“I command you to hush, sir; you shan’t preach treason to me, and if you get your deserts you will be hung immediately. Have you ever been within the Federal lines?”
“I have, sir.”
“At what points?”
“At Rienzi and Iuka.”
“When were you at Iuka?”
“On last Saturday.”
“Had the Federals a large force at that place, and who was in command?”
“They have a large force, and Generals Thomas and Steadman are in command.”
“That is contrary to the reports of our scouts, who say that there are but two regiments in the town. I fear you are purposely trying to mislead us.”
“General Steadman has but two regiments in the town, but General Thomas is within striking distance with a large force.”
“What was your business in Iuka?”
“I went there to pay a debt of fifty dollars which a widow owed, as she wished it to be paid in Confederate money before it became worthless.”
“Have you a Federal pass?”
“I have none with me, but I have one at home.”
“How does it read?”
“It was given by General Nelson, and reads thus: ‘The bearer, Rev. John H. Aughey, has permission to pass backward and forward through the lines of this division at will.’”
“Where were you born?”
“I was born in New Hartford, Oneida county, New York.”
“Yankee born,” said the Colonel, with a sneer; “you deserve death at the rope’s-end, and if I had the power I would hang all Yankees who are among us, for they are all tories, whatever may be their pretensions.”
“My being born north of the nigger-line, Colonel, if a crime worthy of death, was certainly not my fault, but the fault of my parents. They did not so much as consult me in regard to any preference I might have concerning the place of my nativity.”
Woodruff, one of my guards, now informed the Colonel that I was a spy, and, while the Confederates were at Corinth, had, to his certain knowledge, been three times at Nashville, carrying information. I told Woodruff that his statement was false, and that he knew it; that I had never been at Nashville in my life. General Chalmers, who was present, and Colonel Bradfute, at the conclusion of the examination, spent fifteen or twenty minutes in bitterly cursing all Yankees, tories, and traitors, as they termed us. All the conversation of the rebel officers was interlarded with the most horrid profanity. General Chalmers, in speaking, invariably called me the clerical spy. We were placed under guard, and sent to Brooksville, ten miles distant, the head-quarters of General Pfeifer. Immediately after our arrival, we were soundly berated by General Pfeifer, and then sent out to the camp, half a mile from the town, where we were placed under guard for the night, in a small plot of ground surrounded by a chain. We had no supper, and no blankets to sleep on. Our bed was the cold ground, our covering the blue canopy of heaven. The next morning we were started, without breakfast, under a heavy guard, numbering fourteen cavalry, to Priceville, six miles west of Brooksville. Priceville was named in honour of General Sterling Price, or rather the little village where he encamped had its name changed in his honour. When we reached Priceville we were taken to the head-quarters of General Jordan, and immediately brought into his presence. After reading the letter handed to him by one of the guard, he said, looking sternly at me,
“You are charged with sedition.”
I asked him what sedition meant, to which he replied:
“It means enough to hang you, you villanous tory!”
He also asked me where I was born. My reply was, in the State of New York, near Utica, in Oneida county.
“Then you doubly deserve death,” said he.
“As to the guilt of my nativity,” said I, “it is not my fault, for I could not have helped it if I had tried. But I glory in my native State. She has never done anything to disgrace her. She never repudiated her just debts, nor committed any other disgraceful act.”
“Well, you ought to have staid there, or have gone back when Mississippi seceded.”
“Give me an opportunity, and I will go instanter.”
“The first going you will do, will be to go to hell, where, if the devil had his due, you would have been long ago; and before you leave us, we will give you a free ticket to the shades infernal.”
“Thank you for your kind offer to give me a free pass to the infernal regions. I did not know before that you were the devil’s ticket-agent. You have me in your power, and may destroy my life; but when you have done that, there is no more that you can do.”
