Chapter 35:
- McClellan and the government. -- Lewis and Scully arrested as spies. -- a n attempted escape. Trial and conviction. -- condemned to die. -- before the gallows their Mouths are opened.
The month of February added its slowly passing days to those that had preceded it, and as yet no tidings were received from Timothy Webster, or from those who had gone in search of him. W. H. Scott had returned, and reported that they had safely passed over the Potomac River, and landed upon rebel soil, but further than this, I had no information that tended to allay my anxieties, or to give assurance of their safety. In the meantime, the troops around Washington had not been idle. Reconnaissances had been made from time to time, by the advance-guard of the army, and skirmishes with the enemy were of frequent occurrence. These movements were of great importance, not so much from the actual results of victories attained, as for the education which it imparted to the troops, in accustoming them to the presence of their foes, and giving them confidence while under fire. [499] General McClellan had completed his plans for the investment of the rebel capital, and the public mind was in a state of feverish anxiety and expectation for the forward movement of the troops. The popular cry of “On to Richmond,” was echoed from lip to lip throughout the entire country. Every one, except those who knew and realized the danger and difficulties to be encountered and overcome, were filled with an enthusiasm which only regarded results and never considered the cost of their accomplishment. Extravagant ideas of a struggle which should be “short, sharp and decisive,” were the only ones entertained by the great army of “stay at homes,” and the question of caution, foresight and sagacity was left to the consideration of those who must brave the dangers of the field, and face the deadly fire of their determined enemies. Added to this a feeling of dissatisfaction began to display itself in high circles at Washington. The delay, which General McClellan wisely deemed necessary for the perfect equipment and education of his army, was being used as a pretext by those who envied the young commander, to detract from his reputation, and to impair the confidence which a united people had reposed in his loyalty and ability. The President was besieged by importunate cavillers the burden of whose refrain was the defamation of the hero of West Virginia, and it is not surprising, however much to be regretted, that Mr. Lincoln [500] gradually permitted their clamors to disturb him, and eventually partook of some of the distrust with which they endeavored to impress him. From a legitimate and wise desire to prevent an untimely divulgence of his plans, General McClellan had, up to this time, kept his ideas and opinions to himself and confined his military discussions to but a few of his immediate officers, and those whom he had known and trusted for years. This manner of proceeding was not to the taste of some of the leading men in high places at that time, who deemed themselves as competent to confer with and advise the commanding general, as those whom he had chosen. In order to soothe their wounded self-pride they had recourse to a species of revenge not admirable, to say the least. They plied the ears of the President with comments derogatory to McClellan, and with innumerable suggestions of pet schemes of their own conception, which would, in their opinion, undoubtedly end the war with surprising alacrity. The result of these onslaughts was, that McClellan was required by Mr. Lincoln to unfold his own carefully arranged plans to a council of generals, for their consideration and approval. To this “wicked and ignorant clamor” he was obliged to yield, and it is not to be wondered at, that his proposed movements were betrayed, and that not long afterwards he was subjected to the mortification of having his army divided into corps, against his wishes, and their commanders appointed [501] without consulting him, and without his knowledge. Subsequently he was compelled to submit to having the conduct of the war in Virginia placed in charge of inexperienced, irresponsible and jealous-minded officers, whose antipathy to him was as well known as it was unceasing and violent. Notwithstanding all this, the general pursued his way. His army was organized, his plans prepared. The defense of Washington was provided for, as he thought, in the most complete manner possible, and in command of a noble army, which had grown up under his immediate guidance and control, the brave commander started upon his campaign. During the month of March, 1862, the forward movement was commenced. By divisions the army was transported from Alexandria to their point of destination upon the Peninsula, and on the first day of April, General McClellan embarked, with his headquarters, on the steamer “Commodore,” reaching Fort Monroe on the afternoon of the following day. At this point we will leave the army, to follow the movements of my operatives, and detail their experiences in the rebel capital, although the facts were not reported to me until a long time after their actual occurrence. Price Lewis and John Scully reached the city of Richmond without accident or delay, and at once established themselves in the Exchange Hotel, where they remained quietly for the night. The next [502] morning they started out to search for Timothy Webster, and for the purpose of obtaining reliable information of him they went to the office of the Richmond Enquirer, for the proprietors of which Webster had frequently carried letters, and purchased goods while in the North. Here they were informed that Webster was confined to his bed at the Monumental Hotel. Repairing