, — not to death,
but very near to it. A few of us, seeing him fall,
took him into our quarters, thus saving his life.
People who have always lived here say they never
experienced such weather. The mercury in the ther-
mometer fell to forty degrees below zero."

" The weather has moderated, and to-day we have
been reminded that the earth once was green. A
load of hay has invaded the camp, to fill our bunks,
and stir our blood with a little frolic. A rich scene
occurred in dividing it among the barracks. Before
the wagon reached the head of the Square, out poured
the ' Rebels,' and, with the war-cry of ' Hay ! Hay ! '
they charged upon it, and completely checked its
progress. In a moment the driver was 'nowhere.'
One fellow secured an armful, and started for his
barrack, but before he reached the outside of the
crowd it was reduced to a wisp of straw. Then
three or four, more enterprising than the rest, cUmbed
to the top of the load, and soon it was covered with
men. By this time the driver, armed with whip and
pitchfork, fought his way back, and, mounting the
cart, began to clear it. One he pushed off, another
required a poke from the pitchfork, but all secured
an armful of the hay before they gave up the ground.
The driver then tossed the remainder off, and, as

246

Prison Pictures.

each wisp fell, a score of hands were raised to catch
it. The boys 'went in' for fun, more than for hay,
and scarcely one was lucky enough to fill his bunk."

Farther on, the prisoner writes : " Last night sev-
eral men in ' White Oak Square ' attempted to escape
by scaling the fence. Some succeeded, but one was

shot. To-day I hear that he will die He is

dead."

The poor fellows who attempted to escape, and did
not succeed, were punished in various ways, and some

of the ways were of the most ludicrous character.
There is a grim sort of humor about the keeper,
which seems to delight in odd and comical modes
of punishment for the refractory prisoners. They
do no harm, and are a far more effectual means
of restraint than the old-fashioned confinement in

The Rebel Prisoner Boy.

247

a dungeon, with its accompanying diet of bread
and water. One of these modes is "riding on a
rail," which, ever since
Saxe wrote about it, most
people have thought a
pleasant way to travel.
Many a light - hearted
" native " has laughed at
it ; but a half-hour's ride
has made him long for
"a chance afoot," or even
a lift on a broomstick.
Another mode is mount-
ing the pork-barrel. In
this the prisoner is
perched upon a barrel, and left to stand, a longer or
shorter time, in the centre of the prison-yard, where
he is naturally " the observ^ed of all observers." If he
has any shame about him, he soon concludes that
"the post of honor is a private station." Still another
mode is drawing a ball and chain about the camp.
The culprit lights his pipe, assumes a nonchalant air,
and tries to make you think he is having an easy
time of it ; but look at him when half a day on his
travels, and his face will tell you that he never again
will make a dray-horse of himself

248

Prison Pictures,

But to return to the prisoner's journal. Winter
goes, and spring comes, sunny and genial, remind-
ing him of the pleasant
May time at home ; but
with it comes no hope
of release. Time drags
more heavily than be-
fore, ar. ^ every page bears
some i ch sentences as
these : • I am wearied out
with this hopeless impris-
onment." " Prison life is
beginning to tell upon me. Fits of low spirits come
oftener than they did." " It seems as if the entan-
glement in regard to exchange would never end."
"For a little while last night I was in heaven. In
my dreams I was exchanged, and at home. But I
awoke, and the familiar roof and straw-stuffed bunk
told me I was still in ' durance vile.' O Dixie ! how
I long for a glimpse of your sunny hills."

Farther on he writes : " Two years ago to-day I
was mustered into the service of the Confederate
States. I wondered then what would be the con-
dition of things when our twelve months was out.
All thought the war would end before our time ex-
pired. It is saddening to look back on the changes

The Rebel Prisoner Boy.

249

that have occurred since then. A Federal army
holds my native town, and our company, its officers,
and myself are all occupants of a Northern prison.
When will all this end?" .

At last summer comes, with its scorching days
and sultry nights. The snowy winter and the rainy
spring were hard to bear, but the summer is even
harder, and is made less endurable, he writes, "by
a scarcity of water. The hydrants have either

stopped running altogether, or run only in small
dribblets. Forming in line," he says, "with our
buckets in our hands, we watch them, often for
half a day, before we get the needful supply."
And so the weary days wear away, till at last it

250 Prison Pictures.

seems that Time has stopped his car, waiting the
issue of the dreadful war between brothers. But
Time is not waiting. Still his terrible scythe is mow-
ing,— mowing down the young and strong, and bear-
ing them from the prisoner's sight forever. Thirteen
have been borne away, — thirteen out of a company
of fifty! As each one goes, the boy's face grows
paler, his smile fainter, his step more feeble. May
not his own turn soon come to follow ? But hark !
the bells are ringing and the cannon firing, even
while he asks the question. He stops in his moody
walk, and earnestly listens. Clear and loud the bells
ring out, "Richmond has fallen. The great Rebel-
lion is over ! " He sends up a wild, glad shout, for
now he is free. The country he has sought to de-
stroy rewards him with pardon ! Never again, we
may be sure, will he lift his hand against it, ^s- never
again fight against his own freedom.

THE GREAT CONSPIRACY.

HAVING told you all about the great prison,
and its prisoners, I will now tell you of the
great conspiracy which the Rebels formed to capture
the prison, liberate the prisoners, and set the whole
West aflame with Rebellion.

All of you have heard of a famous Report, pub-
lished by Judge Holt, — Judge Advocate General of
the United States, — just prior to the last national
election, which disclosed the existence of a wide-
spread conspiracy at the West, having for its object
the overthrow of the Union. This conspiracy, the
Report stated, had a military organization, with a com-
mander-in-chief, general, and subordinate officers, and
five hundred thousand enrolled members, all bound
to a blind obedience to the orders of their superiors,
and pledged to "take up arms against any govern-
ment found waging war against a people endeavor-
ing to establish a government of their own choice."

The organization, it was stated, was in every way
hostile to the Union, and friendly to the so-called

252 Prison Pictures.

Confederacy; and the principal objects which Judge
Holt said it aimed to accomplish were "a general
rising in Missouri," and a similar " rising in Indiana,
Ohio, Illinois, and Kentucky, in co-operation with a
Rebel force which was to invade the last-named
State."

A great many good people, when the Report ap-
peared, shook their heads, and pronounced it an
election falsehood ; but startling and incredible as it
seemed, it told nothing but the truth, and it did not
tell the whole truth. It omitted to state that the .or-
ganization was planned in Richmond ; that its oper-
ations were directed by Jacob Thompson, — once
Mr. Buchanan's Secretary of the Interior, but then a
noted Rebel, — who was in Canada for that purpose;
and that wholesale robbery, arson, and midnight as-
sassination were among its designs.

The point marked out for the first attack was
Camp Douglas, about which I have told you in pre-
vious chapters. The eight thousand Rebel soldiers
confined there, being liberated and armed, were to
be joined by the Canadian refugees and Missouri
" Butternuts," who were to effect their release, and
the five thousand and more members of the treason-
able order resident in Chicago. This force of nearly
twenty thousand men would be a nucleus about

The Great Conspiracy. 253

which the conspirators in other parts of Illinois could
gather; and, being joined by the prisoners liberated
from other camps, and members of the order from
other States, would form an army a hundred thou-
sand strong. ■ So fully had everything been foreseen
and provided for, that the leaders expected to gather
and organize this vast body of men within the space
of a fortnight ! The United States could bring into
the field no force capable of withstanding the pro-
gress of such an army. The consequences would
be, that the whole character of the war would be
changed ; its theatre would be shifted from the Bor-
der to the heart of the Free States ; and Southern
independence, and the beginning of that process of
separation among the Northern States so confidently
counted on by the Rebel leaders at the outbreak of
hostilities, would have followed.

What saved the nation from being drawn into this
whirlpool of ruin ? Nothing but the cool brain, sleep-
less vigilance, and wonderfiil sagacity of one man, —
a young officer never read .of in the newspapers, —
removed from field duty because of disability, but
commissioned, I verily believe, by a good Providence
to ferret out and foil this deeper-laid, wider-spread,
and more diabolical conspiracy than any that darkens
the page of history. Other men — and women, too

254 Prison Pictures.

— were instrumental in dragging the dark iniquity to
light ; but they failed to fathom its full enormity, and
to discover its point of outbreak. He did that ; and
he throttled the tiger when about to spring, and so de-
serves the lasting gratitude of his country. How he
did it I propose to tell you in this chapter. It is a
marvellous tale ; it will read more like romance than
history ; but, calling to mind what a good man once
said to me, "Write the truth; let people doubt, if
they will," I shall tell you the story.

