In late October, Morgan, Luke and six other officers, escaped from their cells in the Ohio Penitentiary at Columbus by digging a tunnel from Luke’s cell into the courtyard. They climbed over the wall with a rope made from mattress covers and escaped without being seen.
Before leaving Columbus, General Morgan called Luke and his other officers together.
“Gentlemen,” said the General, “We have come a long way since our days in Maryland. It has been a privilege serving with you all, but I believe it best if we split up now, and each try to reach the land of Dixie on their own. Together we are too big a target separately I believe some of us might just make it.
Luke was the only one to speak, “General, you know we have always followed your orders, and I for one, will follow them now. It too has been a privilege serving with you Sir.” Luke stepped back, removed the glove from his right hand and rendered the snappiest salute he had ever given while serving in the Confederate Army. The other men came to attention and also saluted.
“Thank you! Thank you all and may God be with you,” said General Morgan returning their salute.
Luke said his good-byes to the other men, turned and began his long trip home.
Sometime during the night, he jumped a Yankee supply train out of Columbus heading south. He arrived close to Cincinnati the next morning. A couple of miles from the station in Cincinnati Luke jumped from the train. He talked a Southern sympathizer into a skiff ride across the Ohio River.
THE LONG TRIP HOME
His plan was to continue south to Louisville, Kentucky, then somehow work his way down to Nashville, Tennessee. From Nashville, it was just a little over one hundred miles to Huntsville, Alabama.
He thought, ‘one hundred miles to Louisville, about one hundred seventy-five to Nashville and another hundred miles and I will be in Huntsville. Three hundred seventy-five miles, it might as well be a million!’ Enemy forces now occupied most of the territory from Cincinnati to Huntsville. He probably wouldn’t see a friendly face until he crossed the line separating Alabama from Tennessee.
He knew the area from Cincinnati to Louisville was crawling with Yankees. He had no clothes but the rags on his back. He had no weapon with which to fight if the need arose. He had no food, except for a few pieces of hardtack he had managed to keep. About all he had was the desire to escape and to once again see his mother, brothers and sisters at home in Alabama.
He felt happy thinking how he might once again see all their wonderful faces, but then he thought of Matthew and his father. What will he tell his family? Why, they will ask, didn’t you save them? Sadly, he thought how he could make them understand war...and its consequences. How, during the heat of battle, a soldier must follow orders – his duty comes first, family and friends are second. Will his family understand?
The farther he walks along the southern bank of the Ohio River the more he dreads going home. He can see the sadness and tears in his mother’s eyes even now. At that moment, he hears a gunboat out in the river discharge its cannon. Was it Yankee or Rebel? He couldn’t tell, in fact, he didn’t care, but it brought him back to the current reality – he must find his way home.
He stops at the edge of the water and looks out across the muddy water of the Ohio River. The Ohio meanders south to Louisville before it continues on to join the mighty Mississippi at Cairo, Illinois. But wait, he thinks, the Ohio will meet up with the Tennessee River at Paducah, Kentucky. The Tennessee flows directly by Guntersville, Alabama.
Out of the blue Luke comes up with a plan. If he can somehow manage to float down the Ohio to Paducah, maybe he can figure a way to go upstream on the Tennessee River to Guntersville. He knew this route would be farther by a couple hundred miles, but it might be safer.
‘Wait just a minute, wait just a dadgum minute,’ he thinks. ‘Take the river to Louisville, and then head south on foot to Nashville. From Louisville to Nashville the route will all be through the hills of Kentucky. Those hills will be a good place to hide if I see any Yankees. By gosh, this is a plan, and a fine one if I say so myself.’
THE RAFT
A mile or two down the river Luke rounds a bend and to his surprise he finds a raft. Someone surely must have used it recently.
Luke checks up and down the riverbank, he sees no one; however, upon closer examination he finds a few barefoot footprints imbedded in the soft sand leading from the raft into the thick foliage alongside the river. They do not appear to be recent. He guesses, they are a couple of days old.
