by Michael Ross
“Pa, why hasn’t she come out yet? Do you suppose something’s wrong? Maybe I should just go and see the warden again,” fretted Julia.
“Just be still. If we’re going to do this, break her out, we got to be patient. You know I don’t like this. I’m not sure yet how you talked me into it. We could get in prison ourselves for this. She didn’t come out on Christmas, but I expect she’ll be along today. Let’s just hope we can do this with no worse than a sore head for the guard,” said Robert. He checked his Union-issued revolver to be sure it was loaded.
“Why don’t you go down to the buggy and give the horse his nose bag? Looks like we may be here a while,” said Robert.
Julia did as he asked, all the time imagining a thousand things that might go wrong with their plan, yet determined to rescue her sister. Just as she hadn’t hesitated when Albinia asked her to use the steamships to help escaping slaves, she now risked everything to help her sister escape. On a previous trip, she watched the prison and discovered her sister’s visits to the warden’s house, and formed a plan. She knew she couldn’t do it alone, so she begged Robert to help, and influenced Hobson to allow her father’s leave. She trudged back up the slope to where her father was waiting.
The hours passed slowly in the cold. Julia rubbed her hands together and stomped her feet. She wore woolen petticoats, but the chill still crept up her legs.
Robert turned to Julia. “Are you all right, Jule? Do you think we’d better go back to the hotel, try again tomorrow?”
“No, no, we have to keep trying. What if we miss it? Or what if she’s sick, or hurt?” said Julia. She scanned the prison walls, trying to imagine where her sister was. “Look! There!” she said, the cold forgotten.
The prison gate opened. A wagon came out, with two people on the front seat. One was the figure of a woman. They couldn’t see well enough to identify her, but she was definitely white, not Negro.
“What do we do? She isn’t usually in a wagon,” panicked Julia. “If it’s Albinia, and we let her go, she may be transferred somewhere, and we have to start over. If it’s not, and we go up there, we could end up releasing a criminal for nothing.”
“Calm down,” said her father. “Take the buggy. Drive fast. Get in front of them. Pretend you have trouble and wave them down. Do anything to make them stop. I’ll come up behind, take out the guard. If it’s not Albinia, climb back into your buggy and I’ll know to hold off. Go quickly!”
Julia turned and ran down the hill again, as quickly as her skirts would allow, using one hand to hold them almost to her knees, the other to balance against trees and rocks on the steep slope to where the buggy waited below. Her feet were so cold they tingled with the exercise, as the blood flowed faster through them. She almost fell twice, but finally came to the buggy, quickly removed the nosebag from the horse, and mounted the driver’s box. She took the brake off, and then urged the horse forward as fast as she dared, not knowing the road well. She only knew this path came into the main road less than a mile ahead.
The buggy rattled and the harness strained as she urged the horse to canter, still pulling. As she rounded a curve, she could see the main road ahead, and pulled back on the reins to a walk. The horse’s sides were heaving, and he showed some lather. She looked carefully to the right. She could not see the prison wagon approaching. Julia pulled onto the main road, then off on the right hand side, setting the brake letting the horse breathe. She climbed down. Her hair had flown in all directions, and she did her best to look like the victim of a runaway. After two or three minutes, she heard the rattle of a wagon and the footfalls of a horse. The black wagon rounded the curve and approached. Julia went to the middle of the roadway, waving her arms wildly.
“Help! Help! Excuse me, sir! Can you help me?”
The driver of the wagon pulled back on the reins, and the wagon lumbered to a halt. Julia looked carefully. It was Albinia. She murmured a silent prayer that her sister wouldn’t give her away. “Sir, my horse ran away from me, and I think something is wrong with the wheel. Struck a rock or something.”
The driver started to get down, and Julia saw Robert sneaking up from behind the wagon, his Enfield rifle raised as a club, when Albinia, startled, spoke up. “Julia! Whatever are you doing here? I’ve been freed. The governor pardoned me.”
There was no time to clamber back into the buggy. Julia waved her arms wildly again, and yelled, “Stop!”