There is nothing remarkable in the appearance of
this young man. Nearly six feet high, he has an erect
military carriage, a frank, manly face, and looks every
inch a soldier, — such a soldier as would stand up all
day in .a square hand-to-hand fight with an open en-
emy ; but the keenest eye would detect in him no
indication of the crafty genius which delights to fol-
low the windings of wickedness when burrowing in
the dark. But if not a Fouche or a Vidocq, he is
certainly an able man ; for, in a section where able
men are as plenty as apple-blossoms in June, he was
chosen to represent his district in the State Senate,
and, entering the army a subaltern officer, rose, be-
fore the Battle of Perryville, to the command of a
regiment. At that battle a Rebel bullet entered his
shoulder, and crushed the bones of his right elbow.

The Great Conspiracy. 255

This disabled him for field duty, and so it came
about that he assumed the light blue of the veterans,
and on the second day of May, 1864, succeeded Gen-
eral Orme in command of the military post at Chi-
cago. Here is his picture, and I
think it will show you that my de-
scription of him is correct.

When fairly settled in the low-
roofed shanty which stands, — ■ as
you will see by looking at the pic-
ture on a previous page, — a sort
of mute sentry, over the front gateway of Camp Doug-
las, the new Commandant, as was natural, looked
about him. He found the camp had a garrison of
but two regiments of veteran reserves, numbering, all
told, only seven hundred men fit for duty. This small
force was guarding more than eight thousand Rebel
prisoners, one third of whom were Texas rangers,
and guerrillas who had served under Morgan, — wild,
reckless characters, fonder of a fight than of a din-
ner, and ready for any enterprise, however desperate,
that held out the smallest prospect of freedom. To
add to the seeming insecurity, nearly every office in
the camp was filled with these prisoners. They
served out rations and distributed clothing to their
comrades, dealt out ammunition to the guards, and

256 Prison Pictures.

even kept the records in the quarters of the Com-
mandant. In fact, the prison was in charge of the
prisoners, not the prisoners in cliarge of the prison.
This state of things underwent a sudden change.
With the exception of a very few, whose characters
recommended them to peculiar confidence, all were
at once placed where they belonged, — on the inner
side of the prison fence.

A post-office was connected with the camp, and
this next received the Commandant's attention. Ev-
erything about it appeared to be regular. A vast
number of letters came and went, but they all passed
unsealed, and seemed to contain nothing contraband.
Many of them, however, were short epistles, on long
pieces of paper, a curious circumstance among cor-
respondents with whom stationery was scarce and
greenbacks not over-plenty. One sultry day in June,
the Commandant builded a fire, and gave these let-
ters a warming ; and lo ! presto ! the white spaces
broke out into dark lines breathing thoughts blacker
than the fluid that wrote them. Corporal Snooks
whispered to his wife, away down in Texas, "The
forthe of July is comin', Sukey, so be a man ; fui
I 'm gwine to celerbrate. I 'm gwine up loike a
rocket, ef I does come down loike a stick." And
Sergeant Blower said to John Copperhead of Chi-

The Great Conspiracy. 257

cago, " Down in ' old Virginny ' I used to think the
fourth of July a humbug, but this prison has made
me a patriot. Now 'I 'd like to burn an all-fired sight
of powder, and if you help, and God is 'willing, I shall
do it." In a similar strain wrote half a score of them.
Such patriotism seemed altogether too wordy to
be genuine. It told nothing, but it darkly hinted at
dark events to come. The Commandant bethought
him that the Democratic Convention would assemble
on the 4th of July ; that a vast multitude of people
would congregate at Chicago on that occasion ; and
that, in so great a throng, it would be easy for the
clans to gather, attack the camp, and liberate the
prisoners. " Eternal vigilance is the price of lib-
erty," and the young Commandant was vigilant. Soon
Prison-Square received a fresh instalment of prison-
ers. They were genuine " Butternuts," out at the
toes, out at the knees, out at the elbows, out every-
where, in fact, and of everything but their senses.
Those they had snugly about them. They frater-
nized with Corporal Snooks, Sergeant Blower, and
others of their comrades, and soon learned that a
grand pyrotechnic display was arranged to come off
on Independence-day. A huge bonfire was to be
built outside, and the prisoners were to salute the
old flag, but not with blank cartridges.

Q

258 Prison Pictures.

But who was to light the outside bonfire ? That
the improvised " Butternuts " failed to discover, and
the Commandant set his own wits to working. He
soon ascertained that a singular organization existed
in Chicago. It was called "The Society of the II-
lini," and its object as set forth by its printed con-
stitution, was "the more perfect development of the
literary, scientific, moral, physical, and social welfare
of the conservative citizens of Chicago." The Com-
mandant knew a conservative citizen whose develop-
ment was not altogether perfect, and he recommended
him to join the organization. The society needed
recruits and initiation-fees, and received the new
member with open arms. Soon he was d^ep in the
outer secrets of the order ; but he could not pene-
trate its inner mysteries. Those were open to only
an elect few who had already attained to a "perfect
development " — of villany. He learned enough,
however, to verify the dark hints thrown out by the
prisoners. The society numbered some thousands of
members, all fully armed, thoroughly di'illed, and
impatiently waiting a signal to ignite a mine deeper
than that which exploded in front of Petersburg.

But the assembling of the Chicago Convention was
postponed to the 29th of August, and the 4th of
July passed away without the bonfire and the fire-
works.

The Great Conspiracy. 259

The Commandant, however, did not sleep. He
still kept his wits a- working ; the bogus "Butternuts"
still ate prisoners rations ; and the red flame still
brought out black thoughts on the white letter-paper.
Quietly the garrison was reinforced, quietly increased
vigilance was enjoined upon the sentinels ; and the
tranquil, assured look of the Commandant told no
one that he was playing with -hot coals on a barrel
of gunpowder.

So July rolled away into August, and the Com-
mandant sent a letter giving his view of the state ' of
things to his commanding general. This letter has
fallen into my hands, and, as might sometimes makes
right, I shall copy a portion of it. It is dated Au-
gust 12, 1864, and, in the formal phrase customary
among military men, begins : —

" I have the honor respectfully to report, in rela-
tion to the supposed organization at Toronto, Can-
ada, which was to come here in squads, then com-
bine, and attempt to rescue the prisoners of war at
Camp Douglas, that there is an armed organization
in this city of five thousand men, and that the rescue
of our prisoners would be the signal for a general
insurrection in Indiana and Illinois

"There is little, if any, doubt that an organization
hostile to the Government and secret in its workings

26o .^ Prison Pictures.

and character exists in the States of Indiana and Il-
linois, and that this organization is strong in num-
bers. It would be easy, perhaps, at any crisis in
public affairs to push this organization into acts of

open disloyalty, if its leaders should so will

"Except in cases of considerable emergency, I
shall make all communications to your head-quarters
on this subject by mail."

. These extracts show, that, seventeen days before the
assembling of the Chicago Convention, the Com-
mandant had become convinced that mail-bags were
safer vehicles of communication than telegraph-wires ;
that five thousand armed traitors were then dorniciled
in Chicago ; that they expected to be joined by a
body of Rebels from Canada ; that the object of the
combination was the rescue of the prisoners at Camp
Douglas ; and that success in that enterprise would
be the signal for a general uprising throughout Indi-
ana and Illinois. Certainly, this was no little knowl-
edge to gain- by two months' burrowing in the dark.
But the conspirators were not fools. They had
necks which they valued. They would not plunge
into open disloyalty until some "crisis in public af-
fairs " should engage the attention of the authorities,
and afford a fair chance of success. Would the as-
sembling of the Convention be such a crisis ? was
now the question.

