by W. N. Brown
“The tobacco shed.” Ford nodded. “It’s between the James River Towing Company and Kerr’s warehouse. I’ll see what I can do.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know a benefactor who might be of service to prisoners once they’ve vacated this fine establishment. She has maps of safe routes going north.”
Hamilton’s eyes lit up. Maps with a list of safe houses—places where Union sympathizers hid escaped soldiers or people on the run from slavery—would be crucial to the men trying to make it back to the North.
He was about to ask Ford for more details when the doors flung open and Warden Dick Turner stormed in. The former plantation manager had six guards with him. He also had his whip in his hand.
Hamilton’s gut twisted. He knew this was trouble.
“All y’all line up for a head count,” he barked.
As the prisoners lined up, Turner looked right at Ford.
“Get back to work,” he growled.
Ford shot Hamilton a look, then retreated down the stairs.
Rose and Bennett walked over to where Hamilton stood.
“It’s a surprise head count,” Rose said. “Thank God we all decided to take the afternoon off!”
“Not true, major,” Bennett said. “Johnson and McDonald are in the cellar!”
“What?”
Bennett nodded, his eyes full of worry. “They said they weren’t tired, so I went to the kitchen with them about an hour ago. After they crawled down to the cellar, I pushed the stove back.”
This isn’t good, Rose thought, biting his lip.
“I said line up!” Turner screamed.
One of the guards began the head count. After he finished, he approached the warden.
“We’re missing two, boss.”
“Do it again, you idiot.”
Rose’s mind raced as the guard started counting a second time.
The count’s going to be short. We’re going to get caught.
Then he felt someone brush against him. He turned and saw Bennett slipping back in line after being counted. He soon noticed Hamilton doing the same thing.
Brilliant, Rose thought with relief. Now why didn’t I think of that?
The sickly prisoners did all seem to look alike, and their scruffy beards made it even harder to tell one from the other. Turner didn’t notice the ruse. This time the count came up to the right number. The escape plan was saved . . . this time.
* * *
THE STORY OF ELIZABETH VAN LEW
One of the most famous Richmond locals who helped Libby prisoners escape was Elizabeth Van Lew.
Van Lew’s father had a number of enslaved people in his household; the exact number is unknown. Growing up, Elizabeth Van Lew begged her father repeatedly to free them, but to no avail. Even after he died in 1843, his will had a stipulation forbidding his heirs to free the slaves. So, starting in 1860, Elizabeth paid them wages instead.
As tensions built between the North and South, Van Lew hoped Virginia would side with the Union. Of course, this didn’t happen. Worse still, her hometown, Richmond, became the capital of the Confederacy! Despite this, she knew she couldn’t stand by and do nothing. She got permission to bring food to Union prisoners held at Libby. To keep in good graces with the guards, she would bring them treats such as baked goods.
When the war broke out, Richmond’s citizens were shocked that Van Lew would dare help the enemy, but she didn’t care. She was in contact with a Union sympathizer on the prison staff, and when prisoners escaped, sometimes she would hide them in a secret room in her attic. After word got out to Union leaders that a local woman in Richmond was helping prisoners, the North officially made her a Union spy.
Van Lew would receive messages from Union sympathizers who worked in high offices of the Confederacy. She would smuggle these secret messages out of Richmond to where the Union army was stationed. Oftentimes these messages—which may have contained battle plans or supply shipment information—were hidden in a false-bottom plate warmer, and sometimes even in empty eggshells!
After the war ended, Van Lew was even less popular in Richmond than she had been before. She was also poor, having spent her entire inheritance purchasing the freedom of enslaved people in the area and helping the Union. At one point, she asked the United States government for money to live on. They said no, though President (and former Union general) Ulysses S. Grant did make her postmaster of Richmond during his term as president. Unfortunately, this job ended when Grant’s term was over. Van Lew spent her last years as a recluse, living off money sent to her from the grateful families of former Libby prisoners she’d helped. After she died in 1900, the family of one of these prisoners erected a granite headstone in her honor in Richmond’s Shockoe Hill Cemetery.
* * *
Chapter Eight
The Final Tunnel
Cold sweat beaded Rose’s face as he and Hamilton descended into the cellar on the night of February 8. Despite having made this trip dozens of times over the past month, the threat of getting caught by Turner had made this part of his shift the most nerve-wracking. Once safely in the cellar, he and Hamilton were met by Johnson. He seemed badly shaken.
“Had a close call this afternoon, Colonel,” Johnson said. “Bennett was digging and I was on fan duty. Suddenly I heard the rats squealing something awful. Someone was fooling with the locks of the cellar door, so I got down as low as I could and burrowed down under the straw. Sure enough, two guards came through the door at the top of the stairwell!”
His voice began to quiver as he recounted the next part. “They just stood around, mumbling something. I did my best to lie still. I could feel the rodents crawling all over me. It took all I had not to scream and jump up when I felt one crawling across my face. Then, all of a sudden, they left.”
“I think we can finish the tunnel tonight,” Hamilton assured him. “Robert Ford told me he measured out the distance to the shed with twine. It’s roughly fifty-seven feet, and we’re nearly there.”
