Capturing a Locomotive: A History of Secret Service in the Late War.Pittenger, William
History
Capturing a Locomotive: A History of Secret Service in the Late War.
Pittenger, William
Chattanooga Railroad Expedition, 1862; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Campaigns
"Early in the evening journey we came to a small stream, and
attempting to cross on a fallen tree, I fell into the water,
and was thoroughly soaked. From this cause I suffered greatly
with cold. Some hours after we came to a barn, the mows of
which were filled with corn-blades. We were glad to bury
ourselves out of sight in the fodder, where we grew warm, and
slept all day. It was comfortable, but we paid for it by a
terrible fright. Some cavalrymen came into the stable under the
mows and took out their horses. We could hear their
conversation and the jingle of their spurs, and scarcely dared
to breathe. But they left us in safety. We stayed a day longer,
as the bed was the best we had found since our first capture.
But a negro boy came up to hunt eggs, and found us. He was so
frightened that we could not pacify him, and, fearing an alarm,
we hastened to the woods once more. Some negroes were again
met, starting on their favorite amusement,--an opossum-hunt. On
application they gave us a magnificent treat,--a hatful of
apples, a half 'pone,' and two or three pounds of boiled beef
on a bone. This supply lasted for several days.
"On the night journey we were much annoyed by the barking of
dogs at the houses we passed. Once we were seen, but,
pretending to be rebels on the way to our regiments, we
succeeded so well in lulling suspicion that an old man sent a
message to his son, who was in the rebel army, by us, and added
some corn-bread for the messengers.
"I here became more lame than ever, by reason of an unfortunate
misstep, and had to walk by leaning part of my weight upon my
faithful comrade. We came to a wide river we could not cross,
and, going back into the fields, lay on the damp ground till
morning. If I ever _tasted_ cold, it was then. Hawkins became
reckless from suffering, and was disposed to go to a house,
even at the risk of capture. But I demurred, and we waited for
an opportunity to communicate with the ever-faithful negroes.
We found a hut, and, watching it some time, saw none but a
black woman there. She readily responded to our appeal for
help, gave us a hot breakfast, a fire to warm by, and some
parched corn to carry on our journey. She also directed us to a
ford. Thanking her from our hearts, we returned to the river,
got over, and concealed ourselves in the woods on the other
side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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