“Hello,” he says in a loud whisper, “Is anyone there?” He quietly asks again looking toward the underbrush. “Hello,” he yells holding his hands against the side of his mouth to amplify his voice. Receiving no response he decides whoever used the raft must have abandoned it and fled into the woods.
Luke is about to push the raft from its resting spot into the river. He has one foot on the raft and one on the ground and is about to give it a shove. “Git offa my raft, you thief – or I’s gonna put a bullet atwixt your shoulder blades.”
Luke recognizes that voice! Turning he sees his old black pal Nathaniel standing in the woods holding an Army musket. “Nate, Nate don’t shoot, it’s me Luke, Luke Scarburg!”
Nate lowers the rifle and steps from the woods. “It is you, ain’t it Luke? I’ll be ‘swanny’, jest thanks about we both meets up here on this riverbank. ‘Swanny’, I’d never have believed I’d seed you again after leaving you at that discharge tent back yonder in Mary Land. I figured you’d done be home about now.”
“No, Nate it didn’t quite work out for me – what’s your excuse? What are you doing here?”
Turning away from Luke’s gaze, he answers, “I got me a letter right after you left... it...it...”
“What Nate? Who was the letter from?”
“It was from yer uncle, Isaac.”
“You mean Uncle Isaac Scarburg that lived on Scarlett Plantation when we left South Carolina to go to Alabama?”
“Yes sir, that’s him. He writ me a letter tellin’ me my darlin’ wife Elsa had been kilt. My son Nate Junior was kilt too, he said them Yankees wuz shootin’ off their cannons and hit my farmhouse. When I gets the news, I could never labor for them murdering rascals no more. Don’t know how Mister Isaac knowed about my family.”
“Running the Mill, I reckon he must have heard the word from one of his customers about your family.”
“That Yankee bunch I was with left Frederick and headed west to jine up with the main part of the Army y’all fought against at Gettysburg. The more furtherest they went, the more furtherest I was getting’ away from Carolinny, so I figured then was the time to skedaddle. I up and deserted them blue-bellies.”
Nate adds, “I knowed I couldn’t go directly south, there wuz too many Yankees twixt Pennsylvania and my farm in Carolinny. I figured sooner or later I would meet up with the Ohio River and I reckoned I could float downstream till I reached the big old Tennessee River.
“Nate, one question, when you reached the Tennessee what was you going to do then?”
“I don’t rightly know Luke, I figured since I had swapped that Yankee horse and wagon with one of them river mens at Pittsburg, I might be able to barter myself onto one of them riverboats headed toward Alabam to see Mamma, Pa and Tom Jefferson. I did have this here Army musket and a few shots that I might be able to trade, if need be. Do you have a better idee?”
“Dadgum Nate, that’s a good plan, I had one but yours is better. Can I tag along with you on your raft?”
When Luke found the unattended raft, Nate had pulled ashore a day earlier to forage the surrounding countryside for provisions. He was just returning from his day of separating some of Kentucky’s farmers from their possessions when he discovered Luke attempting to ‘borrow’ his raft. Nate lowers his Yankee knapsack to the ground. He pulls out a frying pan, coffee pot, a pouch of coffee, a lantern, a box of wooden matches, two candles, a cherry pie, and three oilcloth slickers. Luke begins to laugh as Nate removes the last i
tem... a live chicken.
Luke looks at Nate’s ‘loot’ lying in the sand, shaking his head he speaks to Nate, “Nathaniel, I’m not even going to ask how you came about this stuff, but right now that chicken and pie looks pretty good!”
It was getting dark they needed heat and light. They moved back into the dense underbrush and dropped to their knees. Using sticks and their hands they dug a hole about a foot deep and started a fire. Buried deep within the ground the flames could not be seen by passing boats – the fire was warm and it illuminated the wonderful, brown-crusted pie sitting on a flat stone nearby. Once the chicken had roasted they couldn’t wait; using their dirty hands they finished off the chicken and began to scoop out the cherry pie.