Very little was said to my fellow-prisoner, Clarke. A few curses for a traitor, tory, &c., was about all. We were now placed under guard, and conducted to Tupelo, and after visiting the provost-marshal’s office and the office of the commander of the post, whose names were Peden and Clare, we were committed to the Central Military Prison. As we entered, Captain Bruce and Lieutenant Malone (two gentlemen who had been elected to those offices by their fellow-prisoners) received us with a cordial greeting. Captain Bruce thus addressed us:
“Welcome, gentlemen, thrice welcome. I am rejoiced to see you at my hotel. We are now doing a land-office business, as the large number of my boarders, whom you see, will testify. We have numerous arrivals daily, whilst the departures are very few, giving evidence that all are satisfied with their treatment. The bill of fare is not very extensive. In these war times we must not expect the luxuries of life, but be content with the necessaries. It is true, we cannot furnish you with coffee, or molasses, or sugar, or salt, or beef, or vegetables; but we have something more substantial – we have flour, rather dark in colour, to be sure, but people must not be squeamish. The boarders are required to do their own cooking, as they could otherwise have but little exercise; we consider it a sanitary measure, exercise being indispensable to health. We furnish the boarders, also, with meat – none of your lean meat, either, but fat middling, with a streak of lean in it. The Bible promises the righteous that their bread shall be given, and their water sure; but we go beyond the promise, and give not only bread (or rather the flour to make it) and water, but also fat, strong meat. What room will you be pleased to have?”
I replied, that as they seemed to be crowded, I would choose number 199.
“Well,” said the Captain, “it shall be prepared. Lieutenant Malone, have room number 199 fitted up for the reception of these gentlemen.”
Lieutenant Malone replied, that the room designated would be fitted up in style for our reception. He asked us if we had dined.
“No,” replied Clarke; “we have not tasted food since yesterday at noon, when the Parson paid for his own dinner and the dinner of the guards. We asked for something to eat, but were as often refused, and now we are in a starving condition.”
“I pity you,” said Malone, laying aside his facetious style; “you shall have something to eat as soon as it can be cooked.”
He then went to some of the prisoners, and set them to cooking, and we were soon furnished with the best repast the poor fellows could supply.
We entered the prison July 3d, 1862, at two o’clock, P. M. Our prison was a grocery-house, its dimensions about twenty-five by fifty feet. When we were incarcerated, there were about seventy prisoners in the building, whites, mulattoes and negroes. The prison was filthy in the extreme, and filled with vermin; even our food was infested with them. No brooms were furnished us, and we could not sweep the floor. No beds were furnished, and we were compelled to lie upon the floor, with no covering, and nothing but the hard planks beneath us.
Several times a day officers would come in and order a specified number of men to go and work, under a strong guard. We were made to clean the streets, roll barrels, and clean the hospital; but our own prison we were not permitted to clean. Every kind of drudgery, and the most menial services, were imposed upon us.
The crimes charged upon the prisoners were desertion, trading with the Yankees, adhesion to the United States government or Unionism, acting as spies, refusing Confederate bonds, and piloting the Yankees. The crime of the negroes and mulattoes was endeavouring to escape on the underground railroad from Dixie land and the Iron Furnace. These remained till their masters were informed of their arrest, and came for and released them. On the evening preceding our imprisonment, two prisoners had been led out and shot, and I soon learned that this was no unusual occurrence. Nearly every day witnessed the execution of one or more of us. Those who were doomed to die were heavily ironed. In some cases, however, those who were not in fetters were taken out and shot or hanged, often with no previous warning; though sometimes a few hours warning was given.
Our privations were so great from a want of proper food and water – for the scanty amount of water furnished us was tepid and foul – and from a lack of beds, cots, couches, or something better than a filthy floor whereon to sleep, that I resolved to attempt an escape at the risk of my life. I felt confident that I could not long survive such cruel treatment. As soon as my arrest was known to the thirty-second Mississippi regiment, encamped in the suburbs of Tupelo, the colonel, major, adjutant, and one of the captains called upon me. This regiment was raised in Tishomingo county, one of the companies, the Zollicoffer Avengers, being from Rienzi, where I had been for years proprietor and Principal of the Rienzi Female Seminary. The daughters of many of the officers of this regiment had been educated at this Seminary during my superintendence. Some of these officers had expressed themselves under great obligations to me, for the thorough, moral, mental, and physical training of their children while under my care. As proof of this, I have their own statements, as published in the public journals of the day. Owing me a debt of gratitude, as they professed, could I expect less than the manifestation of deep sympathy for me in my sad condition – confined in a gloomy dungeon, deprived of the comforts, yea, even the necessaries of life, menaced and insulted by the officers in whose power I was? Whatever may have been my hopes, they were doomed to be blasted. These summer friends, so obsequious in my prosperity, conversed for a while on indifferent topics, never alluding to my condition, and as I did not obtrude it upon their attention, they left, promising to call again. I said, “Do so, gentlemen; you will always find me at home.” Adjutant Irion, as he passed out, asked Lieutenant Malone what the charge was against me. Malone replied that I was charged with being a Union man. The adjutant said, in a bitter and sarcastic tone, that I should never have been brought to Tupelo, but on my arrest should have been sent to hell from the lowest limb of the nearest tree.