at once to the place where they were directed, they were shown to Webster's room, and here they found the brave fellow, lying a weak and helpless invalid, attended by Mrs, Lawton, whose attentions to him were unremitting. There was also in the room, a Mr. Pierce, a warm Southern friend, whose friendship for Webster was of long standing, and whose visits to the sick man were of daily occurrence. The recognition between them was a most formal and undemonstrative one, and no one would have suspected that they were engaged in the same vocation, and acting under the same authority. During the short interview that ensued, Webster was fretful and ill at ease. Knowing the sentiments of the people as he did, and associated as intimately as he was with the most prominent of the Confederate authorities, he was fearful that the precipitate and unheralded appearance of his companions might lead to their being suspected, as well as to attaching suspicion to himself. The few words of conversation, therefore, that [503] ensued, were marked by a constraint which was uncomfortable to all parties, and the visit was of short duration. When they called again upon Webster, they found with him a rebel officer from the Provost-Marshal's office, who was a friend of Webster, and who visited him frequently. Webster introduced his two friends to Captain McCubbin, for that was the man's name, and after a few minutes, that officer inquired:
Have you gentlemen reported at General Winder's office?“No, sir,” replied Lewis, “we did not think it was necessary, having fully reported to Major Beale, and received his permission to travel.” “It is necessary for you to report to the Provost-Marshal here, and I now give you official notice of the fact,” said McCubbin, laughingly. “Very well,” returned Lewis, “we will do so as early as possible.” “ Any time within a day or two will answer,” said the officer. Webster watched the rebel captain carefully while he was speaking, and he thought he detected beneath his careless, laughing demeanor, an element of suspicion, which he did not like, and more than ever he deplored the fact that my men had visited him so soon, or had appeared to be acquaintances of his. However, the mistake had been made, if mistake it was, and he resolved to give the matter as [504] little concern as possible, trusting that his anxiety was ill-founded, and that all would be right in the end. On the following morning my two operatives presented themselves at the office of the Provost-Marshal, and meeting Captain McCubbin there, they were soon introduced to General Winder, who occupied that position in the rebel capital. After they had been formally introduced to General Winder, that officer made very minute inquiries, as to the antecedents and the business of the two men before him, although no word was mentioned, that led either of them to believe that they were suspected of being other than they seemed. They informed the Marshal that they were natives of England and Ireland, that Scully had been in America nearly three years, while Lewis had arrived only eighteen months before; that one of them had been connected with a prominent dry-goods house in New York city, and the other represented a London publishing firm, whose office was located in the same city. They also stated that in Baltimore they had become acquainted with W. H. Scott, who had informed them of great opportunities for making money by smuggling goods into the Confederacy, and that this visit had been made to afford them the knowledge requisite to embarking in such an enterprise. They had agreed to deliver the letter, which Mr. Scott gave them, to Mr. Webster, which they had done, and further than this their intimacy with either gentlemen did not extend. [505] This interview was conducted in a very pleasant manner by General Winder, and after they had fully answered all the questions which had been propounded to them, they took their leave, being politely invited by the General to call upon him whenever convenient. Congratulating themselves upon the fortunate outcome of a visit which they had looked forward to with more or less solicitude, they repaired to Webster's room to give him an account of what had transpired. They had not been seated very long, when a detective from the Marshal's office made his appearance, and after apologizing for his visit, inquired from what parts of England and Ireland the two men had come; stating also, that General Winder desired the information. After this man had left, Webster turned to his companions and in as firm a voice as he could command, said:
Get away from Richmond immediately! There is danger brewing. You are certainly suspected, and it may go very hard with all of us, unless you leave the city at once!“Why do you think so?” inquired Scully, in a skeptical tone. “We certainly cannot be suspected, and I am confident that you are alarming yourself unnecessarily.” A spasm of pain prevented Webster from replying [506] immediately; but when the agony had somewhat subsided, he answered:
I tell you that man never would have come here with that question unless there was something wrong. You must, indeed, get away, or the consequences will be serious.Scarcely had he uttered these words, when there came a sharp rap at the door, which, upon being opened, revealed the forms of two men, one of them being George Cluckner, a detective officer attached to the Provost-Marshal's office, and the other no less a personage than Chase Morton, a son of ex-Governor Morton, of Florida, whose house in Washington my operatives had at one time assisted in searching. The consternation of Lewis and Scully may well be imagined, and the latter, without uttering a word, walked rapidly towards the open doorway and disappeared, leaving Lewis, filled with astonishment and apprehension, to pass the ordeal of an introduction. The salutations between them were, as may be conjectured, not of a very cordial character; and after the merest form of politeness, Lewis bade Webster good-evening, and left the room. At the top of the landing he found Scully awaiting him, and they were about to descend the stairs, felicitating themselves upon having escaped a threatened danger, when the door of Webster's room was opened, and the Confederate detective again stood before them. [507] “Are your names Lewis and Scully?” he inquired. “Yes, sir,” answered Lewis, promptly, resolved to put as bold a face upon the matter as possible. “Then,” said the officer, “I have orders to convey you to General Winder's office.” There was no help for it, and they signified their readiness to accompany him at once, intending to make an effort to escape when they reached the street. This hope, however, was dashed to the ground; for, as they descended the stairs, they found three other officers awaiting their appearance, who immediately took them in charge, and accompanied them to the Provost-Marshal's office. Several times, during their journey, Lewis noticed, with increasing apprehension, that the gaze of young Chase Morton was riveted fixedly upon them, and he had no doubt whatever that they had been recognized, and would certainly be apprehended. This prospect was far from being a cheerful one; but they mustered up all their latent courage, and conversed good-humoredly with their escort, as they walked briskly along. Arriving at the General's headquarters, they learned that that functionary was absent upon some urgent business, but would shortly return, and had left orders that they should await his appearance. Lewis and Scully were accordingly admitted to a private room, and requested to make themselves comfortable [508] until General Winder should desire their presence. The door closed upon the retreating forms of their escort, and left them in a most uncomfortable condition of mind indeed. There was now no doubt of the correctness of Webster's suspicions, and they bitterly regretted their haste in visiting him, and also not having taken his advice at once. However, this was no time for regrets, and they resolved to firmly adhere to their original statements, and await the disposition of their case by General Winder. While they were conversing together, the door was opened, and young Morton entered the room, accompanied by an officer. Stepping directly up to Price Lewis, he addressed him:
Don't you remember me?“I do not,” responded Lewis; “I do not remember to have seen you at any time before to-day.” He looked unflinchingly into the eyes that met his, and the determined tones of his voice betrayed no trace of the emotions that were raging within his bosom. “ Don't you remember,” continued young Morton, “it coming to my mother's house, in Washington, as an agent of the secret service of the Federal government, and making a thorough search of our premises and its contents?” “You are mistaken, sir,” replied Lewis, firmly “I know nothing of what you are alluding to.” [509] “I am not mistaken,” said the young Southerner, “and you are the man!” “ Perhaps this gentleman will say that he recollects me, next,” said Scully, resolved to be as bold as possible, under the circumstances. Chase Morton gazed at him a few moments and then answered, decidedly:
Yes sir, I recollect you also; you were one of the men who assisted in searching my mother's residence.Both men insisted strongly upon their ignorance of any such proceeding, and indignantly repudiated the charges that had been made against them. At this juncture General Winder came in, and walking up to Lewis he greeted him cordially, warmly shaking him by the hand, saying:
How do you do, Mr. Lewis, and how is Mr. Seward?“I do not know what you mean,” replied Lewis. “Perhaps not,” said Winder, with a disagreeable smile, “but I am inclined to think that you know a great deal more than you are willing to admit.” “I do not understand you.” “Very well,” said the Provost-Marshal, “you will understand me, and all in good time. Do you know gentlemen, I suspected you were all wrong from the start, and you were not keen enough to impose your story upon me? George,” he added, turning to one of his men, “go to the hotel, and get the baggage [510] belonging to these gentlemen. We will see if that will throw any further light upon their true character.” The officer departed, and during his absence, General Winder plied them with questions about their mission; their knowledge of Timothy Webster; their visit to Richmond, and in fact about everything imaginable, and all of them showing conclusively that he believed them to be spies, and unworthy of credence. Their satchels were finally brought in, and a rigid examination failed to discover anything to justify his suspicions, and Winder finally left the room, angrily ordering them to remain where they were, and directing his officers and Chase Morton to accompany him. A few minutes elapsed after their departure, during which the loud voice of Winder could be heard, angrily declaiming against the two men; he then came back again, and addressing my operatives said:
Gentlemen, your stories don't agree with what I know about you, and we will give you time to think the matter over;then turning to his deputy he commanded, “Take them away!” “ Where to?” inquired the officer. “To Henrico jail,” was Winder's response. They were then conducted to the jail and placed in a room in which six others were confined, where the officers left them to their meditations, which, as may be imagined, were far from pleasant. Not knowing [511] what might be in store for them, and fearing that their presence in Richmond might result in danger to Webster, they resolved to say nothing whatever, and to adhere strictly to the story originally told by them, and then to abide by the consequences, no matter how serious they might be. During the afternoon of the following day, an officer accompanied by an elder son of Mr. Morton made their appearance at the jail, and he, too, identified the two men, as being concerned in searching his mother's residence in Washington, and endeavored to recall several incidents which had taken place on that occasion. To all of his statements, however, Price and Scully made emphatic denials, and vehemently asserted their entire ignorance of anything connected with the Mortons, or their relations to the Federal government. Finding it impossible to obtain any admission from the two prisoners, they took their departure, and left the confined detectives to their own unpleasant reflections. For three days they remained in their place of confinement, and during that time no word came from the Marshals office or from any one concerning their disposition or future movements. It seemed as though the authorities had been content with simply placing them in durance vile, and then had dismissed them from their minds. This was the most favorable view they were able to take of the case, and they [512] were solacing themselves with the fallacious hope of having escaped a fate which they dreaded, and also with the belief that Webster, their friend and companion, would not be associated with their presence in Richmond, and that their discovery would not operate to his injury. Or. the fourth day, however, an attache of the Marshal's office came to the jail, and calling for John Scully informed him that his presence was required by General Winder. Scully prepared himself for the visit, and taking leave of his companion followed the, officer. He did not return that night, and for days afterwards Lewis was in ignorance of what had become of him, or what fate he was to expect at the hands of these minions of disloyalty and secession. Lewis, meanwhile, had become acquainted with his fellow prisoners, all of whom were in a state of anxiety as to what measure of punishment would be meted out to them, and all nearly crazed with the uncertainty of their impending fate. For days they had been concocting a plan of escape, and finding Lewis disposed to make an effort to be released from his confinement, they developed their plans to him, and requested his aid in the accomplishment of their purpose. Lewis hailed with delight a proposition that promised to enable them to exchange the damp and noisome air of a prison for the free breath of nature, and the dark hours of captivity for the freedom and [513] liberty he longed for, and he became an energetic and careful coadjutor of those who suffered with him the degrading position of being imprisoned by a government which they despised, and by which their lives were menaced. The part of the jail in which they were confined was separated from the main building, and contained four cells, two upon the ground floor and two immediately above them. These cells were reached through a corridor from the yard outside, and secured by two doors; one a heavy iron one fastened on the inside, and the other a stout wooden barricade, the lock of which was placed on the outside of the building. It was the custom of the old man, who acted as the jailer, to allow the prisoners a half hour's walk in the yard during the early evening, and then, locking them up safely again, he would leave them alone in the building, while he went to his home, several blocks distant. One of the men had managed to secrete a file about his person, and with this they succeeded in making a saw out of a knife. These were the only implements which they had to work with. Notwithstanding the meagerness of their implements, but a few days had elapsed before the bolts on every cell-door were sawed through so that they only required a few minutes' labor to detach them from their fastenings altogether. It is impossible to detail the hours of feverish [514] anxiety, of tireless energy, and of momentary fear of detection, through which these men passed while engaged in their difficult and dangerous work-or to depict their joy, when at last their labor was completed, and they awaited the time of carrying their plans into execution. The outside door was now the only barrier between them and their coveted freedom, and various plans were suggested to overcome this obstacle. At length one was decided upon which promised to secure the object of their desires. In one corner of the yard in which they took their daily exercise, there was a large pile of ashes and garbage, which had been accumulating for a long time. It was resolved that one of their number should be buried under this rubbish, while several of the other prisoners engaged the old jailer in animated conversation. The man selected for this purpose was a good, brave fellow, who was formerly a sailor, and had lately been a member of an artillery company from New York. His name was Charles Stanton, and he had come into the South upon his own inclination, and for the Quixotic purpose of obtaining command of a gunboat of the Confederacy, and then attempting to run it through to the Union lines. He had, however, been suspected, and remanded to prison, where he had remained without a trial, and without hope of release, for several months. The prisoners were all turned out for their usual [515] exercise in the yard, on the evening which had been agreed upon; and in accordance with their arranged plan, several of the prisoners surrounded the old turnkey, and engaged him in an earnest