Robert redirected his swing, before clobbering the unknowing guard. The butt of the rifle hit the ground harmlessly. The guard turned, drawing a pistol.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the guard shouted.
“I … I … meant no harm,” ended Robert lamely.
Julia recovered herself and interrupted. “The woman you are transporting is my sister. This is my father. My sister was unjustly imprisoned. We came to rescue her, but I see that is no longer necessary.”
Albinia climbed down and ran to her father, embracing him. “Pa! Pa! You shouldn’t have come, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Well, I’ll have to tell the warden about all this. He’ll be wanting to see all of you, I reckon, to see if charges are warranted.”
Julia commanded, “Put that pistol away. And you’ll tell the warden nothing if you value your job. The governor has pardoned her because of my letters and those of my friends. Or would you like us to tell the warden how you were so derelict in your duty as to allow yourself to be surprised and nearly lost a prisoner?”
“Well, now … I guess if you put it that way. And seeing as the lady was set free and all, I suppose no harm done.”
“Exactly. Thank you, sir. I suggest you let us take my sister to town, and you can go about your duties.”
The guard turned, muttering about high-minded women, and climbed back into the wagon. In moments, he had turned and headed back to the prison. Robert, Julia, and Albinia all embraced, laughing and crying.
✳ ✳ ✳
The next day, at a hotel in Frankfort, Robert, Albinia, and Julia sat together, enjoying breakfast. Albinia felt like she’d been raised from death, to a new world. Her months in prison gave her a vibrant new appreciation for simple creature comforts, like good food and no one threatening her.
“What will you do, now, Binia?” Robert wanted to know. “Your ma could sure use your help at the farm, you know.”
Albinia was surprised. “Why? Why aren’t you helping her? Why do you need to fight?”
Robert said, “Most all able-bodied men have enlisted. There’s talk of a draft, so I figure to defend our home, and do it while I have some choice in the matter. I have to get back to my regiment as soon as possible. I’m in the 19th Kentucky Infantry. When my time is up, I’ll go back home. Hopefully, Will can come home too.”
Julia said, “I’ve asked Ma to move to Cincinnati with me, but she won’t hear of it. However, with Hiram in the army now, I may decide to visit the farm more frequently. If you’re willing, Binia, I think we could work together to hire someone to help Ma while Pa is in the army. Everyone says the war won’t last.”
Albinia thought and carefully wiped her lips with her napkin. “Yes, I can help with hiring someone for Ma. However, I intend to go back to my own farm and continue doing exactly as I was.”
Robert almost jumped up and exclaimed, “You can’t mean it! You just got out of jail. Don’t think they’ll pardon you a second time.”
“Binia, dear, you just can’t,” said Julia. “They’ll be watching you.”
“And so will God. I cannot sit by and watch people suffer because I am fearful for my own safety.”
Julia reached over and touched the bruises on Albinia’s face that she had tried to cover with makeup. “But next time, they may not just bruise you.”
“It is a chance I will have to take.”
✳ ✳ ✳
February 1862
Albinia was getting settled into life on the farm again. Mabel and Franklin had kept it for her while she was in prison. She wa
s determined to continue helping slaves, but knew she would need to be more cautious and find new hiding places, or simply put runaways directly on a steamboat, with as little time at her place as possible. She tired more easily after her long time in prison, and hadn’t yet fully regained her strength. It was often full dark by seven, so she decided to retire early and get some sleep.
Albinia woke to the smell of smoke. She heard shouting and flames crackling. Her house was on fire! She quickly threw on a dressing gown and ran to the hallway, and down the stairs. Rex was barking furiously. She almost ran into Mabel coming out of her room.
“What’s happening?”
“Some night raiders! They set the whole place on fire!”
“Where’s Franklin?”
“I don’t know. He heard a noise. I think he went outside to see. Took his shotgun.”
“Let’s get out of here!” Albinia grabbed Mabel’s arm, propelling her outside. The two women watched as horses wheeled around. The men on horses wore masks and fired shots in the air. The fire cast an eerie glow in the darkness.