The Great Conspiracy. 261

The question was soon answered. About this time
Lieutenant-Colonel B. H. Hill, commanding the mil-
itary district of Michigan, received a missive from a
person in Canada who represented himself to be a
major in the Confederate servdce. He expressed a
readiness to disclose a dangerous plot against the
Government, provided he were allowed to take the
oath of allegiance, and rewarded according to the
value of his information. The Lieutenant-Colonel
read the letter, tossed it aside, and went about his
business. No good, he had heard, ever came out
of Nazareth. Soon another missive, of the same pur-
port, and from the same person, came to him. He
tossed this aside also, and went again about his
business. But the Major was a Southern Yankee,
— the " cutest " sort of Yankee. He had something
to sell, and was bound to sell it, even if he had to
throw his neck into the bargain. Taking his life in
his hand he crossed the frontier; and so it came
about, that, late one night, a tall man, in a slouched
hat, rusty regimentals, and immense jack-boots, was
ushered into the private apartment of the Lieutenant-
Colonel at Detroit. It was the Major. He had
brought his wares with him. They had cost him
nothing, except some small sacrifice of such trifling
matters as honor, fraternal feeling, and good faith

262 Prison Pictures.

towards brother conspirators, whom they might send
to the gallows \ but they were of immense value,
— would save millions of money and rivers of loyal
blood. So the Major said, and so the Lieutenant-
Colonel thought, as, coolly, with his cigar in his
mouth, and his legs over the arm of his chair, he
drew the important secrets from the Rebel officer.
Something good might, after all, come out of Naza-
reth. The Lieutenant-Colonel would trust the fel-
low, — trust him, but pay him nothing, and send him
back to Toronto to worm out the whole plan from
the Rebel leaders, and to gather the whole details of
the projected expedition. But the Major knew with
whom he was dealing. He had faith in Uncle Sam,
and he was right in having it j for, truth to tell, if
Uncle Sam does not always pay, he can always be
trusted.

It was not long before the Major reappeared with
his budget, which he duly opened to the Lieutenant-
Colonel. Its contents were interesting, and I will
give them to you as the Union officer gave them to
the General commanding the Northern Department.
His communication is dated August i6, 1864. It
says : —

"I have the honor to report that I had another
interview last evening with Major , whose dis-

The Great Conspiracy. 263

closures in relation to a Rebel plot for the release of
the prisoners at Camp Douglas I gave you in my
letter of the 8th instant. I have caused inquiries to
be made in Canada about Major ^, and under-
stand that he does possess the confidence of the
Rebel agent, and that his statements are entitled to
respect.

"He now informs me that he proceeded to To-
ronto, as he stated he would when I last saw him ;
that about two hundred picked men, of the Rebel
refugees in Canada, are assembled at that place, who
are armed with revolvers and supplied with funds
and transportation-tickets to Chicago ; and that al-
ready one hundred and fifty have proceeded to Chi-
cago. That he (Major ) and the balance of the

men are waiting for instructions from Captain Hines,
who is the commander of the expedition ; that Cap-
tain Hines left Toronto last Thursday for Chicago,
and at this time is doubtless at Niagara Falls, mak-
ing the final arrangements with the chief Rebel
agents.

"Major states that Sanders, Holbrook, and

Colonel Hicks were at Toronto, while he was there,
engaged in making preparations, etc. The general
plan is to accomplish the release of the prisoners at
Camp Douglas, and in doing so they will be assisted

264 Prison Pictures.

by an armed organization at Chicago. After being
released, the prisoners will be armed, and being joined
by the organization in Chicago, will be mounted and
proceed to Camp Morton, (at Indianapolis,) and there
accomplish a similar object in releasing prisoners.
That for months. Rebel emissaries have been trav-
elling through the Northwest ; that their arrange-
ments are fully matured j and that they expect to
receive large accessions of force from Ohio, Indiana,
and Illinois. They expect to destroy the works at
Ironton.

" Major says further that he is in hourly ex-
pectation of receiving instructions to proceed to
Chicago with the balance of the party ; that he shall
put up at the City Hotel, corner of Lake and State

Streets, and register his name as George ; and

that he will then place himself in communication
with Colonel Sweet, commanding at Chicago."

The Major did not "put up at the corner of Lake
and State Streets," and that relieved the Govern-
ment from the trouble of estimating the value of his
services, and, what is more to be deplored, rendered
it impossible for the Commandant to recognize and
arrest the Rebel leaders during the sitting of the
Chicago Convention. What became of the Major is
not known. He may have repented of his good

The Great Conspiracy. 265

deeds, or his treachery may have been detected and
he put out of the way by his accomplices.

It will be noticed how closely the Rebel officer's
disclosures accorded with the information gathered
through indirect channels by the astute Command-
ant. When the report was conveyed to him, he may
have smiled at this proof of his own sagacity ; but
he made no change in his arrangements. Quietly
and steadily he went on strengthening the camp,
augmenting the garrison, and shadowing the foot-
steps of all suspicious new-comers.

At last the loyal Democrats came together to the
great Convention, and with them came Satan also.
Bands of ill-favored men, in bushy hair, bad whis-
key, and seedy homespun, staggered from the rail-
way-stations, and hung about the street-corners. A
reader of Dante or Swedenborg would have taken
them for delegates from the lower regions, had not
their clothing been plainly perishable, while the dev-
ils wear everlasting garments. They had come, they
announced, to make a Peace President ; but they bran-
dished bowie-knives, and bellowed for war even in
the sacred precincts of the Peace Convention. But
war or peace, the Commandant was ready for it.

For days reinforcements had poured into the camp,
until it actually bristled with bayonets. On every

%(^ Prison Pictures.

side it was guarded with cannon, and, day and night,
mounted men patrolled the avenues to give notice of
the first hostile gathering. But there was no gather-
ing. The conspirators were there two thousand
strong, with five thousand Illini to back them. From
every point of the compass, — from Canada, Mis-
souri, Southern Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, New York,
and even loyal Vermont, bloody-minded men had
come to give the Peace candidate a red baptism.
But "discretion is the better part of valor." The
conspirators saw the preparations and disbanded. Not
long afterward one of the leaders said to me, "We
had spies in every public place, — in the telegraph-
oflSce, the camp itself, and even close by the Com-
mandant's head-quarters, and knew, hourly, all that
was passing. From the observatory, opposite the
camp, I myself saw the arrangements for our recep-
tion. We outnumbered you two to one, but our
force was badly disciplined. Success in such cir-
cumstances was impossible ; and on the third day
of the Convention we announced from head-quarters
that an attack at that time was impracticable. It
would have cost the lives of hundreds of the prison-
ers, and perhaps the capture or destruction of the
whole of us." So the storm blew over, without the
leaden rain, and its usual accompaniment of thunder
and lightning.

The Great Conspiracy. 267

A dead calm followed, during which the lUini slunk
back to their holes ; the prisoners took to honest
ink ; the bogus " Butternuts " walked the streets clad
like Christians, and the Commandant went to sleep
with only one eye open. So the world rolled around
into November.

The Presidential election was near at hand, — the
great contest on which hung the fate of the Republic.
The Commandant was convinced of this, and wanted
to marshal his old constituents for the final struggle
between Freedom and Despotism. He obtained a
furlough to go home and mount the stump for the
Union. He was about to set out, his private secre-
tary was ready, and the carriage waiting at the gate-
way, when an indefinable feeling took possession of
him, holding him back, and warning him of coming
danger. It would not be shaken off, and reluctantly
he postponed the journey till the morrow. Before
the morrow facts were developed which made his
presence in Chicago essential to the safety of the
city and the lives of the citizens. The snake was
scotched, not killed. It was preparing for another
and a deadlier spring. In the following singular
and providential way he received warning of the
danger.

On the 2d of November, a well-known citizen of

26S Prison Pictures.

St. Louis, openly a Secessionist, but secretly a loyal
man, and acting as a detective for the Government,
left that city in pursuit of a criminal. He followed
him to Springfield, traced him from there to Chi-
cago, and on the morning of November 4th, about
the hour the Commandant had the singular impres-
sion I have spoken of, arrived in the latter city. He
soon learned that the bird had again flown.

"While passing along the street," (I now quote
from his report to the Provost-Marshal General of
Missouri,) "and trying to decide what course to pur-
sue, — whether to follow this man to New York, or
return to St. Louis, — I met an old acquaintance, a
member of the order of 'American Knights,' who in-
formed me that Marmaduke was in Chicago. After
conversing with him awhile, I started up the street,
and about one block farther on met Dr. E. W. Ed-
wards, a practising physician in Chicago, (another
old acquaintance,) who asked me if I knew of any
Southern soldiers in town. I told him I did; that
Marmaduke (a Rebel officer) was there. He seemed
very much astonished, and asked how I knew. I
told him. He laughed, and then said that Marma-
duke was at his house, under the assumed name of
Burling, and mentioned, as a good joke, that he had
a British passport, vised by the United States Consul

The Great Conspiracy. 269

under that name. I gave Edwards my card to hand
to Marmaduke (who was another 'old acquaintance'),
and told him I was stopping at the Briggs House.

