Chapter V: Part 5

"I reck'ned I'd just wait and see who you was, fust," was the cool reply.

"You ran a mighty narrow chance of being fired into."

"Yes, I calc'lated on that; but I thought I'd take the risk. It's mighty onsartain 'bout hitt'n' a feller in the brush, dark as it is now; and I'd ruther be shot at than fool along into Jordan's hands."

"I say," said Spencer to me, _sotto voce_, "that fellow is a cool one!"

And so he was. Think of a man's calmly calculating, rather than make a mistake and thereby raising a false alarm, the chances of a dozen shots being fired at him at a distance not exceeding ten rods--from a point he all the while intended to advance toward, until near enough to recognize voices. He was a specimen of the kind of men that made up the Home Guards.

The scout's report was favorable. He thought there had been no enemy around the old rendezvous for several days. This intelligence corresponded with that already obtained by the Major. Coupled with the state of the weather, it seemed nearly certain that we should have only the elements to contend with that night. Again we were off.

"We must push ahead, now, at double quick. We have no time to lose," said the Major.

Putting our horses into a gallop, we rushed into the darkness. Splashing through the mud, now fording creeks, now floundering through quagmires, our little band flitted like spectres. Every hour lessened the distance between us and the boys in blue. Daylight would find us within sight of the stars and stripes, if no misfortune overtook us. Our horses were reeking with perspiration. Up hill and down, on and on we galloped. At last a house appeared in sight.

"Halt! Dismount!"

"What is this, Major?" I asked.

"The house of a friend," was the reply. "We are within five miles of your picket lines."

Could it be possible that only five miles divided us from our old comrades--from the "boys in blue," from telegraphic communication with wife and children? Only five miles to liberty? We could hardly restrain our feelings within reasonable bounds. My heart fluttered and my limbs shook with excitement. My voice trembled so that I could scarcely articulate.

"Why do you halt?" I querulously asked the Major.

"We must wait till daylight. It is not safe to approach the picket line at night."

"But, Major, is there not another house nearer the line? Must we stop here? Would it not be safer to get as near the line as possible? Is there not a possibility that we may be attacked even here?"

I poured these questions out without giving him a chance to reply. It seemed as if I could not stop.

"It seems like you were gitt'n' mighty uneasy just now. I reckon we'll have to stop a time, anyhow. You might as well come in and make yourselves comfortable. We will get warmed up, have something to eat, let the horses blow awhile, and then perhaps we will go on to the Widow H----'s. She lives right close to the line, but she's a Reb clean through, and I don't like to trust her any longer than is necessary."

The Major's cool, matter-of-fact way of disposing of the matter, made me ashamed of my excitement and petulance. I felt the more chagrined at the display of my feelings, because Hatcher and Spencer had exhibited so much more coolness and self-restraint, and I determined that thereafter I should act with more discretion. So, hiding my impatience as best I could, I dismounted and followed my companions into the house. We found the family asleep, but a good fire burning on the capacious hearth was a welcome sight to the drenched and shivering troopers.

The noisy summons of the Major aroused the sleeping inmates. When they found who we were that visited them at such an hour, they extended to us a hearty welcome. Fresh wood was piled upon the fire, around which we gathered in a steaming semicircle. The Major took our host aside. A few brief questions were asked and answered.

"It's all right," he said as he joined us. "The whelps have been around, but left yesterday. I reckon we'll stop awhile, get a bite to eat, and then shove on to Widow H----'s."

It was yet two hours or more to daylight, and our friends could not be blamed if they preferred their present comfortable quarters before the fire, to muddy roads, darkness, and pelting rain. As for myself and two companions, we were the very pictures of suppressed impatience. When our hospitable host passed around some food and home-made coffee, we were far too excited to partake. The sight of Major McCreary and his men, coolly stowing away the bread and coffee, fairly made me grate my teeth with impatience.

At length the Major, taking pity upon us, rather than following his own better judgment, as I am firmly convinced, gave the order to remount. We were the first to obey.

The night was still very disagreeable. The rain continued to come down with pitiless violence, accompanied by a cold northeast wind, which, combined with the pitchy darkness, rendered traveling the reverse of pleasant. We were, however, too much excited with the prospect to mind the unpleasant state of the weather. We were living on anticipation. Our brilliant hopes overshadowed the uncomfortable present to such an extent that even now I look back to that night's ride as one of the most delightful episodes of a not altogether uneventful life.

An hour's ride brought us to the house of Widow H----, within half of a mile of our picket line. It was still very dark, and altogether unsafe to attempt to approach the pickets. We must wait for daylight. So, when the order to dismount was given, we acquiesced with the best grace possible.

Fastening our horses, we approached the house. A resounding _rat-tat-tat_ brought the widow to the door. Finding the party headed by the leader of the Home Guards, she seemed the reverse of pleased, and was not inclined to accede to our moderate demands for shelter until morning; but finally, with a repugnance she took no pains to conceal, she permitted us to enter. We soon built up a good fire, and under the influence of its cheering warmth forgot the inhospitable conduct of our hostess. With many a jest and story we beguiled the tedious hour till daylight.