As Hamilton spoke with Johnson, Rose went to inspect the tunnel. He crawled downward for the first ten feet before hitting a tight spot. The narrow passage was only about sixteen inches wide, and Rose had to twist his body and inch forward like a caterpillar to get through. This was the part he hated the most, remembering how he’d been stuck in the chimney.
After squeezing through the tight spot, Rose scurried up a slope. He got to the end and began digging with even more intensity than usual. His body ached and his fingers were bleeding (he even lost a fingernail), but he kept going.
Sometime around midnight he felt fresh air on his hands. Dirt fell to the cave floor. His eyes already adjusted to the darkness, Rose could see the wooden ceiling above the tunnel entrance. He was inside the shed!
Slowly, he climbed out of the hole. This was the first time he’d been out of Libby Prison in five months, and he relished the near-freedom. He went to the door of the shed and listened for voices or footsteps. He heard no one on the other side, so he opened it.
He was inside the James River Towing Company office. It was empty. He crept through the building and headed for the door. After listening for a moment, he slowly cracked it open.
Easy does it, he thought. A creaky door right now could be bad news . . .
Rose looked out at Canal Street—and it was also empty! Not a Confederate in sight. He let the fresh night air wash over him for a few more seconds. Never had the colonel appreciated a clear night sky as he did at that moment. Then he closed the door and retreated back into the tunnel.
At last, he thought as he crawled underground, our digging days are over. I can’t wait to tell the others!
“What are we waiting for?” Hamilton said upon hearing the news. “Let’s get out of here!”
Rose had just returned from his journey to the outside. The tunnellers were huddled in a corner of the Chickamauga Room.
“I agree,” Rose said. “The guards are beginning to get suspicious. I say we leave tonight.”
T
he other men looked at each other. They seemed hesitant.
Finally, Bennett spoke up. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. If we make a run for it now, that’s only gonna give us three hours before daybreak.”
“Bennett’s right,” McDonald said. “It’s not enough time. We’re going to need as big a head start as we can get if we’re going to make it to Williamsburg—God willing.”
Although they didn’t like to wait any longer than necessary, Rose and Hamilton knew the men were right. It wouldn’t take long for the guards to figure out that so many men were missing. The Rebs would be combing the area on horseback. The escapees would be on foot, and rather than heading directly north, where there would be more Confederate patrols, they would be walking fifty miles southeast to the Union army lines at Williamsburg.
No, the men would need the entire night to get a big enough head start.
“Then it’s settled,” Rose said. “We leave tonight, just after dark.”
The next day, February 9, was excruciating for Rose. He was terrified that the tunnel would be discovered mere hours before they could put it to use.
All it would take is for someone to walk into the tobacco shed and accidentally step into the hole, he kept thinking to himself. Or unlock the door to the cellar and find Johnson . . .
Each hour ticked by slower than a snail crawling through molasses. Rose and Hamilton spent most of the day milling around, looking for any signs that the guards were rooting around the cellar.
While speaking with Bennett off in a corner, Hamilton was visited by Robert Ford, who was carrying a large box. He sat it down and opened the top. Inside were horse stable supplies.
“Brought some things that might help you boys,” he said. Ford moved aside the supplies and lifted off a wooden panel, revealing a treasure trove of civilian jackets and hats.
“I went ahead and put some maps in a few of the pockets,” Ford said.
Hamilton placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder.
“I can’t thank you enough, Robert. Why don’t you come with us?”
“Well, for one thing, I can’t quite as easily sneak into the kitchen from where I sleep,” he said.
Hamilton frowned. He had forgotten that Ford and the other black prisoners of war slept in another part of the prison, the west cellar.
“We’re locked in for the night,” Ford continued. “Also, I’d be the first one Turner noticed went missing since I work the stables for him, and they’d catch on about the escape much faster. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity.”
The major nodded.
“We’re grateful for your help,” he said. “I’m in your debt.”
The men shook hands, then Hamilton and Bennett removed the clothes. Ford placed the wooden panel with the stable supplies back in the box and picked it up.
“Godspeed, boys,” he said. Then he turned and hastily left the room.
Suddenly a commotion broke out as the door to the Chickamauga Room swung open. In walked the sneering Major Thomas Turner, flanked by his second-in-command, Warden Dick Turner, and a few guards. The prisoners eyed the twenty-one-year-old Confederate and his cronies with burning hatred.
“Now listen here,” Major Turner barked. “As I’m sure all you blue jackets know, five of y’all done escaped our lovely facility.”
Rose and Hamilton gave each other a glance. They’d heard rumors that morning that some men had managed to disguise themselves as guards and walk out of prison, right through the front door. Word had it the uniforms had been smuggled to them by a local Union sympathizer.
“That’s right,” Major Turner continued. “Some more foolish Yanks took it upon themselves to leave a little early. But don’t y’all worry, ’cause they’ll be back. And I’m gonna personally put them in the deepest, darkest dungeon I can find.”
Warden Dick Turner kicked a small makeshift bench out from under one of the prisoners, grinning as the older man fell to the floor in a heap. Libby’s second-in-command was known for his sudden outbursts of violence, often targeting the sick, old, or weak.