"That same evening I again met Dr. Edwards
on the street, going to my hotel. He said Marma-
duke desired to see me, and I accompanied him to
his house." There, in the course of a long conver-
sation, "Marmaduke told me that he and several
Rebel officers were in Chicago to co-operate with
other parties in releasing the prisoners of Camp
Douglas, and other prisons, and inaugurating a Re-
bellion at the North. He said the movement was
under the auspices of the order of 'American Knights'
(to which order the Society of the Illini belonged),
and was to begin operations by an attack on Camp
Douglas on election day."

The detective did not know the Commandant, but
he soon made his acquaintance, and told him the
star}^ '*The young man," he says, "rested his head
upon his hand, and looked as if he had lost his moth-
er." x\nd well he might ! A mine had opened at his
feet; with but eight hundred men in the garrison it
was to be sprung upon him. Only seven t}^ hours
were left ! What would he not give for twice as
many? In that time he might secure reinforce-
ments. He walked the room for a time in silence.

2/0 PHson Pictures.

then, turning to the detective, said, " Do you know
where the other leaders are?" — "I do not." — "Can't
you find out from Marmaduke ? " — "I think not. He
said what he did say voluntarily. If I were to ques-
tion him he would suspect me." That was true,
and Marmaduke was not of the stuff that betrays a
comrade on compulsion. His arrest, therefore, would
profit nothing, and might hasten the attack for which
the Commandant was so poorly prepared. He sat
down and wrote a hurried despatch to his General.
Troops ! troops ! for God's sake, troops ! was its bur-
den. Sending it off by a courier, — the telegraph
told tales, — he rose, and again walked the room in
silence. After a while, with a heavy heart, the de-
tective said, "Good night," and left him.

What passed with the Commandant during the next
two hours I do not know. He may have prayed, —
he is a praying man, — and there was need of prayer,
for the torch was ready to burn millions of property,
the knife whetted to take thousands of lives. At the
end of the two hours a stranger was ushered into the
Commandant's apartments. From the lips and pen
of this stranger I have what followed, and I think it
may be relied on.

He was a slim, light-haired young man, with fine,
regular features, and that indefinable air which de-

ihe Great Conspiracy. T.'jx

notes good breeding. Recognizing the Command-
ant by the eagle on his shoulder, he said, " Can I
see you alone, sir ? " — " Certainly," answered the
Union officer, motioning to his secretary to leave the
room. "I am a Colonel in the Rebel army," said
the stranger, " and have put my life into your hands,
to warn you of the most hellish plot in history." —
"Your life is safe, sir," replied the other, "if your
visit is an honest one. I shall be glad to hear what
you have to say. Be seated."

The Rebel officer took the proffered chair, and sat
there till far into the morning. I cannot attempt to
recount all that passed between them. The written
statement the Rebel Colonel has sent to me covers
fourteen pages of closely written foolscap ; and my
interview with him on the subject lasted five hours,
by a slow watch. Sixty days previously he had left
Richmond with verbal despatches from the Rebel
Secretary of War to Jacob Thompson, the Rebel
agent in Canada. These despatches had relation to
a vast plot, designed to wrap the West in flames,
sever it from the East, and secure the independence
of the South. Months before, the plot had been
concocted by Jeff Davis at Richmond ; and in May
previous, Thompson, supplied with two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars in sterling exchange, had been

272 Prison Pictures.

sent to Canada to superintend its execution. This
money was lodged in a bank at Montreal, and
had furnished the funds which fitted out the abor-
tive expeditions against Johnson's Island and Camp
Douglas. The plot embraced the order of "Ameri-
can Knights," which was spread all over the West,
and numbered five hundred thousand men, three
hundred and fifty thousand of whom were armed.
A force of twelve hundred men — Canadian refu-
gees, and bushwhackers from Southern Illinois and
Missouri — was to attack Camp Douglas on Tuesday
night, the 8th of November, liberate and arm the
prisoners, and sack Chicago. This was to be the
signal for a general uprising throughout the West,
and for a simultaneous advance by Hood upon Nash-
ville, Buckner upon Louisville, and Price upon St.
Louis. Vallandigham was to head the movement
in Ohio, Bowles in Indiana, and Walsh in Illinois.
The forces were to rendezvous at Dayton and Cincin-
nati in Ohio, New Albany and Indianapolis in In-
diana, and Rock Island, Chicago, and Springfield
in Illinois ; and those gathered at the last-named
place, after seizing the arsenal, were to march to aid
Price in taking St. Louis. Prominent Union citi-
zens and officers were to be seized and sent South,
and the more obnoxious of them were to be assassi-

The Great Conspiracy. 273

nated. All places taken were to be sacked and de-
stroyed, and a band of a hundred desperate men was
organized to burn the larger Northern cities not in-
cluded in the field of operations. Two hundred
Confederate officers, who were to direct the military
movements, had been in Canada, but were then sta-
tioned throughout the AVest, at the various points to
be attacked, waiting the outbreak at Chicago. Cap-
tain Hines, who had won the confidence of Thomp-
son by his successful management of the escape of
John Morgan, had control of the initial movement
against Camp Douglas ; but Colonel Grenfell, assisted
by Colonel Marmaduke and a dozen other Rebel
officers, was to manage the military part of the op-
erations. All of these officers were at that moment
in Chicago, waiting the arrival of the men, who were
to come in' small squads, over different railroads,
during the following three days. The Rebel officer
had known of the plot for months, but its atrocious
details had come to his knowledge only within a fort-
night. They had appalled him ; and though he was
betraying his friends, and the South which he loved,
the humanity in him would not let him rest till he
had washed his hands of the horrible crime.

The Commandant listened with nervous interest
to the whole of this recital ; but when the Southern
12* R

2/4 Prison Pictztres.

officer made the last remark, he almost groaned out,
— " Why did you not come before ? "

"I could not. I gave Thompson my opinion of
this, and have been watched. I think they have
tracked me here. My life on your streets to-night
wouldn't be worth a bad half-dollar."

" True j but what must be done ? "

"Arrest the * Butternuts' as they come into Chi-
cago."

" That I can do ; but the leaders are here with
five thousand armed Illini to back them. I must
take them. Do you know them .? "

" Yes ; but I do not know where they are quar-
tered."

And so again the Commandant was unable to ar-
rest the leaders. He must arrest them. It was his
only chance of saving the camp, for its little garri-
son could not defend it against the large force the
Rebels could gather ; but if the head were gone, the
body could do nothing.

At two o'clock the Commandant showed the Rebel
officer to his bed, but went back himself and paced
the floor until sunrise. In the morning his plan was
formed. It was a desperate plan ; but desperate cir-
cumstances require desperate expedients.

In the prison was a young Texan who had served

The Great Conspiracy. 275

on Bragg's staff, and under Morgan in Kentucky,
and was therefore acquainted with Hines, Grenfell,
and the other Rebel officers. He fully believed in
the theory of State Rights, — that is, that a part is
greater than the whole, — but was an honest man,
who, when his word was given, could be trusted.
One glance at his open, resolute face showed that he
feared nothing ; that he had, too, that rare courage
which delights in danger, and courts heroic enterprise
from pure love of peril. Early in the war he had
encountered Colonel De Land, a former Comman-
dant of the post, on the battle-field, and taken him
prisoner. A friendship then sprang up between the
two, which, when the tables were turned, and the
captor became the captive, was not forgotten. Colo-
nel De Land made him chief clerk in the medical de-
partment of the prison, and gave him ever}^ possible
freedom. At that time it was the custom to allow cit-
izens free access to the camp ; and among the many
good men and women who came to visit and aid the
prisoners was a young woman, the daughter of a
well-known resident of Chicago. She met the Texan,
and a result as natural as the union of hydrogen and
oxygen followed. But since Adam courted Eve, who
ever heard of wooing going on in a prison ? " It is
not exactly the thing," said Colonel De Land ; " had

276- Prison Pictures.

you not better pay your addresses at the lady's house,
like a gentleman?" A guard accompanied the pris-
oner j but it was shrewdly guessed that he stayed
outside, or paid court to the girls in the kitchen.

This was the state of things when the present
Commandant took charge of the camp. He learned
the facts, studied the prisoner's face, and remem-
bered that he, too, once went a-courting. As he
walked his room that Friday night, he bethought
him of the Texan. Did he love his State better
than he loved his affianced wife? The Comman-
dant would test him. He sent for him ; told him of
the danger surrounding the camp, and proposed that
he should escape from the prison, (to give the Reb-
els confidence in him,) and ferret out and entrap the
leaders. The Texan heard him through in silence,
then, shaking his head, said, " But I shall betray my
friends ! Can I do that in honor ? "

"Did you ask that question when you betrayed
your country?" answered the Commandant.

"Let me go from camp for an hour. Then I will
give you my decision," said the Texan, after a mo-
ment's reflection.