discussion, while others set actively to work to dig the grave of Stanton in the ashes. In order that he might not be unbearably uncomfortable, his body only was covered with the contents of the ash-heap, while his head and shoulders were concealed from view by some straw, which one of the men brought from his cell for that purpose. In the jail, at this time, there were a number of negroes, who had been captured while attempting to make their way to the North, and although these faithful blacks were aware of the attempted escape, and knew full well that they were not included in the movement, their efforts were none the less active in behalf of the white men who were struggling for liberty. They had been informed of the attempted escape, from the first, and had kept the matter a profound secret, at the same time rendering such service as they were capable of to the whites. Everything worked to their entire satisfaction. The turnkey was unsuspicious; the grave was made without discovery, and Stanton was carefully concealed. In a few minutes afterwards the call for retiring was heard, and the men, with throbbing hearts, rushed in a mass toward the door of the corridor. [516] This was done in order to escape the counting of their number, in case the old man should attempt to do so. They passed quickly into their cells, and were not required to be counted. Thus far, all had been done as successfully as could be hoped for, or expected; no suspicions were excited, nor was their missing comrade called for. It had been the custom of the old man to make a tour of the cells after the prisoners had retired, to see if they were all there before he went away for the night. In order to overcome this possibility of detection, a figure had been made of straw, stuffed into the garments of the men, and laid upon the bed, in order to look as much like a human being as possible. This precaution proved to be a good one, for just before the time of closing up the prison arrived, the glimmer of the old turnkey's lantern was seen in the corridor, and shortly after, his face appeared at the door, as he eagerly scanned the occupants of the various cells. Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, the jailer went his way, the heavy outside doors were closed and locked, and the retreating footsteps of the old man could be distinctly heard. The critical moment had at last arrived, and they awaited in breathless silence the appearance of Stanton. Fortune favored them in a peculiar manner this evening. As the old man was passing the pile of ashes under which Stanton was concealed, he noticed the unusual appearance of the straw. [517] Stopping for a moment, he drew a match from his pocket, lighted it, and then walked toward the heap as though with the intention of setting fire to it. The match fortunately was extinguished by a blast of wind, and after searching in his pocket for another match, but finding none, he slowly turned, and walked out of the gate, locking it securely behind him. Stanton's feelings, under this ordeal, may be imagined. If the old man had succeeded in igniting the straw, under which he was concealed, detection would have followed instantly, and no doubt serious injury would have been inflicted upon the brave fellow, who had willingly suffered the discomforts of his unpleasant confinement for the purpose of assisting his comrades to escape. No sooner had the gate closed upon the jailor, than he crawled nimbly out from his place of concealment, and hastily made his way to the door. He at once began his operations upon the lock. The appearance of Stanton at the door was the signal for the others, and in less than an hour the locks upon the cell doors had been removed. Stanton had wrested the lock from the outside door, and only the iron inside one was now to be overcome. This barrier resisted all their efforts, and it was at last decided that the lock must be removed by main force. This was a proceeding which necessitated a great deal of noise, and they were in an agony of apprehension lest their clamor, should attract the attention of [518] people passing on the outside, and thus lead to their detection. To prevent this, the colored men, without any solicitation or instruction, came to the rescue in a very important, though unexpected manner. They commenced to sing in concert, at the top of their voices, snatches of plantation and camp-meeting melodies, which effectually drowned the sound of their blows, and enabled them to work without fear of detection. The lock at last yielded to their combined efforts, and the men issued silently forth into the darkness of the night, breathing once more the stimulating atmosphere of hope and promised liberty. Only the wall around the prison yard was now to be surmounted, and with the aid of some old planks that were lying around, they succeeded in reaching the top, after which they noiselessly dropped themselves to the ground. Although this wall was very high, they all reached terra firma in safety, and with one impulse breathed a prayer of thankfulness for the success which had thus far attended their efforts. Silently, and walking in couples, at long distances apart, they started out to leave the city. The sky was clear, and the moon was shining brightly overhead. The stars were twinkling merrily, as though enjoying the success which had attended these brave, patient men, in their labor and toil of days and weeks. This was on the eighteenth day of March, and [519] Martial law had been proclaimed some time previously. It was now nearly eight o'clock, and by the provisions of the law any one found upon the streets after nine o'clock, must be in possession of a pass, or be liable to arrest. Great haste was therefore necessary, in