Luke, already practically starved, thought this must be the best pie he had ever eaten, bar none. He and Nate shoved the pie into their mouths so fast they barely chewed. Cherry pie encircled both their mouths. They didn’t care – this had to be heaven, if not, it was running a close second.
As his appetite was being satisfied he licks his fingers and speaks to Nate, “How long have you been on the river?”
“I reckon about twelve days getting’ from Pittsburg to Columbus, then another six gittin’ down here. I could’of made better time if I hadn’t been hidin’ so much from them Yankee gunboats. I figure without all the layin’ low and stayin’ hid I might’of made fifteen miles each night. My raft, under good conditions, would make about two miles an hour, I’s guessin’.”
“Each night, you say. What about traveling during the day.”
“Nah, Luke you could make a good twenty, but it’s way too dangerous. Them Yanks are everywhere. Theys even got them big old cannon guns aimed down on the Ohio at practically ever bend in the river. No, floating in the daylight is sure death.”
“All right, from Cincinnati to Louisville is about a hundred miles, give or take, so we’re looking at ten to twelve days. What do you think Nathan?”
Nathaniel said he didn’t know how far it was to Louisville, but if Luke was right in the mileage, then ten to twelve days was about right.
Luke checks his pocket watch – “Nate it’s near onto seven o’clock, daylight will come on around six tomorrow morning, so we better get going.”
“Hold on Luke, we’s got to build us a shelter on our raft, that’s why I ‘borrowed’ these oil skin slickers. I found out it rains jest about ever day on the river. We needs sommers to git in outta the wet.”
They spend another hour outfitting their raft using the slickers to make a pup tent, and finally shove off toward Louisville a little over a hundred miles downstream. The moon is in the first quarter phase – the half-lit moon will be highest in the sky at sunset, then set about six hours later, they will be limited to a little more than a few hours of moonlight.
The vast amount of troops stationed in the Cincinnati area insures the river will be crowded with gunboats, troop transports and boats delivering supplies. Cincinnati serves as the headquarters for much of the Civil War for the Union’s Department of Ohio.
Moving out into the big Ohio River, Luke is worried. No, he is scared, how could they help but not get captured. The little raft is but a cork floating in the vast ocean of the big Ohio.
They cannot fire up the lantern. For a few hours they can silently drift past the boats, going unseen, using the small bit of light the moon provides; however, once full darkness descends on them they can easily bump into one of the boats and be captured.
Until the moon sets they drift quietly, unobserved down the river. The river was becoming dark, jet-black dark. Occasionally, they would see a light on one of the Yankee boats, the light allowed them to bypass the vehicle unseen. Without the light, they were adrift without knowing what was in their raft’s path. The only noise made is the water of the Ohio lapping against the side of their craft.
It is around 2 a.m., the river pitch dark, every now and then they catch the glimpse of a Union boat. Suddenly from behind they hear the sound of a paddle wheeler churning down river coming in their direction. They hold on tightly; a collision seems imminent. The noise from the boat’s paddle slapping the water is approaching faster.
“Turn left Nathaniel!” Luke yells. “Left! Nathaniel left!” To say the raft is rudimentary is overstating the obvious, the rudder is even worse, if it is even worthy of the name, is nothing but a broken wooden oar.
Nate is steering with the makeshift rudder trying his darndest to make the sluggish raft move out of the oncoming steamboat’s path. He isn’t fast enough; however, the steamer did not smack the raft a direct blow, Nate had moved the raft just enough to allow the bow to miss them by inches. The wake from the near collision washed over the tiny raft. Nate tries hard to hold on, but over he goes into the water. Luke grabs a line and holds on for dear life.
The side-wheeler continues on down the river, never realizing it has just caused a mishap in the middle of the Ohio River.
Peering out into the dark waters, Luke, not worrying about being heard yells, “Nathaniel! Nathaniel! Where are you? Nathaniel! Talk to me! Nate! Nate!” He knows there is hardly any hope that Nate survived.
Behind Luke and slightly to his right he hears someone say, “Hush up Luke! Here I is, don’t wake up the whole river! I’m coming, jest hang on, I’ll be to the raft in a minute.”