"Very well," replied the Commandant, and, unat-
tended, the Texan left the prison.

He wanted to consult with the young woman to

The Great Conspiracy. 277

whom he was attached. What passed between them
during that hour I do not know, and could not tell
you if I did know, — for I am not \mting romance,
but histor}^ However, without lifting the veil on
things sacred, I can say that her last words were,
"Do your duty. Blot out your record of treason."
God bless her for sapng them ! and let " Amen " be
said by ever}' American !

On his 'return to camp, the Texan merely said, "I
will do it," and the details of the plan were talked
over. How to manage to escape from the prison
was the quer}^ of the Texan. The Commandant's
brain is fertile. An adopted citizen, in the scaven-
ger line, makes periodical visits to the camp in the
way of his business. Him the Commandant sends
for, and proposes he shall aid the Texan.

"Arrah, yer Honor," the Irishman says, "I ha'n't
a tr-raitor. Bless yer beautiful sowl ! I love the kin-
try; and besides, it might damage me good name
and me purty prefession."

He is assured that his good name will be all the
better for a few weeks' dieting in a dungeon, and —
did not the same thing make Harvey Birch im-
mortal ?

Half an hour before sunset the scavenger comes
into camp with his wagon. He fills it with dry

278 Prison Pictures.

bones, broken bottles, decayed food, and the rubbish
of the prison j and down below, under a blanket, he
stows away the Texan. A hundred comrades gather
round to shut off the gaze of the guard : but outside
is the real danger. He has to pass two gates, and
run the gantlet of half a dozen sentinels. His
wagon is fuller than usual j and the late hour — it is
now after sunset — will of itself excite suspicion. It
might test the pluck of a braver man ; for* the sen-
tries' bayonets are fixed, and their guns at the half-
trigger; but he reaches the outer gate in safety.
Now, St. Patrick help him ! for he needs all the im-
pudence of an Irishman. The gate rolls back ; the
Commandant stands nervously by, but a sentry cries
out, " You can't pass ; it 's agin orders. No wagins
kin go out arter drum-beat."

" Arrah, don't be a fool ! Don't be afther obstruct-
in' a honest man's business," answers the Irishman,
pushing on into the gateway.

The soldier is vigilant, for his officer's eye is on
him.

" Halt ! " he cries again, " or I '11 fire ! "

" Fire ! Waste yer powder on yer friends, like the
bloody-minded spalpeen ye are ! " says the scaven-
ger, cracking his whip, and moving forward.

It is well he does not look back. If he should,

The Great Conspiracy. 279

he might be melted to his own soap-grease. The
sentry's musket is levelled ; he is about to fire, but
the Commandant roars out, "Don't shoot!" and
the old man and the old horse trot off into the twi-
light.

Not an hour later, two men, in big boots, slouched
hats, and brownish butternuts, come out of the Com-
mandant's quarters. With muffled faces and hasty-
strides, they make their way over the dimly lighted
road into the city. Pausing, after a while, before a
large mansion, they crouch down among the shad-
ows. It is the house of the Grand Treasurer of
the Order of American Knights, and into it very
soon they see the Texan enter. He has been sent
there by the Commandant to learn the whereabouts
of the Rebel leaders. The good man knows him well,
and rejoices greatly over his escape. He orders up
the fatted calf, and soon it is on the table, steaming
hot, and done brown in the roasting. "WTien the meal
is over, they discuss a bottle of Champagne and the
situation. The Texan cannot remain in Chicago,
the good man says, for there he will surely be de-
tected. He must be off to Cincinnati by the first-
train ; and he will arrive in the nick of time, for
warm work is daily expected. Has he any money
about him ? No, the Texan answers, he has left it

28o Prison Pictures.

behind with his Sunday clothes, in the prison. He
must have funds, the worthy gentleman thinks, but
he can lend him none, for he is a loyal man; of
course he is ! was he not the " people's candidate "
for Governor ? But no one ever heard of a woman
being hanged for treason. With this he nods to his
wife, who opens her purse, and tosses the Texan a
roll of greenbacks. They are honest notes, for an
honest face is on them. At the end of an hour
good night is said, and the Texan goes out to find
a hole to hide in. Down the street he hurries, the
long, dark shadows following.

He enters the private door of a public house,
speaks a magic word, and is shown to a room in the
upper story. Three low, prolonged raps on the wall,
and — he is among them. They are seated about a
small table, on which is a plan of the prison. One
is about forty-five, — a tall, thin man, with a wiry
frame, a jovial face, and eyes which have the wild,
roving look of the Arab's. He is dressed after the
fashion of English sportsmen, and his dog — a fine
gray bloodhound — is stretched on the hearth-rug
near him. He looks a reckless, desperate charac-
ter, and has an adventurous history.* In battle he

* See Freemantle's *' Three Months in the Southern States,"
p. 148.

The Great Conspiracy. 281

is said to be a thunderbolt, — lightning harnessed
and inspired with the will of a devil. He is just the
character to lead the dark, desperate expedition on
which they are entered. It is St. Leger Grenfell.

At his right sits another tall, erect man, of about
thirty, with large, prominent eyes, and thin, black
hair and moustache. He is of dark complexion,
has a sharp, thin nose, a small, close mouth, a coarse,
harsh voice, and a quick, boisterous manner. His
face tells of dissipation, and his dress shows the
dandy; but his deep, clear eye, and pale, wrinkled
forehead denote a cool, crafty intellect.* This is
the notorious Captain Hines, the right-hand man of
Morgan, and the soul and brains of the conspiracy.
The rest are the meaner sort of villains. I do not
know how they looked ; and if I did, they would not
be worth describing.

Hines and Grenfell spring to their feet, and grasp
the hand of the Texan. They know his reckless, in-
domitable courage, and he is a godsend to them;
sent to do what no man of them is brave enough to
do, — lead the attack on the front gateway of the
prison. So they affirm, with great oaths, as they
sit down, spread out the map, and explain to him
the plan of operations.

* Detective's description.

282 Prison Pictures.

Two hundred Rebel refugees from Canada, they
say, and a hundred "Butternuts" from Fayette and
Christian Counties, have already arrived ; many more
from Kentucky and Missouri are coming; and by
Tuesday they expect a thousand or twelve hundred
desperate men, armed to the teeth, to be in Chi-
cago. Taking advantage of the excitement of elec-
tion-night, they propose, with this force, to attack
the camp and prison. It will be divided into five
parties. One squad, under Grenfell, will be held
in reserve a few hundred yards from the main body,
and will guard the large number of guns already pro-
vided to arm the prisoners. Another — command of
which is offered to the Texan — will assault the front
gateway, and engage the attention of the eight hun-
dred troops quartered in Garrison Square. The work
of this squad will be dangerous, for it will encounter-
a force four times its strength, well-armed and sup-
plied with artillery ; but it will be speedily relieved
by the other divisions. Those, under Marmaduke,
Colonel Robert Anderson of Kentucky, and Briga-
dier-General Charles Walsh of Chicago, Commander
of the American Knights, will simultaneously assail
three sides of Prison Square, break down the fence,
liberate the prisoners, and, taking the garrison in
rear, compel a general surrender. This accomplished.

The Great Conspiracy. 283

small parties will be despatched to cut the telegraph-
wires, and seize the railway-stations ; while the main
body, reinforced by the eight thousand and more
prisoners, will march into the city and rendezvous
in Court-House Square, which will be the base of
further operations.

The first blow struck, the insurgents will be joined
by the five thousand Illini (American Knights), and,
seizing the arms of the city, — six brass field-pieces
and eight hundred Springfield muskets, — and the
arms and ammunition stored in private warehouses,
will begin the work of destruction. The banks will
be robbed, the stores gutted, the houses of loyal men
plundered, and the railway-stations, grain-elevators,
and other public buildings burned to the gound. To
facilitate this latter design, the water-plugs have been
marked, and a force detailed to set the water run-
ning. In brief, the war will be brought home to the
North; Chicago will be dealt with like a city taken
by assault, given up to the flames, the sword, and
the brutal passions of a drunken soldier}^ On it
wil] be wreaked all the havoc, the agony, and the
desolation which three years of war have heaped
upon the South ; and its upgoing flames will be the
torch that shall light a score of other cities to the
same destruction.

284 mPrison Pictures.

It was a diabolical plan, conceived far down amid
the thick blackness, and brought up by the arch-fiend
himself, who sat there, toying with the hideous thing,
and with his cloven foot beating a merry tune on the
death's-head and cross-bones under the table.