Having determined to escape at all hazards, I sought out an accomplice, a compagnon de voyage; that person was Richard Malone; his piercing eye, his intellectual physiognomy, led me to believe that if he consented to make the attempt with me, our chances for escape would be good. I drew Malone to one side, and covertly introduced the matter. He soon got my idea, and drawing from his pocket a paper, showed me the route mapped out which he intended to pursue, as he had for some days determined to escape, or die in the attempt. He was charged with being a spy, and there was little doubt that they would establish his guilt by false testimony. We went out now under every possible pretext. We no longer shunned the guard who came to obtain prisoners to do servile labour. Our object being to reconnoitre, in order to learn where guards were stationed, and to determine the best method of escape through the town after leaving the prison. During the day we made these observations: that there were two guards stationed at the back door, who were very verdant; that they would, after relief, come on duty again at midnight; that there was a building on the south side of the prison, extending beyond the prison and beyond the guards; that the moon would set about eleven o’clock, P. M.; that there were no guards stationed on the south side of the prison during the day; that one of the planks in the floor could be easily removed; and that there were several holes, when we were once under the floor, by which egress might be made either on the north or south side; that the coast was probably clearest in the direction of a corn-field some two hundred yards distant in a northwest direction.
At four o’clock P. M., our plan was fully matured. At midnight, (the moon being down, and the verdant guards on duty) we would raise the plank, get under the floor, and myself in the advance, make our exit through one of the holes on the south side of the jail, then crawl to the building, some fifteen feet distant, and continue crawling till we passed the guards; then rise and make our way as cautiously as possible, to a point in the corn-field, a short distance in the rear of a garment which was hanging upon the fence. The one who first arrived must await the other. A signal was agreed upon, to prevent mistake. If the guards ordered us to halt, we had resolved to risk their fire, our watchword being, Liberty or death!
About this time the prisoners chose me their chaplain by acclamation. During the day, we made known our intention of escaping to several fellow-prisoners, who promised us all the assistance in their power. All the prisoners who knew of the matter, earnestly desired our escape, and co-operated with us in effecting it. Clarke and Robinson begged us to take them along, averring there was no doubt that they would be shot. Malone told them that no more than two could go together; that if they wished to escape, they could make the attempt half an hour after us, which they agreed to. Clarke, however, came to me, and desired me to take him along, as he would rather go with us than with Robinson. He had a wife and five small children dependent on him for support, and if he perished, they must perish too. I consulted Malone, but he would not agree to have Clarke go with us. Three would be too many for safety, and he doubted whether Clarke had sufficient nerve to face the glittering bayonet, or tact enough to pass through the camps without detection. He might commit some blunder which would endanger our safety. I informed Clarke that the arrangement made, in which he and Robinson were to go together, must be adhered to. He begged me, by all that was sacred, to take him along. But Malone was inexorable, and I thought it best to acquiesce in his judgment.