Back on the raft, Luke nearly hugs the breath out of Nathaniel before suggesting they move back to the riverbank, to continue on tonight is futile; they need to dry out and inventory their contents of the raft. They know the musket is gone, but Nate still has his bullet pouch slung over one shoulder the other carries his powder horn; however, it is soaked with water and the powder useless.
Arriving at the river’s edge they discover there is an eight to ten foot bank leading from the sand’s edge into the woods above. There are a number of tree roots hanging down, but in the darkness they cannot attempt to climb them.
Sitting on the wet sand both men are wet and dishearten. Luke, shivering, is the first to speak, “Nathan, I’m afraid our estimate of reaching Louisville in ten to twelve days was a little optimistic. You almost drown tonight, granted we can only travel on the river at night, but we have to have, at lest, a little light to avoid being rammed again. You were just lucky on your trip from Columbus, but we can’t afford to take any more chances. From Cincinnati south, the river is going to become filled with Yankee riverboats. Right now each day we only have about six hours of moonlight. I suggest we leave a little after sundown and put ashore around midnight, or so. We’ll just have to hideout all day until sundown.”
“Luke, you know what’s best. I’ll follow whatever you sez.”
“It’s the middle of November, I thought we would be in Louisville by the end of the month. Now I’m looking at the middle of December.”
“That’s fine Luke, we’s not in no hurry. I druthers be slow than gets caught up by them Yanks.”
The sky in the east is beginning to lighten. Luke and Nate must get off the shore and hideout in the woods. They pull the raft upon the sandy beach, pile some brush over it, and use the tree roots to climb the bank to reach the woods above.
“Oh no!” Whispers Luke to Nate as they reach the woods. “A Yankee cavalry troop is camped just three hundred yards from us.”
Luke can see the Union campfires and the Yankee cavalrymen around them beginning to prepare breakfast. He further realizes that this encampment of horsemen is more than a roaming scouting troop of cavalry. He figures this must be the Headquarters camp of a Company or maybe a Regiment of horse soldiers. In the dim light, he missed seeing the flag flying outside one large tent – it bore one single white star on a field of blue, the rank of a Brigadier General. This was the Headquarters encampment of a Union Cavalry Brigade! Somewhere scattered out beyond Luke’s view are another 1,200 to 3,800 cavalrymen. Luke and Nate have stumbled onto a major fighting force of the Yankee Army!
As Luke and Nate lie in the bushes, barely breathing watching the Yankee encampment, Nate h
as another idea.
“Luke what if we uns wuz to seize a couple of them Yankee hosses and instead of goin’ down river, what if we jest skedaddle south on ‘em?”
“You mean ride south overland instead of floating down the river? Let me think for just a minute – let’s see if we manage to ‘borrow’, as you say, the horses and flee south we might get to Lexington, Kentucky. Cutting across country, we could negotiate the Cumberland Mountains to Knoxville. We could then follow the Appalachians south, cut across Sand Mountain and from there it is but a hop, skip and jump home. Of course, the easiest route would be from here to Louisville, then to Nashville, and from Nashville to Huntsville, but that way will be swarming with Yankees. It’ll be hard not to get caught by them Yanks.”
“How longs we talkin’ ‘bout Luke?”
“I figure it’s roughly a little over four hundred miles, as the crow flies. We might average twenty to twenty-five miles a day, so about two weeks, more or less.”
“Luke, how fer is it if’en that crow has to ride a sway-backed hoss on a hard Yankee saddle?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
HARK THE HERALD ANGELS SING
Christmas 1863 was just a few days away. Robert and Ben have been imprisoned at Point Lookout close to four months. After their lucky meeting with Private Luther Street that first morning at breakfast they have had a number of good things happen. If anything in Point Lookout could be called ‘good.’
Their immediate need back then was a place to bed down. Another night sleeping on the wet ground with no blanket was going to be like the night before – miserable. It was early fall, and the winds blowing directly off the Chesapeake Bay, from the north, brought dampness, producing a bone-chilling, wretched night.
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