As he concludes, Hines turns to the new-comer,
"Well, my boy, what do you say? Will you take
the post of honor and of danger?"

The Texan draws a long breath, and then, through
his barred teeth, blurts out, "I will!"

On those two words hang thousands of lives, mil-
lions of money !

"You are a trump!" shouts Grenfell, springing to
his feet. " Give us your hand upon it ! "

A general hand-shaking follows, and during it,
Hines and another man announce that their time is
up: "It is nearly twelve. Fielding and I never stay

in this d d town after midnight. You are fools,

or you would n't."

Suddenly, as these words are uttered, a slouched
hat, listening at the keyhole, pops up, moves softly
along the hall, and steals down the stairway. It is
one of the detectives who have followed the Texan
from the prison. Half an hour later he opens the
private door of the Richmond House, where all this
occurred, looks cautiously around for a moment.

The Great Conspiracy. 285

and then stalks on towards the heart of the city.
The moon is down, the lamps bum dimly, but after
him glide the shadows.

In a room at the Tremont House, not far from
this time, the Commandant is waiting, when the door
opens, and a man enters. His face is flushed, his
teeth are clenched, his eyes flashing. He is stirred
to the depths of his being. Can he be the Texan ?

"What is the matter?" asks the Commandant.

The other sits down, and, as if only talking to
himself, tells him. One hour has swept away the
fallacies of his lifetime. He sees the Rebellion as
it is, — the outbreak and outworking of that spirit
which makes hell horrible. Hitherto, that night, he
has acted from love, not duty. Now he bows only
to the AU-Right and the All-Beautiful, and in his
heart is that psalm of work, sung by one of old, and
by all true men since the dawn of creation : " Here
am I, Lord ! Send me ! "

The first gray of morning is streaking the east,
when he goes forth to find a hiding-place. The sun
is not up, and the early light comes dimly through
the misty clouds, but about him still hang the long,
dark shadows. This is a world of shadows. Only
in the atmosphere which soon enclosed him is there
no night and no shadow.

286 Prison Pictures.

Soon the Texan's escape is known at the camp,
and a great hue and cry follows. Handbills are got
out, a reward is offered, and by that Sunday noon
his name is on every street-corner. Squads of sol-
diers and police ransack the city and invade every
Rebel asylum. Strange things are brought to light,
and strange gentry dragged out of dark closets ; but
nowhere is found the Texan. The search is well
done, for the pursuers are in dead earnest; and,
Captain Hines, if you don't trust him now, you are a
dunce, with all your astuteness !

So the day wears away and the night cometh.
Just at dark a man enters the private door of the
Tremont House, and goes up to a room where the
Commandant is waiting. He sports a light rattan,
wears a stove-pipe hat, a Sunday suit, and is shaven
and shorn like unto Samson. What is the Com-
mandant doing with such a dandy? Soon the gas is
lighted j and lo, it is the Texan ! But who in crea-
tion would know him ? The plot, he says, thickens.
More "Butternuts" have arrived, and the deed will be
done on Tuesday night, as sure as Christmas is com-
ing. He has seen his men, — two hundred, picked,
and every one clamoring for pickings. Hines, who
"carries the bag," is to give him ten thousand green-
backs, to stop their mouths and stuff their pockets,
at nine in the morning.

The Great Co7ispiracy. 287

** And to-morrow night we '11 have them, sure !
And, how say you, give you shackles and a dun-
geon?" asks the Commandant, his mouth wreath-
ing with grim wrinkles.

"Anything you like. Anj-thing. to hloi out my rec-
ord of treason.^'

He has learned the words, — they are on his heart,
not to be razed out forever.

When he is gone, up and down the room goes the
Commandant, as is his fashion. He is playing a
desperate game. The stake is awful. He holds the
ace of trumps, — but shall he risk the game upon it ?
At half past eight he sits down and writes a despatch
to his General. In it he says : —

"My force is, as you know, too weak and much
overworked, — only eight hundred men, all told, to
guard between eight and nine thousand prisoners.
I am certainly not justified in waiting to take risks,
and mean to arrest these officers, if possible, before
morning."

The despatch goes off, but still the Commandant
is undecided. If he strikes to-night, Hines may es-
cape, for the fox has a hole out of town, and may
keep under cover till morning. He is the king-
hawk, and much the Commandant wants to cage
him. Besides, he holds the bag, and the Texan will

288 ' Prison Pictures.

go out of prison a penniless man among strangers.
Those ten thousand greenbacks are lawful prize, and
should be the country's dower with the maiden. But
are not republics grateful ? Did not one give a man-
sion to General McClellan? Ah, Captain Hines,
that was lucky for you, for, beyond a doubt, it saved
your bacon !

The Commandant goes back to camp, sends for
the police, and gets his blue- coats ready. At two
o'clock they swoop to the prey, and before daybreak
a hundred " birds " are in the talons of the eagle.
Such another haul of buzzards and night-hawks never
was made since man first went a-hunting.*

* Since the foregoing was written the Commandant's official
Report has been published. In reference to these arrests, he
says, in a despatch to General Cook, dated Camp Douglas,
Nov. 7, 4 o'clock, A. M : —

" Have made during the night the following arrests of Rebel
officers, escaped prisoners of war, and citizens in connection
with them : —

" Morgan's Adjutant- General, Colonel G. St. Leger Grenfell,
in company with J. T. Shanks, [the Texan,] an escaped prisoner
of war, at Richmond House ; Celonel Vincent Marmaduke,
brother of General Marmaduke ; Brigadier- General Charles
Walsh, of the ' Sons of Liberty ' ; Captain Cantrill, of Morgan's
command; Charles Traverse (Butternut). Cantrill and Trav-
erse arrested in Walsh's house, in which were found two cart-
loads of large-size revolvers, loaded and capped, two hundred

The Great Conspiracy. 289

At the Richmond House Grenfell was taken in
bed with the Texan. They were clapped into irons,
and driven off to the prison together. A fortnight
later, the Texan, relating these details to the writer,

stands of muskets, loaded, and ammunition. Also seized two

boxes of guns concealed in a room in the city. Also arrested

Buck Morris, Treasurer of ' Sons of Liberty,' having complete

proof of his assisting Shanks to escape, and plotting to release

prisoners at this camp.

" Most of these Rebel officers were in this city on the same

errand in August last, their plan being to raise an insurrection

and release prisoners of war at this camp. There are many

strangers and suspicious persons in the city, believed to be

guerrillas and Rebel soldiers. Their plan was to attack the

camp on election night. All prisoners arrested are in camp.

Captain Nelson and A. C. Coventry, of the police, rendered

very efficient service.

"B. J. Sw^EET, Col Com.'"

In relation to the general operations I have detailed, the
Commandant in this Report writes as follows : —

"Adopting measures which proved effective to detect the
presence and identify the persons of the officers and leaders,
and ascertain their plans, it was manifest that they had the
means of gathering a force considerably larger than the little
garrison then guarding between eight and nine thousand pris-
oners of war at Camp Douglas, and that, taking advantage of
the excitement and the large number of persons who would or-
dinarily fill the streets on election night, they intended to make
a night attack on and surprise this camp, release and arm the
13 s

290 Prison Pictm^es.

while the Commandant was sittmg by at his desk
writing, said, " Words cannot describe my relief
when those handcuffs were put upon us. At times
before, the sense of responsibility almost overpow-
ered me. Then I felt like a man who has just
come into a fortune. The wonder to me now is,
how the Colonel could have trusted so much to a
Rebel."

" Trusted ! " echoed the Commandant, looking up
from his writing. " I had faith in you ; I thought
'you would n't betray me ; but I trusted your own
life in your own hands, that was all. Too much was
at stake to do more. Your every step was shadowed,
from the moment you left this camp till you came
back to it in irons. Two detectives were constantly
at your back, sworn to take your life if you wavered
for half a second."

" Is that true ? " asked the Texan in a musing way,
but without moving a muscle. " I did n't know it,
but I felt it in the air."

prisoners of war, cut the telegraph-wires, burn the railroad de-
pots, seize the banks and stores containing arms and ammuni-
tion, take possession of the city, and commence a campaign
for the release of other prisoners of war in the States of Illinois
and Indiana, thus organizing an army to effect and give suc-
cess to the general uprising so long contemplated by the ' Sons
of Liberty.' "

The Great Conspiracy. 291

They were the " shadows " which so long followed
him \ but they will never follow him more, for now
he is living in the sunshine.

