by Larry Hunt
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Captured
Through August and into early September of ’63 General Morgan’s troops along with Luke Scarburg, now Captain Luke Scarburg captured and paroled hundreds of Union soldiers. In late September 1863 at Versailles, Indiana, some of General John Hunt Morgan’s soldiers raided nearby militia camps and looted county and city treasuries. The symbolic articles of the local Masonic Lodge are also stolen. When Morgan learns of the theft, himself a Master Mason, he pitches such a fit the Lodge’s property is found and returned the following day. Luke’s father, grandfather, and great-great-grandfather were Master Masons also. All his life he had heard the story how his great-great-grandfather built Lodge Number One at Scarlettsville, South Carolina, and family lore passed down that Number One was special. Why is Lodge Number One so important? Luke himself had been raised to Master Mason in Albertville, but he could not see how Albertville Lodge 663 could have been much different from old Number One at Scarlettsville. All Lodges are constructed and furnished within and without exactly the same. Something is different about Lodge Number One, but what?
Morgan and his men, now known as ‘Morgan’s Marauders’, are almost disbanded in October 1863 at Balley Island, Ohio. At this place, more than seven hundred of his men are captured trying to cross the Ohio River into West Virginia. Union gunboats intercepted the Marauders, less than four hundred of his men succeed in crossing. Most of Morgan's men are captured that day and spend the rest of the war in the infamous Camp Douglas Prisoner of War camp in Chicago, Illinois. A week later near a small crossroads in Ohio Morgan’s exhausted, hungry and saddle-sore remainder of his soldiers ate finally forced to surrender, including Luke.
In late October, Morgan, Luke, and six other officers, escape from their cells in the Ohio Penitentiary at Columbus by digging a tunnel from Luke’s cell into the courtyard. They climb over the wall with a rope made from mattress covers and escape without being seen.
Before leaving Columbus, General Morgan calls Luke and his other officers together.
“Gentlemen,” said the General, “we have come a long way together 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 steps back, removes the glove from his right hand and renders the snappiest salute he has ever given while serving in the Confederate Army. The other men come to attention and also salute.
“Thank you! Thank you, and may God go with you,” said General Morgan returning their salute.
Luke says his goodbyes to the other officers, leaves and begins his long trip home.
Sometime during the night, he slips, unseen, into a boxcar aboard a Yankee supply train out of Columbus heading south. He approaches close to Cincinnati the next morning. A couple of miles from the station Luke leaps from the train. He talks a Southern sympathizer into a skiff ride across the Ohio River.
THE LONG TRIP HOME
His plan is to continue south to Louisville, Kentucky, then somehow work his way down to Nashville, Tennessee. From Nashville, it is just a little over one hundred miles to Huntsville, Alabama.
He thinks, ‘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 occupy most of the territory from Cincinnati to Huntsville. He probably will not see a friendly face until he crosses the line separating Alabama from Tennessee.
He knows the area from Cincinnati to Louisville is crawling with Yankees. He has no clothes but the rags on his back. He has no weapon with which to fight if the need arises. He has no food, except for a few pieces of hardtack he managed to keep. About all he has is the desire to escape and to once again see his mother, brothers and sisters at home in Alabama.
He feels good ‘thinking’ how he might once again see all their wonderful faces, but then he thinks of Matthew and his father. What is he to tell his family? Why, they will ask, didn’t you save them? Sadly, how will he make them understand this War...and its human consequences? Like, 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 waters 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 knows this route will 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 sees a raft sitting on the riverbank. Apparently it has been abandoned, but from its looks, someone surely must have used it recently.
Luke checks up and down the riverbank, he doesn’t see anyone. Upon closer examination, he finds a few barefoot footprints imbedded in the soft sand; footprints that lead from the raft into the thick foliage alongside the river. They appear to be recent. He estimates they cannot be more than a day or two 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 on the sand of the riverbank into the water of the mighty Ohio. He has one foot on the raft and one on the ground about to give it a shove. “Git off’a my raft, you boat thief – or I’s gwine to put a bullet a twixt your shoulder blades.”
Luke recognizes that voice! Turning, he sees his old black pal Nathaniel standing at the edge of the woods holding an old Army musket. “Nate, Nate Scarburg 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’s 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 man’s tent back yonder in Mary Land. I figured you’d done be home by 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, “It didn’t work out for me neither, I got me a letter right after you left... it...it...”
“What Nate? Who was the letter from?”
“It was from yer uncle, Master 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 was dead, my son
Nate Junior too. He said them Yankees wuz shootin’ off their cannonballs and hit my farmhouse. When I gets the news, I could never labor for them murdering rascals no more. Don’t know how Master Isaac no’d about my family?”
“From running the Mill, I reckon he must have heard the word from one of his customers about your family.”
“That Yankee bunch you and me was with left Frederick and headed west to jine up with the main part of the Army y’all fought agin at Gettysburg. The more furtherest them Yankees went, the more furtherest I was getting’ away from Carolinny, so I figured then wuz 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 headed west reckonin’ sooner or later I would meet up with the Ohio River, and I imagined 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 fer the raft 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 the raft?”
When Luke found the unattended raft, Nate had pulled ashore earlier to forage the surrounding countryside for provisions. He was just returning from his day of separating some of the Kentucky 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, a coffee pot, a small 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 item, a live chicken.