_Among Comrades_

At the earliest dawn we were again on the road. Ahead of us, upon either hand, as far as the eye could reach, could be seen the blue smoke of the picket fires. We were traveling leisurely. I was conversing with Spencer; when suddenly, upon an elevation not ten rods from us, appeared a soldier dressed in blue, who in short, crisp tones commanded, "Halt! Who comes there?"

The Major answered, "Friends!"

"Halt, friends! Advance one, without arms, and give the countersign."

The Major dismounted and advanced. A few moments' conversation took place between him and the soldier, which the distance prevented us from hearing. We soon after heard the order given by the outpost guard to fall in, and then came the order, "Dismount! Advance, friends!"

Dismounting, we advanced, leading our horses. Upon reaching the outpost guard I thought I recognized a familiar face. "What regiment do you belong to?" I asked.

"The First Wisconsin Cavalry," was the reply.

"Give us your hand, old fellow!" I exclaimed, with the tears running down my cheeks. "Let me hug you. Hurrah, boys! Do you hear that? First Wisconsin Cavalrymen!"

Hatcher and Spencer were dancing about, crying and laughing. In fact, we were all of us fairly crazed with joy. Our new friends did not seem at all proud of their demonstrative guests. In truth, they rather drew back from our demonstrations of affection.

"Who are you, anyhow?" one of them sourly asked.

"Escaped prisoners," we replied.

"Where did you make your escape?"

"Near Charleston."

"You don't pretend to say that you have come all the way from Charleston, right through the Reb country?"

"Yes, we do pretend that very thing."

"Well, it may be so, but I don't care about being hugged"--glancing towards us with a look expressive of mingled incredulity and disgust.

This rebuff had the effect to cool us down a bit, and when we came to look ourselves over, we could but confess that so far as personal appearance was concerned we were nothing to boast of. We were unshaven and unshorn, our rags barely sufficient for decency, barefooted or nearly so, bareheaded, and most miserably dirty. No wonder a well-clad Union soldier resented our familiarity!

We were disarmed, placed under charge of the guard, and marched to the headquarters of the Brigade, then commanded by Colonel Lampson, of an Indiana regiment.

After some delay we were ushered into the presence of the Colonel. He listened attentively to us, reducing each of our statements to writing. After he had finished, he sat a few moments in meditation.

"You have got this thing pretty well fixed up," he finally said. "Hatcher and Spencer each belong to regiments now mustered out of service; and you," turning to me, "belong to the Army of the Potomac. We have been deceived too often by you fellows."

"Who, in God's name, do you take us to be?" I asked.

"Starved-out bushwhackers or spies, or perhaps both," he answered curtly. "Orderly, call the officer of the guard."

"Colonel, the First Wisconsin Cavalry is camped here, is it not?" I asked.

"Yes. Do you know any of the members of that regiment?"

"I hardly know. Where is Colonel La Grange?"

"La Grange is in Wisconsin. Did you know him?"

"I did. We were in prison together. Where is Captain Clinton?"

"Captain Clinton is here. Orderly, go and say to Captain Clinton that I desire him to report to me in person, immediately."

Clinton had been engaged with me in our tunneling enterprise at Macon, and was one of my most intimate friends. He had been exchanged but a short time before we left Charleston.

In a few moments I heard him speak to the Orderly in an excited voice: "Get out of the way and let me in! I'll bet it's Captain Kellogg!"

Almost at the same moment he opened the door. I stood facing him as he entered.

"I told you it was him! It's Kellogg! It's Kellogg!"

By this time we were in each other's arms, both of us sobbing like children. Then leaving me, he first caught Spencer and then Hatcher.

"There--there!" broke in Colonel Lampson; "you appear to know these men."

"_Know them?_ I should rather think I did. _Know them?_ Didn't Kellogg and I dig tunnels together? Didn't we starve together in Rebel prisons? I should rather think I do _know them_!"

"Well, then, take them and take care of them," said the old Colonel, swallowing hard and trying to keep his eyes from overflowing. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen," he said, turning to us; "but we have been imposed upon so often, and"--here his voice became thick and husky. Turning savagely to Clinton, he exclaimed: "Take them, I tell you, and, d---- you! feed them well, and see that they have some decent clothes. God bless my soul! I--I like to have sent them to the guard house!"

Under the guidance of Captain Clinton, we left the quarters of the Colonel, men once more.

"Out of the jaws of death,
Out of the gates of Hell."

Our first care was for our true friends, the Home Guards. We represented to General McCook, commanding the division, the facts of their case, and before leaving Calhoun had the satisfaction of seeing them on their road back to Jasper, with a government wagon loaded with commissary and quartermaster's stores--clothing, arms, and ammunition--escorted by a squad of cavalry. What became of them afterwards, we were never able definitely to ascertain. Spencer informed me some time since, that the Confederates, shortly afterward, came upon them in force and that the most of them were killed. But I most sincerely hope that his information may not have been reliable, and that they are living in peace in the homes they so gallantly defended.

The Home Guards taken care of, the telegraph was brought into requisition, and messages to our homes and friends were soon flashing along the wires.