At another house where arrests were made, some
young "ladies" strongly objected to the search which
was being done by Captain Sponable, the "keeper"
of the prison. They became very abusive, and one
of them forgot that she was a woman ; but quietly
and courteously the Captain went on with his work,
until he found a quantity of newly made cartridges
secreted in her bed-chamber. "This," he said, in
his pleasant way, holding one of the cartridges up
to the lady, "I suppose was meant for the Com-
mandant; and this," holding up another, "for that
rascal, the Keeper."

" Yes," she answered, " you 've hit it ; and I only
wish I could have fired the muskets."

" You don't mean that," he replied, with a pleasant
smile ; " I know you would n't want to kill me, — I
am the Keeper ! "

" You ! " she exclaimed, " a pleasant gentleman
like you ! And I have been abusing you all this
time, while you have been treating me so kindly !
I ask your pardon. I hope you will forgive me ! "

This was the power of kindness ; and this inci-
dent shows that none are altogether bad, — not even

292 Prison Pictures,

the women who make cartridges to murder our sol-
diers.

In the room at the Richmond House, on the table
around which were discussed their diabolical plans,
was found a slip of paper, and on it, in pencil, was
scrawled the following : —

"Colonel, — You must leave this house to-night.

Go to the Briggs House.

"J. Fielding."

Fielding was the assumed name of the Rebel who
burrowed with Hines out of town, where not even
his fellow-Rebels could find him. Did the old fox
scent the danger? Beyond a doubt he did. An-
other day, and the Texan's life might have been for-
feit. Another day, and the camp might have been
sprung upon a little too suddenly! So the Com-
mandant was none too soon ; and who that reads
what I have written can doubt that through it all
he was led and guided by the good Providence that
guards his country?

A shiver of genuine horror passed over Chicago
when it awoke in the morning. From mouth to
mouth the tidings ran ; mothers pressed their babes
to their breasts, and fathers clutched their children,
appalled at the earthquake which had wellnigh en-

The Great Conspiracy. 293

gulfed them. And well they might be affrighted ;
for no pen can picture the horrors that would have
followed the falling of such an avalanche upon the
sleeping city. The scene would have had no paral-
lel in savage history.

"One hour of such a catastrophe would destroy
the creations of a quarter of a century, and expose
the homes of nearly two hundred thousand souls to
every conceivable form of desecration."*

And the men of Chicago not only talked,' they
acted. They went to the polls and voted for the
Union ; and so told the world what honest Illinois
thought of treason.

But the danger was not over. Hines and other
Rebel officers were yet at large, and thousands of
armed men were still ready for an outbreak at a sig-
nal from the leaders. It was election day. Excited
crowds thronged the streets, and mingled among
them were the bushwhackers. Only a spark was
needed to light a conflagration \ but the Comman-
dant was equal to the occasion.

The merchants gathered in the Exchange ; and he
sent them word to arm themselves, and give a mus-
ket to ever}' man that could be trusted. Two hun-
dred young men volunteered on the spot, and, under

* Chicago Tribune, November 8, 1864.

294 Priso7i Pictures.

Colonel Hough and Adjutant Kimbark, patrolled every
street and avenue of the city. All that day, and all
that night, and all the next day, they made the weary
rounds, — men who had not been in saddle for a
twelvemonth, — and then Chicago was saved to the
nation.

Meanwhile, searches were going on, and arrests
being made hourly. To the " birds " already bagged
was soon added another flock of two hundred. The
sorriest birds, in red and brown, were emptied into an
old church, where they might bewail their sins, and
pray for their country. Those of gayer plumage were
caged in the dark cells of Camp Douglas. Rare
" birds " they were ; an embryo Semmes, a city attor-
ney, a would-be sheriff, and a would-be Governor, —
■would-be assassins all of them.

The President and Secretary of the Illini were
arrested, and then the lodges of the worshipful order
were visited. The members had met often since the
first arrests were made ; but they had come togeth-
er with greater secrecy, redoubled their vigilance,
changed their pass-words, and subjected to closer
questioning every one who was admitted. They
were biding their time, swearing in new members,
and preparing to strike with new leaders ; but these
visits of the soldiers disturbed their dreams, and they
scattered like wolves chased by firebrands.

The Great Conspiracy. 295

The visit to their principal lodge is thus described
by one who was present : " All had departed and the
doors were locked, — bolted. The officers rapped,
but receiving no answer to their summons, kicked
out a panel and entered. An ancient and mouldy-
odor pervaded the interior, and it was not until the
doors and windows w^ere opened, and the blast al-
lowed to sweep through the room, that the atmos-
phere became endurable. They looked through the
apartments and found — one gun. By this time the
ancient dame who fills the post of janitress to the
building was awakened from a fitful slumber, and
wildly rushed to the door of the hall, screaming,
'Fire!' 'Murder!' 'Thieves!' She was finally quiet-
ed, and informed of the import of the visit. 'Be-
jabers,' said she, 'yez ought to hav' bin here the
day afore psterday, an' shure you 'd found lots of
fire-arms.' The guard were not there then, and of
course the arms were not captured."

The election was over, and on Friday night the
loyal men and women of Chicago came together to
rejoice in the victor}'' won by 'the nation. Thou-
sands upon thousands were there ; and, when the
Commandant appeared, they sent up cheer after cheer,
which resounded through the building till the very
walls echoed the enthusiasm of the people. He

296 Prison Pictures.

arose, and when the applause had subsided, said :
"I thank you for this cordial greeting. I came
here to celebrate with you our great victory. Four
year^ ago, when I entered the army, I cast aside
politics, and now know only loyal men and traitors.
The loyal men have triumphed ; but our victory is
not complete. We must crush out every vestige of
treason in the North j and, if the Government give
me power, I will do my part in the work of subju-
gation."

He sat down, and the band struck up " My Coun-
try." On the following day the Secretary of War
sent him the following telegram : " Hold your pris-
oners and arms captured at all hazards. Your en-
ergetic action meets with the approval of this De-
partment."

This telegram was but the echo of the "Well
done, good and faithful servant," which arose from
every loyal heart all over the nation.

I said, at the outset of this narrative, that it
would read more like romance than history ; never-
theless, it is true, and true, I believe, in every detail.
Its facts were communicated to me by the persons
most prominent in the suppression of the conspiracy,
within a fortnight after the events occurred ; and

The Great Conspiracy. 297

they have since been confirmed by the " cloud of
witnesses " wlio testified before the mihtary commis-
sion which, some months afterguards, tried and con-
victed the principal conspirators at Cincinnati.

The Commandant, as you will have discovered
from the narrative itself, was Colonel B. J. Sweet of
Wisconsin. For the important service he rendered
the coun^try in this affair he has since been pro-
moted to the rank of Brigadier-General.

^Vhile engaged in ferreting out the conspiracy,
Colonel Sweet was obliged to expend about one
thousand dollars of his private means, in employing
detectives to watch the newly arrived " Butternuts,"
and to unearth the other conspirators, and, no appro-
priation having been made for such purposes, he
was not, at once, refunded this sum by the Gov-
ernment Hearing of this, the patriotic ladies of
the First Baptist Church in Chicago collected the
amount, and, investing it in a United States bond,
caused its presentation to the Commandant at a
public meeting held for the purpose. As the re-
marks made on that occasion show the estimation
in which the citizens of Chicago hold the services
of Colonel Sweet, and the great merit and modesty
of that officer, I will here repeat a portion of
them.

13*

298 Prison Pictures.

Hon. George C. Bates was selected by the ladies
to make the presentation, and he addreSsed the Colo-
nel as follows : —

" Referring to the occasion that had summoned
him from Camp Douglas, Mr. Bates alluded to his
distinguished services, and remarked that some fit-
ting reward for gallantry and patriotism had been
won ; that the time had come when justice, dut}^,
and patriotism demanded that the debt should be
acknowledged by a whole people saved from ruin,
and should be in some slight measure repaid by
the endeavors and zeal of Christian ladies, who, as
they clasp their little ones to their hearts and kneel
around the family altars, night after night, invoke
God's choicest blessings on the brave soldier who
has, under Providence, saved them, their homes, their
families, and their all from the dangers that sur-
rounded and the ruin that encompassed them.
Appreciating, as the citizens of Chicago do, the
extent of their obligations for your most able and
successful efforts for the salvation of the city, their
homes, their families, their property, their franchises
as men, as voters, and as Unionists, at the instance
and request of the ladies of the First Baptist Church
of Chicago, they have united to give some form of
expression appropriate and enduring of their gratitude

TJie Great Conspiracy. 299

to you, and have conferred on me an honor I
can never forget, in making me the instrument* of
the expression of their wishes towards you. Take,
then, this bond of the United States, issued from
its treasury, under and by virtue of its laws \ its
value is nominal, compared with the services you
have rendered, yet, in any other community it would
be considered munificent j and I know that it will
ever be inestimable to you, your family and friends.
You wdll value it because its face will always remind
you that our Union is strong and rich enough from
the purses and coffers of its own people to conquer
rebelhon, no matter how great ; and to continue a
war, no matter at what cost, until all who seek to
overthrow or destroy it shall yield obedience to its
Constitution and laws. You will value it because
it will ever remind you that its redemption, and
that of the millions upon millions of the like kind,
depends upon the perpetuity of our Union ; and aside
from all patriotic considerations, the pecuniary in-
terests of our whole people demand that its plighted
faith shall ever be redeemed. You will value it,
because it will always remind you, and your children,
and your sainted mother, that it was won by your
gallantry, by the highest and holiest of all man's
motives, save those that prompt devotion to his God,

300 Prison Pictures.

— a consecration of your time, your talents, your
body, and your blood to your country's service and
welfare. You will prize it as a memento of the
gratitude and generosity of this great city, whose
peculiar characteristics are unequalled energy, boun-
teous liberality, unflinching loyalty, activity that never
slumbers, vigilance that knows no sleeping."

