by Michael Ross
“Sir, with respect, if I go out there by myself, a black man in Tennessee, I might just get scooped up and you’d never get your horses back.”
“Oh, all right! Sergeant!” the officer yelled. “Get two men and accompany this black to find those escaped horses.”
Luther barely heard the sergeant mutter under his breath as the officer strode away. But soon he and two others, Hiram and a private, brought lanterns and guns, using their rubber blankets as hoods to shelter from the rain.
“Move out!” said the surly sergeant. Luther took the lead, since he was held responsible. The tracks were evident in the mud, though the dark and the rain made following them through the brush more difficult.
Luther stopped to listen, but just heard the rain and more thunder. The horses had moved at a gallop. How far would they have to go in this mess, and would they find them at all? Again, Luther privately cursed the stupidity of the officer. They were just as likely to all get lost as well as the horses. Luther guessed they had gone about a mile, following the tracks. The impressions weren’t as deep now, indicating the horses were moving slower.
They came to the banks of a small stream, and in a distant flash of lightning, saw the horses standing on the bank. Luther turned back and motioned to the others. The sergeant signaled to spread out, to keep the horses from escaping. They focused intently on the horses ahead. As they started to comply, a voice came out of the gloom.
“One more step, Yank, and it’ll be your last. Drop the rifles and the lanterns, real slow.”
Luther looked back and found about twenty men in gray surrounded them, rifles leveled at them. His heart jumped in terror. He looked for escape—there was none possible. Luther thought Hiram looked like he might try to fight, but seeing the rifles aimed at them, his shoulders slumped, defeated.
Out of the dark he heard a familiar voice.
“Hey, boys, looky what we got here! A black! You blue bellies so dumb you have to have a slave to lead you?” Jameson said, approaching Luther. “I know this one—I hear he’s escaped. Doesn’t know how to respect his betters.” Jameson punched Luther hard in the stomach, causing him to double over.
“That’s enough of that!” said a Confederate officer. “Bind their hands, take their weapons. We’ll take them to Captain Morgan.”
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther, Hiram, and the other two soldiers in blue marched into the rebel camp. There were tents in rows, with one or two small fires. The rain abated. Men were sitting in front of their tents, cleaning weapons, talking, and looking at the new arrivals curiously. The soldiers brought the escaped horses with them, jeering that they’d learn to whistle Dixie.
Luther’s mind was in a whirl. Was this the end? All his work to be free, and here he was, back in Jameson’s clutches. He raged at himself, the officer that sent him, even God. How could God abandon him to slavery again?
“Captain Morgan, sir! These men were found sneaking up on our position. We surrounded and surprised them. We thought you might want to speak with them,” said the lieutenant.
Jameson piped up, “Or shoot them. I’d take care of that for you, if you like, especially the black.”
Luther couldn’t stand it any longer. “You no excuse for a man, Jameson! You want to beat on the weak and the women, anyone who can’t fight back. My momma tell me that you’re my pa, but you just a devil. You untie any one of us, we’ll teach you about respect!”
Morgan looked mildly surprised. “That true, Corporal Jameson? You this boy’s pa? And you want to shoot him?”
Jameson laughed. “He’s nothing to me. He’s the whelp of some slut on my plantation. But I don’t keep track of my dog’s pedigrees.”
Luther’s eyes bulged, and he shouted, “I kill you! I kill you if it’s the last thing I do!”
Morgan looked amused. “Well, it seems you are not popular. We do not have accommodations for prisoners, and are moving fast at present.”
Jameson interrupted. “Let me have them, Captain. I’ll see they don’t cause trouble.”
Now Morgan was annoyed. “Attention, Corporal! These prisoners are no longer your concern. You will speak when spoken to. Return to your tent! Lieutenant, bind the prisoners to trees until morning. I’ll decide what to do with them then. You may question them, without violence, to see what you can learn of their unit and movements. Dismissed!”
Morgan turned back to his tent.
“All right, you. Turn and march that way,” he said, indicating some trees. “You, Private, escort them. Tickle them with your bayonet if they get frisky. Tie them to the trees like Captain Morgan said. I’ll be along to question them.”
They tied all of them to the trees. Luther was tied to a medium pine tree, so tightly that sap got stuck in his hair. The ropes went around his arms and chest, in addition to those binding his hands. He was in a sitting position, and they did not bother with his feet, so sure were they that he couldn’t move.
He heard Hiram being questioned—Hiram gave away little beyond their unit number. He tried his ropes, nothing moved. When he thought it safe, he whispered to Hiram, on the other side of the tree.
“Can you move at all?”
“No. I’ve tried. I think they use extra big rope on me because I am big.”
Luther thought their situation looked hopeless. He could already see himself loaded on a wagon, chained, headed back to Ashland.
Suddenly, he remembered. His freedom knife! They’d taken the guns, but hadn’t bothered to search him. Probably thinking who would let a black man have a weapon? The knife was in his boot. If he could get his boot off and kick the knife up near his hands….