Then the First Wisconsin Cavalry took possession of us. We were invited into the quarters of Major Henry Harnden. We went in dirty, ragged, and barefooted; we came out, a half hour later, once more clad in the noble livery of the United States army. We were supplied with every necessary in their power to grant us, money not excepted. One day only, we remained with our hospitable entertainers, and then took the first train for Chattanooga.

_The Mystery Solved_

Only one thing marred our perfect happiness--the mysterious disappearance of Vliet and Gough. Had they been with us, our cup of happiness would have been indeed full. What their fate had been, we could only conjecture. It seemed certain that they had not reached our lines; if they had, the newspapers would surely have published the tidings. In imagination we could see them toiling along on their weary way, without compass or map; or perhaps recaptured, and again the inmates of a prison pen, all their toils and struggles for freedom in vain.

We arrived in Chattanooga about dark, and were compelled to lay over until morning, before taking the cars for Nashville. There were two hotels in the place, both of which were crowded with guests. We found a place on the bar-room floor of one, on which to spread our blankets, and were soon soundly sleeping.

Early in the morning a soldier came into our hotel, and commenced to tell of two escaped prisoners who had arrived the evening before, and who were stopping at the other hotel.

We listened to him with bated breath; then we started thither on a run. I am sure that the bystanders must have thought us either intoxicated or crazy. Upon reaching the hotel we forced our way through the crowd that filled the office and bar room, until we reached the counter.

"Where are they?" I pantingly asked.

"Where are who?" asked the landlord.

"The escaped prisoners--the two men that came last night."

"There's a good many came last night. How do you suppose I know which two men you mean?"

"The men we want are escaped prisoners of war--came in last night with a picket guard."

"Oh, yes. Now I know who you mean. Here, Jake, show these gentlemen up to No. 19."

We followed the waiter up to the room. The door opened in answer to our rap, and--Glory Hallelujah! there were Gough and Vliet! To describe the scene is simply impossible. I never was so happy before, and I never expect to be again.

When we had become calm enough to talk, the mystery of our separation was solved. At the time we halted in the brush to investigate the noise made by the hog, Vliet, as the reader will recollect, was followed by Hatcher. It so happened that Hatcher stopped near a white stump. When Hatcher started on, Vliet mistook the white stump for him, and thus did not notice our forward movement or follow us.

After a considerable time, while he waited in silence, he discovered his mistake. The two then started after us, as nearly as they could guess at the direction we had taken, and unfortunately missed us. When we went back to look for them, we must have passed each other in the brush. They had taken a more northerly direction than we followed, and reached our lines at Chattanooga one day after our arrival at Calhoun.

All the members of our party were together once more. Our desperate attempt had been successful. We had traversed over three hundred miles in the heart of the South; pierced the Confederate egg, from shell to shell. Our trials were over, and we were on our way home.

_Again in the Field_

Receiving orders to that effect, I proceeded at once to my home in Wisconsin, made a short visit there, and went thence to Madison. There I obtained an order from the War Department assigning enough drafted men to fill our regiment to the maximum, and with them proceeded to the field, then lying on the Jerusalem Plank Road, near City Point. Here I found many changes. The regiment was commanded by Major Kerr, who was a Lieutenant when I left. Nearly every officer on duty when I left the regiment the previous May, was either promoted, killed, or mustered out. It seemed lonesome.

I presided that night at dress parade. When it was dismissed, there were many anxious inquiries by the men, who wanted to know who "that white-headed old fellow" was, that was commanding "our regiment?" Six months of Southern prison life had turned my head white, and reduced my weight from a hundred-and-seventy-five to a hundred-and-fifteen pounds.

In the following February (1865), General Bragg having been ordered to Washington with a portion of his command, the balance of the Iron Brigade was reorganized by adding to the Sixth and Seventh Wisconsin an independent battalion of the Second Wisconsin, and the Ninety-first New York Heavy Artillery, under command of Colonel Tarbell; the brigade thus numbering about thirty-five hundred men. I was assigned to its command, and had the satisfaction of participating in the last campaign, witnessing the final ending of the War of the Rebellion, at Appomattox, on the ninth of April, 1865. Among the troops laying down arms at this surrender, was the Thirteenth Georgia, the same regiment that had captured me on the fifth day of May, 1864.

_A Belated Report_

During my absence from the army, General Cutler had again been wounded, and placed in command of a recruiting camp in Michigan. I did not have the pleasure of meeting him again until the war was over. Happening, one day, to be in the office of General Lucius Fairchild, then Secretary of State, I found that the latter was temporarily absent in the Governor's office. When he returned and saw me, he seemed somewhat excited, and told me that there was a man in the executive office, inquiring for me.

The reader will recollect that the last order I received from General Cutler was, "Take plenty of orderlies and report frequently."

On entering the Governor's office, I saw General Cutler, who advanced toward me with his hand extended and eyes suspiciously moist. He tried to speak. His usually stern face became more stern, his chin quivered, he grasped my hand more firmly. At length he blurted out: "_You've been a terrible long time reporting!_"

In which opinion I have no doubt the reader will share, applying it to the long story now happily ended.