Luke looks at Nate’s ‘booty’ lying in the sand. Shaking his head he says to Nate, “Nathaniel, I’m not even going to ask how you came about this stuff, but right now that chicken and pie looks mighty good!”
It is getting dark and they need a fire to cook the chicken. Moving back into the dense underbrush, they drop to their knees. Using sticks and their hands they dig a hole about a foot deep and start a fire in its bottom. Buried deep in the ground, the flames cannot be seen by passing gunboats – the fire is warm, and it illuminates 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 finish off the chicken and begin to scoop out the cherry pie.
Luke, being practically starved, thinks this must be the best pie he has ever tasted, bar none. He and Nate shove the pie into their mouths so fast they barely have time to chew. Cherry pie encircles both their mouths. They didn’t care – this has to be heaven, if not, it is running a close second.
As his appetite is being satisfied Luke licks his fingers and speaks to Nate, “How long have you been on the river?”
“I reckon about twelve days gettin’ 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 three to four miles a 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 is everwheres. 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 nuff 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 Nate?”
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 lifted 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. Finally, they 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 ensures the river is crowded with gunboats, troop transports and boats delivering supplies. Cincinnati also serves as the Headquarters for the Union’s Department of the Ohio.
Moving out on to the immense 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 enormous 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 in to one of the boats and be captured.
Until the moon sets they drift quietly, unobserved down the river. The river is becoming dark, jet-black dark. Occasionally, they will see the light on one of the Yankee boats; the light allows them to bypass the vessels unseen. Without the glow from a boat’s lantern, they were adrift without knowing what was in their raft’s path. The only noise made is the waters of the vast Ohio lapping against the side of their minuscule, wooden craft.
It is around 2 a.m., the river pitch dark, now and then they catch the glimpse of a Union boat. Suddenly from upriver they hear an ominous noise. Luke immediately recognizes it. It is the sound of a paddle wheeler churning down river coming in their direction. They hold on tightly; a collision seems imminent. The flailing noise from the boat’s paddle slapping the water is approaching faster.
“Turn left Nate!” Luke yells. “Left! Nate 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 darnest to make the sluggish raft move out of the onrushing steamboat’s path. He isn’t fast enough, the steamboat strikes them; however, the steamer did not smack the raft a direct blow. Fortunately, Nate had moved the raft just enough to allow the bow to miss them by inches. The wake from the near collision washes over the tiny raft. Nate tries hard to hold on, but over he goes in to the water. Luke grabs a rope 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 in to 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’s coming, jest hang on, and I’s be to the raft in jest a minute.”
Back on the raft, Luke nearly hugs the breath out of Nate before suggesting they move back to the riverbank. Luke says to continue on tonight is futile; they need to dry out and take inventory of their supplies still on the raft. They know the musket is gone, but Nate still has his bullet pouch slung over one shoulder, the other shoulder 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 to the dense foliage and woods above. There are a n
umber of tree roots hanging down, but in the darkness they cannot attempt to climb them.
Sitting on the damp sand both men are wet and dishearten. Luke, shivering, is the first to speak, “Na...Na...Nate, I’m afraid our estimate of reaching Louisville in ten to twelve days was a little optimistic. Y.. y...you...you... almost drown tonight, granted we can only travel on the river at night, but we have to have, at least, 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 more and more 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 hide out all day until sundown.”
Soaking wet, cold and shivering too, Nate answers, “Lu...Lu...Luke, you knows what’s best. I’s follow whatever it is 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 hide in the woods. They pull the raft farther upon the sandy beach, pile some brush over it, and use the tree roots to climb the bank to reach the woods above. At least the thick brush above should give them some protection from the cold wind blowing from the river. Maybe within the confines of the dense and impenetrable undergrowth they might even build a small fire to warm themselves.
“Oh no!” Whispers Luke to Nate as they reach the woods above. “A Yankee cavalry troop is camped just a few hundred yards from us.”
Luke can see the Union campfires and the Yankee cavalrymen around them preparing breakfast. He further realizes that this encampment of horse soldiers 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 cavalry. Even in the dim light, he does not fail to see the flag flying outside one large tent – it bore one single white star on a field of blue, the rank of a Brigadier General. A Brigadier General means the Headquarters encampment of a Union Cavalry Brigade! Somewhere scattered out beyond Luke’s field of view are one thousand to three thousand more cavalrymen. Luke and Nate have stumbled upon a major fighting force of the Yankee Army! Not only is it a large fighting force, but also the cavalry troopers are some of the Unions most elite, pugnacious, armed combatants.
Luke and Nate lie in the bushes smelling the bacon frying. As they watch the Yanks prepare breakfast they both barely breathe, but neither can take their minds off that tantalizing smell. Meanwhile, Nate has another idea.
“Luke what if we’uns wuz to wait ‘til dark and I 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 ‘seize’, as you say, the horses and flee south we might get to Lexington, Kentucky. Cutting across country, we could negotiate across the Cumberland Mountains to Knoxville. We could then follow the Appalachian range 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, and then to Nashville, and from Nashville to Huntsville, but that route will be swarming with Yankees. It’ll be hard for us to keep from getting caught by them blue-bellies.”
“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-back hoss on a rock-hard Yankee saddle?”