The Commandant modestly replied as follows : —
" Sir, — I thank you for the gracious and eloquent
manner in which you have made this presentation,
and the fair ladies of the First Baptist Church in
whose behalf you have spoken, as well as the gener-
ous gentlemen who contributed, for the regard and
good will of which they have been pleased to make
this valuable gift an expression. [Cheers.]

"Whoever reads the history of these times aright
will understand that, throughout the war, whenever
victories have been won by courage and endurance,
or great interests saved and protected by toil and res-
olution, by long marches or in answering demands for
wearying duty, the burden of sacrifice has been borne
by subordinate officers and enlisted men, whose names
are seldom written except on the muster-rolls of the
army, or in the official jists of dead from disease, or
killed and wounded in battle. [Cheers.] And in
whatever has been done here of late to foil the en-

The Great Conspiracy. 301

emy and protect Chicago, the officers and enlisted
men of the small, patient, willing garrison of Camp
Douglas, rather than myself, deserve gratitude and
commendation. [Cheers.]

"I accept this thousand-dollar bond in the same
spirit in which it is given, and gratefully hope to be
able to send it as an heir-loom down through the gen-
erations which shall come after me, gaining traditional
and intrinsic value as the story of this war is told,
and the government, now assailed, and by which it
was issued, stands firm and proudly against all as-
saults of hatred or foreign intrigue from without, or
of faction or insurrection from within, growing in
wealth, prosperity, population, freedom and national
glory, grandeur and power, through the ages.
[Cheers.]

" Sir, your kind words and the manifestations of
this audience make me feel that henceforward I have
two homes, one in my own beloved and true young
State of Wisconsin, in the little count}^ of Calumet,
which to-night nestles my loved ones from the cold,
under its mantle of snow, where every rivulet and
old rock and tree are dear to me, — among a brave,
honest, and patriotic people, where there are whole
towns in which scarcely an able-bodied man remains
who has not volunteered, been clothed in blue, and

. 302 Prison Pictures.

taught the use of arms in defending those free insti-
tutions around which the hopes of mankind cluster;
and another home in the hearts of the noble-minded
and generous men and women of this marvellous me-
tropolis of the Northwest, the munificent and loyal
city of Chicago. [Loud and prolonged cheering.]"

This country will ever be safe from all dangers,
whether from within or without, so long as it pro-
duces men so patriotic and self-devoted as the brave
Commandant of Camp Douglas.

The name of the " Texan," you may also have dis-
covered from the lengthy note appended to the nar-
rative, is John T. Shanks. He is a young man of
about twenty-seven, a native of Nacogdoches, Texas,
and, before the war, was the clerk of the Texan
Senate. He entered the Confederate army as a
Captain in the Eighth Regiment of Texas Rangers,
and, while operating in Kentucky, captured Colonel
De Land, as is related in the narrative. He after-
wards resigned his commission, enlisted as a private
under John Morgan, and was made a prisoner while
on the great raid into Ohio. This accounts for his
being at Camp Douglas, where only private soldiers
were confined.

In consideration of the important part he took
in arresting the chief conspirators, the Rebel agents

The Great Conspiracy. 303

in Canada offered a thousand dollars in gold for his
assassination ; and our Government conferred on him
the commission of Captain in the United States Ar-
my. In August, 1865, ^^ ^2,s stationed, with his
regiment, at Camp Rankin, in Colorado Territory,
and, at that time, wrote me a letter which is so char-
acteristic of the man, that, though it was meant for
no eye but mine, I am tempted to quote a portion
of it. In it he says : " The assistance I rendered
the military authorities in detecting the Rebel offi-
cers was prompted solely by patriotic principle, and
not by the hope of any future aggrandizement. By
doing what I did, I have incurred the ill-will of
many thousands whom I regard as worse enemies
to the country than the bitterest Rebels ever confined
at Camp Douglas. I feel very grateful for the honor
conferred on me, — the commission of Captain in the
United States army, — and also proud that I again
possess the confidence- and good will of the best
government that ever existed ; and my pride and
ambition will ever be to show, by my acts, that I
merit its confidence."

He was an honest Rebel, and is now an honest
Union man ; and I know every one of my readers
will wish him a long and happy life with the noble
woman he so bravely won.

304 Prison Pictures.

The real name of the St. Louis detective who so
opportunely arrived in Chicago is William Jones,
though he passed, among the Rebels, as Doctor
Bledsaw. I did not meet him personally ; and the
account I give in the narrative of his interviews with
Marmaduke and the Commandant was taken from
a written statement made by him to the Provost Mar-
shal General of Missouri, which statement is now in
my possession.

The Rebel officer who communicated with Lieu-
tenant-Colonel Hill, at Detroit, was a Major Young.
He was concerned in the St. Alban's raid ; and, after
this narrative was written, was mentioned in the pub-
lic prints as acting with the Rebels in Canada ; and,
if accounts are true, played false with both his friends
and his enemies. He was actuated only by sordid
motives; but his baseness, by the overruling Hand,
was made to benefit the country he was willing to
serve, or to sell, for "thirty pieces of silver."

The other Rebel officer who gave the important
information to the Commandant, on the eve of the
intended attack on the camp, was Lieutenant-Colonel
Maurice Langhorn, of the Thirtieth Regiment of Ar-
kansas Infantry. His home was at Marysville, Bour-
bon County, Kentucky; and twice during the war
he was a candidate for the office of Representative

TJie Great Conspiracy. 305

in the Confederate Congress from his native district;
but was defeated, because not sufficiently radical on
the question of Secession. He is widely and very
favorably known in Kentucky \ and it was he who
communicated to Secretary Seward the Rebel plot
to burn the principal Northern cities. I have heard
from him but once since I met him in Chicago. He
was then at C.imp Douglas, in danger of his life, —
a price having been set on it by the Canadian Rebels.
With his present whereabouts I am not acquainted.

The name of the scavenger who, at the risk of
disgrace and imprisonment, aided the Texan to es-
cape from the. prison, I do not remember ; and I
regret that I do not, for he is deserving of as much
honor as those who acted the more important parts
in this wonderful drama. He is a noble Irishman ;
and I never meet an Irish scavenger but I feel like
lifting my hat to him, out of respect and gratitude
to his brother Irishman and scWenger, who did so
great a service to his adopted countr}' at Camp
Douglas.

On a railway in Michigan, about a year ago, I
met a man who. said to. me: "Sir, I used to be an
atheist ; but, watching the progress of this war, and
seeing how all its events have worked together to
secure the freedom of all men. I have become con-

306 ' Prison Pictures.

vinced there is a Great Intelligence that governs the
universe, and has this country in his especial keep-
ing." I never doubted this great truth ; but a knowl-
edge of the inside history of some of the pivotal
events of this war has brought it home to me with
a vividness that has made me at times fancy I could
see the hand of God leading this people through
the Red Sea of battle to a promised land of lasting
peace and prosperity. And, my young reader, if you
reflect on my imperfect narrative of the -discJovery
and suppression of this great conspiracy, if you notice
the singular manner in which the right fact was dis-
closed at precisely the right time, and how wonder-
fully each actor in the drama was adapted to the very
part he had to perform, I think you too will be con-
vinced that One, whose wisdom is past all finding
out, rules " in the armies of heaven and among the
inhabitants of the earth."

THE END,

Cambridge : Stereotj'ped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.

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