Using his other foot, after a few minutes the boot came off. He was careful not to push too hard, lest the knife be out of reach of his foot. He pulled the knife along the ground with his foot. He prayed, “God, if you can hear me, help me now.” He gave the handle of the knife a backward kick, toward the tree. He strained, and the ropes burned his skin. He shut his eyes tight against the pain. He tried again, craning his neck and trying to move his hands closer to the point of the knife blade. He got the tip between two fingers, and pulled it closer. Painstakingly, a little at a time, he moved the knife nearer to the tree, until he could just grasp the hilt. Then he began sawing with it, and in minutes his hands were free. Moving his arms to his sides with his hands apart created enough slack in the ropes around his arms and chest, and then he cut those ropes. He was free! He looked about, and was about to stand up, when he heard voices from the other side of the tree.
“Hey, blue belly! Those look like some nice boots! Mine got some holes. S’pos’n we trade, huh?” The soldier in gray set his rifle against the tree. Luther could see it just out of reach.
“Not my boots!” Hiram protested.
Luther figured the Confederate was busy, and wouldn’t expect opposition. He quietly rolled to the right, crawling on his belly in the darkness. Now he could see the soldier, foolishly with Hiram’s leg between his own, facing away from Hiram, trying to tug off a boot. Luther touched Hiram’s arm and put his finger to his lips. All at once, Hiram kicked up with his massive leg, sending the soldier toppling backward. Before he could yell or make a sound, Luther brought the stock of the rifle down on the Confederate’s skull, and the gray soldier went limp.
He quickly cut Hiram’s bonds and moved to the other men, freeing them, leaving Hiram with the rifle. The Confederates appeared to be sleeping, all the other guards on the other side of the camp, toward the stream they had come from. Once free, the sergeant took charge. He pointed at the guards and shook his head. They couldn’t make it out that way. He beckoned and they followed, moving at a crouch, around the outside of the camp, as quietly as cats. The sergeant pointed at Luther, and motioned him toward where the horses were tied. Luther nodded. If anyone could get the horses free without making noise, it would be him. The Union horses were used to him. They were still saddled.
Luther quietly crept forward to where the horses were tether
ed on a line. He untied one, led it to a companion, then another and another. The three soldiers mounted. Just then a shout rang out, “Hey! Them prisoners escaping!” Luther had meant to untie another horse and ride without a saddle—but bullets pinged around them and there was no time. At first, he thought they might leave him—but Hiram reached down with a big arm and lifted him up behind him. They turned and ran at a gallop, with havoc breaking out in the camp. Branches whipped them, and any moment they expected to stumble and go flying over the horses’ heads. They headed south, away from the camp, then turned west, and finally north, crossing the stream they had earlier found at a lower point.
After they were across the stream, the sergeant held up a hand to signal a halt. The horses were breathing hard, and lathered. They listened—but there were no sounds of pursuit. Morgan evidently didn’t think they were worth the trouble. They proceeded at a walk, rejoining their regiment the next morning.
SHILOH
March 1862
After leaving Albinia on her release from prison, Julia shocked everyone by declaring herself a Confederate sympathizer. She told no one of her true designs. She backed up her declaration by offering discounted shipping to Confederates.
“You’ll ruin us!” declared Kristin. “I thought the whole idea was to remain neutral. What about your father, Hiram, and your sister? What about your fine notions about the slaves?”
“The South is winning the war,” Julia said practically. “Most major battles have gone in their favor. The business at Donelson is just a temporary setback. We need to be realistic. Besides, my family is from Kentucky. My brother is with Morgan. You cultivate the Union people, you’re good at that. Someone has to get business from the South, and I intend to do it.”
She traveled to Richmond, intent on securing some Confederate shipping contracts. The rich Confederates did not yet entirely accept her. However, attending this dinner party enabled her to listen to conversations without seeming to hear.
“My brother is with Johnston in Mississippi,” said one. “They’re moving north soon.”
“Yes, my son is on his way there from Georgia,” said another. “He tells me he has a new sweetheart there.”
“I’ve heard Morgan is moving south,” said Julia innocently. “I wonder what’s to happen.”
“The Thunderbolt of the Confederacy? He’ll show the Yankees something! It seems like they’re going to get together and push the Yankees back to Maine, if you ask me!” said another. “And none too soon! My darkies are getting restless, talking about freedom.”
A tall man with a dark beard in gray uniform with gold braid joined the group. “That’s the spirit! What we need is field coordination, and one big push. It will be like felling a tree. You saw on one side more than the other, and with persistence and patience, it falls. McClellan and Halleck are all bark and no fight. We’ll smash them, along with this upstart Illinois storekeeper, Grant, by Christmas. Wait and see. Spring is when armies move. Lincoln will be suing for peace. Why, when Johnston gets Bragg, Beauregard and Polk together with his own men in Corinth, Mississippi, we’ll see something!”
Julia quietly excused herself from the group and slipped out, telling the servant she had a headache. He called for her carriage, and she went directly to a train station.
✳ ✳ ✳
Arriving in Louisville three days later, she immediately telegraphed Kirsten.
March 4, 1862
Mama Kirsten,
I desperately need to see someone in authority in the Union army here in Louisville. Please use your contacts, and let me know.
Julia
She went to a hotel restaurant and sat to wait for a reply. Three hours later, a messenger came in.