“Burn it down, boys! Every stick!” yelled one. One of the men set a torch to the haystack. Another threw coal oil on the barn and lit it. Soon the entire farmyard was engulfed in flame. Horses screamed in the barn. Albinia moved toward it and was blocked by a man on a black stallion. Rex jumped to defend her, and the man shot him from horseback as his teeth sunk into the man’s boot.
“You listen real good! ‘Cause what happens to those horses and that dog is what’s gonna happen to you! You got two days to get out of this county, out of the state. If you don’t, we’ll be back and kill you and everyone here! Two days! We’re done with you stealin’ slaves. If the state won’t fix you, we will.” He turned his horse and encouraged the men again. “Make sure it all burns, then head out. If the women try to stop it, shoot’em!”
Albinia then saw Franklin, stretched out on the ground, shotgun in hand. In the glow of the firelight, a red stain blotched his shoulder. He appeared to be dead. Mabel ran to him as soon as the men left. Albinia went over to Franklin, feeling helpless, and then cradled Rex’s lifeless head, sobbing.
MORGAN’S RAIDERS
January 1862
Sickness had spread through the camp. Will and Archie were among the lucky ones who were not ill. The doctors and medics in the camp had little medicine or supplies to work with, and did the best they could. Fortunately, food was abundant, so they were able to prescribe diets that helped some of the ill soldiers to recover. Some got better, some got worse, and some men died. No one really knew why. Tom Logwood recovered, but four others in the company grew steadily worse. Will and Archie attended the first of many funerals due to illness in January.
Though not much fighting had really happened yet, Will counted himself fortunate to have the Springfield musket. Less than half of the men had good rifles. Many had shotguns, revolvers, and Bowie knives. Will hoped he could find a revolver soon. At times, he wondered if he should give his personal Springfield to a companion and rely on the Whitworth, feeling guilty that he had two long guns while others had none. Duke encouraged him to keep both, since rapid fire might be of use, and ammunition for the Whitworth was uncommon. He gave Will an extra rifle scabbard for his horse to carry the guns.
By mid-February 1862, the regiment prepared to move from winter quarters. The winter guerrilla actions they carried out continued to gain the attention of newspapers, which referred to them as “Morgan’s Raiders.” Morgan liked it so much he began printing and distributing his own regimental newspaper, “The Vidette.”
The weather was intensely cold, with sheets of rain and sleet. Movement along the muddy roads and paths was slow. Word was the Federals were advancing, and the Raiders were falling back south to Nashville. Some of the sick rode in wagons.
Will’s mood was by turns impatient and bored. The few missions he’d been on were exciting enough, but there were long periods when he wished for the family farm in Lexington. He had no real desire for more killing, but if they were going to fight, why couldn’t they get to it?
He rode behind one of the supply wagons, watching on all sides for ambush, but only seeing squirrels. His gray hat dripped a steady stream. Lately, he’d begun to sprout a beard. Rather than shave, he decided to let it grow, to look older. Now, however, the scraggly strands of it collected water that dripped on the pommel of his saddle. That night after they made camp, in spite of the weather, the order came that no fires were allowed.
Archie grumbled to Will, “How do they expect us to march or ride all day and not even have a fire to dry out with at night? We’ll all be icicles by morning.”
“You’re right about that.” He helped Archie pound in the stakes for the tent lines. “After little cabins all winter, now we just have this canvas. Reckon it’ll snow tonight?”
Will looked up at the sky. “Maybe. I hope not, though. Just make tomorrow tougher.”
“Well, if it does—do me a favor. Just cover me up and leave me here,” joked Archie. “That way I’ll see home before summer.”
They crawled into their tent and huddled under blankets.
✳ ✳ ✳
February 1862
In two more days, they were in LaVergne. Morale was at an all-time low. No one was calling the march a retreat, yet here they were in Tennessee rather than Kentucky.
Lieutenant West approached Will and Archie’s tent.