“Now, I would just as soon shoot the whole lot of ya myself right here and now,” Major Turner said. “But that wouldn’t be civilized. So there’s gonna be a few changes around here. No man here is allowed to leave this room. No more wandering in the stairwells, the halls, or down to the kitchen unless it’s chow time. You got me?
“Good. And just so you know I ain’t foolin’, my second-in-command, Dick Turner—”
“No relation,” the prisoners said in unison. They knew this routine all too well.
“Right.” Major Turner’s young face twisted in a smile. “He’s gonna personally shoot any man caught messin’ around where he ain’t supposed to be.”
Warden Dick Turner looked directly at Rose and Hamilton. He grinned, his teeth yellow and mossy.
“Shoot ya down like a dog,” he said.
Then the Confederates left the room.
Rose swallowed hard. He thought about his wife and children. The fate of the other tunnellers ran through his mind as well. Was his plan going to get them all killed?
He turned back to the other men. Before he could open his mouth, McDonald spoke.
“It’ll take a lot more than Turner’s threats to keep me from getting out of here!”
The others nodded in agreement.
Rose was glad to hear it.
Finally, darkness came.
The crew waited until ten o’clock. They had decided that every tunneller could choose one friend to take along. With the number of escapees now rising to thirty, Rose and Hamilton decided that leaving in shifts would be best. The last thing they wanted was a stampede of prisoners rushing to escape. That could only end in disaster.
Rose crept slowly down the stairs, Hamilton close behind him. He peered around the corner into the kitchen. His heart leaped in his throat when he saw a Rebel soldier, looking bored and smoking a cigarette.
There’s a guard standing against the stove!
Chapter Nine
The Shed at the End of the Tunnel
Rose turned immediately and began motioning the men back to the Chickamauga Room.
Upon hearing the news of the Confederate guarding the kitchen, the other men’s faces fell. The tunnellers and some of their friends were dressed in the civilian coats and hats Ford had given them, anxious to leave.
“Turner’s beat us,” McDonald said. “We’re never getting out of here!”
“We’re not licked yet,” Rose said. “I’ll check the kitchen again in an hour.”
The minutes slowly ticked by. After about an hour had passed, Rose crept once again down the stairwell. He looked around the corner.
The kitchen is empty!
He waved his hand, encouraging the others to follow.
Rose, dressed in a brown coat and gray hat, tiptoed over to the fireplace, his head darting back and forth, searching for guards. He and Hamilton then slowly moved the stove for the last time.
Before entering the chimney, the two men shook hands. They had been through a lot together.
“Been an honor,” Rose whispered.
Hamilton smiled. “See you on the outside.”
The colonel crawled into the fireplace passageway. Maneuvering the tight, twisting space was as easy as slipping on a comfortable pair of shoes now. Rose wondered how the other prisoners, who hadn’t been through the tunnel yet, would fare. It would be a challenge, to say the least.
Entering the cellar, he was relieved to know it would be the last time.
Hopefully I won’t have to see you guys ever again, he thought as he crept among the skittering rats. He smiled. After tonight, the rodents should be happy to have the cellar to themselves again.
As he crawled into the final tunnel, Rose could hear Hamilton a few feet behind him. They were going to be the first two men to escape. Each of the fifteen pairs of men had a copy of a map Robert Ford had given them, showing safe houses in the area. St
ill, what Rose was going to do once he was outside of the prison was the last thing on his mind. Being this close to freedom, he was even more anxious about getting caught than before.
Something’s wrong, he thought, sweat dripping down his face as he scrambled through the tunnel. Someone must have talked . . . Turner knows, the guards know . . . And they’re going to be waiting for us on the other side of this tunnel! It’s a trap, and I’ll spend the rest of my days rotting in the darkness of the dungeon with the bugs and vermin . . .
Rose squeezed through the tight sixteen-inch curve in the tunnel before scrambling upward. Thirty feet later he was in the tobacco shed, relieved to find it empty. The night air was cold, and felt good. Still, getting through the tunnel was only the beginning. Walking among the citizens and Confederate soldiers milling around town would be the true test of whether all their efforts had been worth it.
He waited a minute for Hamilton, who climbed up into the shed a few moments later. Both men brushed the dirt off their clothes and faces, then crept into the towing company office. Hamilton stopped at the office’s front door and listened. Not hearing any footsteps, he slowly opened the door and the two men walked out of the shed and onto Canal Street. The street was empty save for one drunk man stumbling around. The Union officers paid him no mind and ambled out into the town.
They walked down the street with little fanfare. Then they turned a corner and, to their horror, found themselves on a block with a group of Confederate soldiers! The Rebs looked to be making the most of their night off, smoking and laughing outside of a saloon.
The former prisoners lowered their heads. They did their best not to walk too quickly.
“Hey you,” a Southern voice called out as the two escapees walked past.
Fear shot up their spines. Rose did his best to act unfazed as he stopped and turned around.
“You talkin’ to me?” he said, putting on his best Southern accent.
“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you,” the Reb said. He was wearing a guard’s uniform. “I know you from somewhere?”