Night drew on apace. Thick darkness gathered around us, and murky clouds covered the sky, as we sat down with the Federal prisoners to our scanty allowance. While partaking of our rude fare, Malone thus spoke:
“This day is the 4th of July, 1862, the anniversary of our patriot fathers’ declaration of independence of British tyranny and oppression. They had much to complain of. They suffered grievous wrongs and cruel bondage. But eighty-six years ago to-day they declared themselves to be a free and independent people, who would rather die than be again enslaved. Of what worth was their declaration if they had remained inactive? Supineness would not have saved them. But trusting in our God, who gives success to the righteous cause, they imperilled their lives, they hazarded their fortunes, and with untiring energy and sleepless vigilance they contested to the bitter end against all efforts to deprive them of their inalienable rights. Success crowned their efforts, and they rid themselves of tyrants’ chains. We (I allude to my friend, Parson Aughey, and myself,) degenerate sons of these noble sires, have suffered wrong, nay, gross outrage. Citizens of the sunny South, guilty of no offence whatever, not even of constructive crime, we are immured in a loathsome dungeon, deprived of the comforts of life, separated from our families, and suffered to have no communication with them; dragging out a miserable existence, which an ignominious death on the scaffold must soon end. We, therefore, John H. Aughey and Richard Malone, in view of these accumulated wrongs and outrages, solemnly swear before High Heaven, and in presence of these witnesses, that we will be free, or perish in the attempt. Appealing to the God of liberty, of truth, and of righteousness, for the rectitude of our motives and the justness of our cause, we commit ourselves into his hands, and implore his protection amid the dangers through which we are about to pass, and humbly pray that he will give us success, and restore us speedily to our families and friends, and to the enjoyment of our inalienable rights, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
Grasping the Lieutenant by the hand, I consented to this Declaration of Independence of rebel thraldom. We gave our respective addresses to our friends, who promised, that if they were ever liberated, and we were killed by the guards, they would write to our families, informing them of the manner of our death.
About ten o’clock, Malone raised the plank, and I went under to reconnoitre. I remained under the floor about ten minutes, having learned that there were no guards patroling the south side of the house, as we feared might be the case after night. We had learned, from observation, that there were none during the day. Just at the noon of night, we heard the relief called. Malone and I endeavoured to find the prisoners who were to raise the plank, but not being able readily to do so, we raised the plank ourselves, and both got under without difficulty. Malone getting under first, was, contrary to agreement, compelled to take the lead. As he was passing out, he made considerable noise. To warn him of the danger, I patted him on the back. Reaching back, he gave my hand a warm pressure, to assure me that all was right, and passed out. I followed, and reached the designated point in the corn-field in about half an hour, having to use the utmost precaution, and in some cases to pass the guards by crawling in a serpentine manner. When I arrived, I gave the preconcerted signal, but Malone was nowhere to be seen. I waited for him two hours at least, when I was compelled to seek my safety alone.
Not being able to meet with my friend, I regarded as a great misfortune, because, after reaching a point ten miles north of Tupelo, he would be familiar with the country. I had frequently passed through the town on the railroad, but knew nothing of the country through which I must travel. Somewhat depressed in spirits at the loss of my compagnon de voyage, I resolved to reach my family by the safest and most practicable route. Still in the midst of camps, I had considerable difficulty in making my way out of them. When I thought that this had been effected, I found that day was brightening in the east. Looking around for some place to hide, I soon found a dense, though small thicket, in which I secreted myself as covertly as possible. Having slept but little since my arrest, I endeavoured to compose myself to slumber, and partially succeded; but soon the noise and confusion of soldiers passing and re-passing near, awoke and alarmed me. I soon learned that I was near a camp, and that the soldiers had found a suitable place for bathing in a creek which ran within thirty yards of my place of concealment. There were two paths by which they reached the creek. On one, they passed within fifteen feet of me; on the other, within six or seven. About nine o’clock, I heard the booming of cannon all around me, proceeding from the different camps. The soldiers who passed me stated, in their conversation, that the cannon were firing in honour of a great victory obtained over General McClellan, in Virginia. According to their statement, his whole army, after a succession of losses, during eight days’ fighting, had been completely annihilated, and that Stonewall Jackson would be in Washington city before the close of the week.
The day passed slowly away. At one time two soldiers came within a few feet of me in search of blackberries, but passed out without detecting me. At another time two soldiers sat down to converse, so near that their lowest tones were distinctly audible. One informed the other that he had been in town in the morning, and had learned that the Clerical Spy, Parson Aughey, and a fellow by the name of Malone, had broke jail, but that they would soon be brought in, as a company of cavalry had been put on their track, with a pack of bloodhounds. Soon after this, one of them arose and struck a bush several times, which seemed to be but a very short distance above my head. I thought that he had discovered me, and was about to rise and run, when I heard him say to his companion, that he had attempted to kill a very large snake, which had escaped to the bushes. I began to feel somewhat uncomfortably situated when I learned that I was in close proximity to a large snake, though I would have preferred meeting with an anaconda, boa-constrictor, rattlesnake, or even the deadly cobra di capello, rather than with those vile secessionists thirsting for innocent blood.