“Crump, Moody! On the double—guard duty! Some men in the regiment think Christmas didn’t include them enough. They’re breaking into stores, helping themselves, and getting drunk with whiskey. Captain Morgan is not pleased. Try not to shoot anyone, but round them up and bring them back to camp,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir!” They both snapped to attention and gathered their gear for the short march to town. They joined a group of ten to fifteen others who tapped for the same duty. Will checked his ammunition for the Springfield. They were near a railroad junction, so ammunition was more plentiful at present. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. The marching activity actually felt good in the cold. The news of the fall of Fort Donelson and Fort Henry at the critical junction of the Cumberland River had not helped morale. He understood the reaction of some of the soldiers after the long winter months. Some had died without ever firing a shot.
Arriving in town, they saw a mob forming. Their fellow soldiers gathered around a whiskey keg in the street, taking turns getting a glass. A few fired into the air with their revolvers. Some actually broke a store window and grabbed cheeses and other food items. The town citizens were becoming angry. One man drew a revolver, only to have a soldier bash his arm with the butt of his shotgun, and then point both barrels at him.
West took command. “You soldiers! Stop and come to attention at once! Anyone who disobeys can look forward to stockade and cleaning latrines. Company, present arms! Company, take aim!” he bellowed.
Will and those with him aimed at their fellow soldiers. Will was shaking. He didn’t want to shoot.
West’s commands had the desired effect. The town people and the soldiers froze for a second, then the soldiers dropped whatever articles they had and formed up in lines of fours, at attention, although some rather unsteadily.
West did not hesitate. “Company, shoulder arms! Company, right face! You who were in the town, shoulder arms! Right face! March!”
Will followed orders. He glanced at Archie, and could see relief similar to his own. Violence was avoided.
✳ ✳ ✳
The next night, as evening fell, Will and Archie were cooking dinner. They’d caught some fish from the Stones River nearby.
“Too bad about Tom. He was a real good guy,” said Will.
“Yeah, but when we joined the regular army, we knew discipline would change.”
“At least he’s just demoted to private. Getting drunk in uniform could have been a lot worse.”
They both jumped to attention as they saw Captain Morgan come striding up.
; “At ease, Will, Archie. I’m planning a little outing tonight, wondered if you might like to come along. We’re just taking fifteen or so, a night raid. Interested?”
“Yes, sir!” they both replied instantly.
“Good, good,” said Morgan. “Meet on the north side of camp in an hour. You have time to finish your dinner. Looks like good fishing today,” he said, grinning.
“Yes, sir. Tennessee bass tastes mighty good after hard tack on the march,” said Archie. “Not that we’re complaining,” he added hastily.
“See you in an hour.” Morgan walked off, seeking his other volunteers.
✳ ✳ ✳
In the deepening twilight, Will followed the others on his horse, moving toward Nashville. The wind howled, and sleet hit his face like ice daggers. They moved out on the main road. Even after an hour, they saw no one moving. He could barely hear the clinking of spurs in the occasional breaks in the gusts. No one talked after Morgan said that their objective was to set fire to a steamboat, cast it loose on the river, and thereby possibly set Federal gunboats on fire downstream. Federals had moved into Nashville. By the time Will reached the city it was dark, but with a full moon that went in and out of cloudbanks. They communicated with hand signals. Will was at his usual position for such sorties, in the rear, Morgan at the front. Looking down a slope into the town, they saw a group of twenty or so Federal cavalry making the rounds on the streets. After a few minutes, Morgan moved out, giving the signal to follow. Everyone followed quietly, Morgan and his men about one hundred yards behind the Federals. Morgan communicated that five or six were to follow him, the rest to move into the thickets at the edge of the city near the river, to serve as a rear guard. There were a large number of tall brick and frame buildings next to the Nashville Wharf, and some smaller buildings back a couple of blocks. Will signaled Archie, and together they went to the smaller buildings. They went behind them, and Archie secured the horses while Will climbed a back stairway to the roof, where he had a clear view of the steamboat tied to the wharf. He primed and loaded the Whitworth, putting in a new cap, and a sight adjustment ring good for about five hundred yards. Will’s intent was to protect Morgan and the others from any Federals who might come and interrupt them. At this distance, they wouldn’t know where the shots were coming from.