“Paging Mrs. Johannsen—Mrs. Johannsen!” cried the messenger.
Julia waved him down. “I’m Mrs. Johannsen.”
“Sign here,” said the messenger, handing her the telegram.
She tore it open impatiently, and read
Julia,
I cannot imagine you have anything important to say. It is difficult to think any Union officer would see you at all. However, go to General George Thomas tomorrow and mention our name. He was friendly with Hiram’s father. I urge you to come home soon, where you belong, and mend fences.
Kirsten Johannsen
Julia sighed in frustration. Her mother-in-law would never understand what she was doing, even if she knew. At least she had a starting point. She fretted at the delay, not knowing how much time she had before her information would be useless.
Accordingly she inquired where to go, and appeared at General Thomas’s headquarters early the next morning.
An orderly greeted her, “Yes, ma’am? May I help you?”
“I need to see the general as soon as possible.”
“Ma’am, if you’ll just explain your business, I’m sure I can help you. The general is a very busy man. If it concerns one of the soldiers in his command….”
“No, it does not. Please tell the general that Mrs. Johannsen is here to see him. He and my father-in-law were friends. My husband owns the Ohio Zephyr steamship company, and I am representing his interests while he serves with the Union army. It is very urgent.”
The orderly looked at her thoughtfully. “I must admit I am dubious. However, I shall inform the general of your visit. Please wait here.”
Julia seated herself, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. In a few moments the orderly emerged, his manner changed to obsequious politeness.
“If you’ll come this way, Mrs. Johannsen, the general will see you immediately. Would you care for refreshment, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. I must travel on as soon as my business is concluded.”
The general’s makeshift office was small and in disarray, as though being packed to travel. General Thomas was a large stout man, with a salt-and-pepper beard and wavy black hair, with a slight receding hairline. He stood as she entered.
“Mrs. Johannsen. I was grieved to hear of Gunner’s death. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please be seated. And now, I’ve no wish to be abrupt, but I understand you have some business to discuss. My time is limited at the present.”
“Then I shall come directly to the point. Three days ago, I was in Richmond.”
The general’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“A woman may travel more freely across borders than many men, and since I’m from Kentucky and have family on both sides of the war, I can do many things without raising suspicions. I attended a party with many high-ranking Confederates. My husband is serving in the Third Ohio cavalry, and my father in the 19th Kentucky infantry. Regardless what you may hear, rest assured that my loyalties are with the United States. I despise slavery. My sister was in prison for helping escaped slaves. You may verify all this.”
The general nodded, motioning her to continue.
“I heard intelligence that may be of value to you, so I hurried to give it in person. The Confederates are massing a force near Corinth, Mississippi, to thrust north. They hope to surprise the Union troops, outnumber them, and push them far north. My information says the attack will come during the first days of April. I believe many lives could be saved if you move to counter this.”
The general looked slightly amused. “Mrs. Johannsen, I appreciate your desire to help. However, you can hardly expect that I can commit the lives of thousands of men and valuable military equipment based on a party rumor. I should be a laughingstock.”
Julia protested, “But it’s true! I’ve asked other women whose husbands and brothers are serving the Confederates. You’d be surprised how much information women let slip when they think it can do no harm.”
“I’m sure. But whether the women actually know what they’re talking about may be another question, if you’ll forgive me. And while I treasure Gunner’s memory, for all I know, you could be purposely feeding me misinformation. Or the women at the party may have
been deceiving you. As you say, you have family on both sides. Meaning no disrespect, of course.”
Julia rose. “As you wish, sir. I have done my duty as a patriot.” She withdrew a card from her reticule and laid it on the desk. “In future times, I may have more information. When time has proved my information reliable, you may wish to make use of it. I can be contacted at the address on the card.”
General Thompson was apologetic. “I’m very sorry, but I’m sure you can understand my position. I shall mention your visit to General Buell. More than that, I cannot promise. Meanwhile, I urge you to be cautious. Passing information is a dangerous game, and not one often suited to ladies. My orderly will see you out.”
✳ ✳ ✳
April 3, 1862, Mississippi
Will and Archie were tired. They’d been traveling for a week, moving one hundred sixty miles southwest, to Burnsville, Mississippi. The weather was rainy often, slowing their progress. They’d just arrived today. Word passed down said they were moving north again soon, to attack. The camp was bustling with activity and preparations. Will sat outside his tent, not caring about the rain, only for the opportunity to relax a few moments. He made sure Toby got a nosebag of grain and checked the horse’s feet for stones. Then the order came to move out again. They headed north, back into Tennessee, to a place called Pittsburgh Landing on the Tennessee River.
Will and the others of his company rode, with no time for fires and hot meals.
“You horse boys let the animals and us foot soldiers do all the work! Y’all afraid to get your feet muddy?”
“Naw, we just move ahead of you to the battle. Somebody’s gotta make it easier for you boot sloggers,” said Archie, laughing. “But we’ll leave some Yankees for you if you want.”
“You do that. I don’t want to march all this way just to have a picnic,” replied the infantry man.
Archie’s horse spattered mud on the man, and he cursed.