I thought this 5th of July was the longest day I had ever known. The sun was so long in reaching the zenith, and so slow in passing down the steep ecliptic way to the occident. The twilight, too, seemed of endless duration. But as all long days have had an end, so had this. The stars came glittering one by one. I soon recognised that old staunch and immovable friend of all travellers on the underground railroad, the polar-star.
Rising from my lair, I was soon homeward bound, guided by the north-star and an oriental constellation. Plunging into a dense wood I found my rapid advance impeded by the undergrowth, and great difficulty in following my guiding stars, as the boughs of the great oaks rendered them invisible, or dimly seen. Fatigued, hungry, and sleepy, I at length lay down at the foot of a large swamp-oak tree, intending to take a nap, and then rise and pursue my journey. When I awoke the sun was just rising. I arose filled with regret for the time I had lost. Though somewhat refreshed by my sound sleep, yet I was very hungry and almost famished with thirst.
After travelling about half a mile I came to a small log-house on a road-side. Feeling sick and faint, I resolved to go to the house to obtain water, and, if I liked the appearance of the inmates, to reveal my condition and ask for aid. Upon reaching the house I met the proprietor, but did not like his physiognomy. He looked the villain; a sinister expression, a countenance revealing no intellectuality, except a sort of low cunning, bore testimony that it would be foolish to repose confidence in the possessor of such villanous looks. I asked for water, intending to drink and leave. He pointed to the bucket; I drank and bade him good morning, and turned to leave. I had proceeded but a few steps, when I was ordered, in a stentorian tone, to halt. On looking round, I saw a soldier within a few steps, presenting a double-barrelled gun; another soldier was standing near, heavily armed. I asked by what authority he halted me. To which he replied:
“I know you, sir; I have heard you preach frequently. You are Parson Aughey, and you were arrested and confined in prison at Tupelo. I was in Lowrey’s regiment yesterday, and learned that you had broken jail; and now, sir, you must return. My name is Dan Barnes. You may have heard of me.”
I had indeed heard of him. He had been guilty of robbing the United States mail, had fled to Napoleon or Helena, Arkansas, where he was arrested, brought back, and incarcerated in jail at Pontotoc, and confined there for nearly a year. As the evidence against him was positive, he would have been sent to the penitentiary; but, fortunately for him, at this juncture Mississippi seceded. There being then no United States officers to execute the laws, he was liberated, and soon after joined the army.
After breakfast, which I paid for, Barnes called me to one side, and told me that he felt sorry for me, and would afford me an opportunity of escaping, if I would pay him a reasonable sum. He had been in a tight place himself, and would have been glad had some friend been near to aid him. He named two hundred and forty dollars as the reasonable sum for permitting me to escape. After getting my money, their horses were saddled, and telling me he was playing-off on me, said I must go to General Jordan’s head-quarters at Priceville, to which place he and Huff, the proprietor of the log cabin, conducted me.
On my arrival, General Jordan ordered me to be put in irons, and placed under guard. I was taken to a blacksmith’s shop in the town, the General accompanying the guard, and heavy iron bands were put around my ankles, and connected by a chain. The bands were put on hot, and my boots were burnt in the operation. The blacksmith seemed averse to the order, and only obeyed it upon compulsion. The General stood by, and saw that it was well done. “Iron him securely – securely, sir,” was his oft repeated order. The ironing caused me much pain. My ankles were long discoloured from the effects of it.
After my manacles were put on, I was taken back to Tupelo by Barnes and another guard. On my arrival, the commander of the post and the Provost Marshal were filled with joy. Barnes gave them the history of the arrest, stating that I had attempted to bribe him; that he listened to my proposition with indignation, and when he had got the money, performed what he regarded his duty. The commander replied that all the property of traitors was theirs, and that he did right in deceiving me, after accepting the bribe. He also recommended Barnes for promotion for his heroic and patriotic act in arresting me. (Perhaps it secured for him a captaincy.) The following colloquy now took place between the commander of the post, the Provost Marshal, and myself:
“Why did you attempt to leave us?”
“Because, sir, your prison was so filthy, and your fare so meagre and unwholesome, that I could not endure it long, and live.”
“Parson, you know the Bible says, the wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are as bold as a lion. You must have been guilty of crime, or you would not have tried to escape.”
“I may have been guilty of the offence charged against me, and yet innocent of real guilt.”
“You shall never be taken back to the prison you left, rest assured of that. Did any of the prisoners know of or aid you in your escape?”
“No, sir; none of them knew anything about it.”
“Are you telling the truth?”
“I am.”
“Where is Malone?”
“I never saw him after I left the building.”
“He cannot escape; the cavalry are after him, and he will be brought in soon, dead or alive.”
“Why did you attempt to bribe Barnes?”
“It was his own offer. I knew that his cupidity was great, and thought it no harm to accept his offer. If Barnes had his deserts, he would now be hard at work in the penitentiary.”
“Did the jury that tried him, acquit him?”
“No. The secession of Mississippi saved him. I refer you to Colonel Tison, who is in Tupelo, for the particulars. He being marshal of North Mississippi, arrested Barnes, and knows all about it. He found on his person the evidence of his guilt, the money and checks stolen when he robbed the mail.”
“Parson, you will not be immediately executed, but you will, without doubt, hang in a week or two, so that, if you have any word to send your family, you have permission to do so.”
“May I write a letter to my wife?”
“You may, and I will see that it is forwarded to her.”
I sat down and wrote a letter, a very common-place letter, to my wife, inserting, occasionally, a word in phonography, which, taken in connection, read thus: “If possible, inform General Rosecrans or Nelson of my arrest.” While inspecting the letter, Lieutenant Peden noticed the phonography, and asked me to read it. I read it thus: “My dear wife, I hope to be at home soon. Do not grieve.” This letter they never sent. It was merely an act of duplicity on their part, to obtain some concession, which might be used against me. The guard, receiving orders, now conducted me to a hotel, and placed me in a small room, two guards remaining inside, and two at the door outside, with orders to shoot me if I made the least attempt at escape. I remained in this room only a few hours, after which I was taken to my old prison. As I entered, my old friends, the prisoners, crowded around me, and Captain Bruce addressed me in his facetious manner. In prison, his wit had beguiled many a tedious hour. His humour was the pure Attic salt.
“Parson Aughey, you are welcome back to my house, though you have played us rather a scurvy trick in leaving without giving me the least inkling of the matter, or settling your bill.”
I replied: “Captain, it was hardly right; but I did not like your fare, and your beds were filled with vermin.”
“Well, you do not seem to have fared better since you left, for you have returned.”
“Captain, my return is the result of coercion. Some who oppose this principle when applied to themselves, have no scruples in enforcing it upon others.
“No rogue e’er felt the halter draw,
With good opinion of the law;”
is an old saw, and the truth of proverbs is seldom affected by time. I am your guest upon compulsion; but remember, I will leave you the first opportunity.”
Upon hearing this, an officer present swore that when I again left that building, it would be to cross the railroad, (the place of execution.)
The prisoners gathered around me, and I related to them my adventures. They then informed me of what had transpired during my absence. Clarke was taken out of prison to guide a cavalry company in search of me. Clarke informed me that they scoured the country, and then went to my father-in-law’s; and after searching the premises, returned, believing that I had gone due north towards Rienzi, in which direction another company had been despatched. On their return, Clarke was remanded to jail. At roll-call – seven o’clock, A. M., we were missed. The cavalry were immediately sent in pursuit. All the guards on duty during the night were put under arrest. Our method of escape was soon discovered, and the guards were released, as they were not at fault. A large number of spikes were hammered in the floor, the guards were doubled, and greater vigilance enjoined. The prisoners were questioned, strictly and individually, to learn whether any of them knew of our intention to escape, or had rendered us any assistance. They all positively denied any knowledge of the matter. They asked me whether I had given the officers any information about their knowledge of our designs, and coöperation in effecting them. I replied that I had positively denied that any except Malone and myself were privy to our plans.