order to leave the city before that hour. With only the stars for their guide, they set out in a northerly direction. Not one of the men was acquainted with the country, and their journey was all the more perilous on that account. By midnight they had reached the Chickahominy, having succeeded, by the greatest good fortune, in escaping any one who was disposed to make inquiries or to molest them in any manner whatever. Across this swamp their way led through quagmires and deep pools, and was dangerous in the extreme. Sometimes waist deep in the soft mud and water, and scrambling over slipping places which furnished insecure footholds, and threatened instant danger from falling back into the pools through which they had made their way. Their journey was full of hardship and suffering. The air was cold and frosty, and their wet garments clung to them like ice; their limbs trembled; their teeth chattered with the cold, and their condition was really a pitiable one indeed. At length they reached the woods upon the opposite side. Here they were obliged to stop and rest, completely exhausted. Some of the hardier of the party removed their dripping garments, and [520] attempted to wring the water from them; while others, unable to stand the chilling air any longer, built a fire, around which they gathered in the effort to warm their bodies and to dry their water-soaked clothing. They rested for about two hours, and then pushed on again until daylight, when they sought the shelter of the woods and laid down, hoping to get some sleep after their laborious and fatiguing journey of the preceding night. Sleep, however, was impossible; their clothing was wet, and the air was cold. Their sufferings became intense, and at length, finding it impossible to endure the freezing atmosphere longer, they determined to build a fire, regardless of the consequences. Proceeding further into the wood, they gathered some boughs, and soon the cheerful blaze afforded them sufficient heat to dry their frozen clothing and to warm their benumbed and freezing bodies. Thus passed the day, and when darkness came on again they resumed their journey. Already they began to experience the pangs of hunger. They had eaten nothing since the evening before, and had walked many weary miles. They were foot-sore and tired and hungry. They had provided themselves with the remnants of the corn cake which had been served for their supper on the previous evening, but these had become thoroughly soaked with water on their journey through the swamps, and had crumbled to pieces. Notwithstanding their [521] pitiable condition, their strong wills and brave hearts sustained them, and they plodded on. The night was intensely dark; the stars were obscured, and a pall of inky blackness hung over them, which rendered their journey exceedingly hazardous, as they could not see the way before them, and were unable to tell in which direction they were traveling. They had not proceeded far when the storm broke, and a drenching torrent of rain descended. The wind whistled and howled through the trees, and for hours the tempest raged with relentless fury. Seeking the shelter of the woods again, they crouched close to the trunks of the trees, and vainly attempted to screen themselves from the deluge. It was of no avail, however; the leafless timber afforded them no protection, and during the continuance of the storm the poor, tired and almost exhausted fugitives were exposed to the pitiless blast. Shivering with cold, their teeth chattering, their garments drenched through to their quivering skin, they knelt or crouched upon the ground, and when daylight dawned, and the storm at last cleared away, they were almost too weak to help themselves. Price Lewis looked around him as the faint streaks of sunrise illumined the horizon, and to his dismay saw that nearly all of his late companions had disappeared, and that only three others beside him. self remained. [522] With the greatest difficulty they succeeded in building a fire, and were just preparing to enjoy its comforting warmth, when they were alarmed by the sound of the hasty tramping of feet, and in a moment they were surrounded by a number of Confederate soldiers, who commanded them to surrender at once This sudden and unexpected appearance was a crushing blow to their hopes. They submitted without a word; and although bowed to the ground with disappointment, they experienced a sensation almost amounting to relief, at the prospect of receiving the care and attention which even enemies would give to those in such distress as were these poor fugitives. Limping along, they were marched to an outbuilding, connected with a farm-house near by, when, to their surprise, they saw the remainder of their party, who had been captured by another band of soldiers, huddled together in one corner of the room. The soldiers were touched with pity, as they beheld the forlorn condition of the men whom they had secured, and in a short time they had provided them with a repast, which the famished fugitives devoured with a rapidity which gave ample testimony of their long and painful abstinence. After dispatching this meal they were conveyed directly back to Richmond, and returned to their old quarters in Henrico jail. On their arrival each man was placed in a separate cell, and doubly ironed, to prevent a repetition of their efforts to escape. [523] While Price Lewis had been engaged in this unsuccessful attempt to gain his liberty, John Scully had been undergoing a far different experience. A court-martial had been hurriedly convened, where he was fully identified by every member of the Morton family as the man who had searched their premises in the city of Washington, and had, after a very summary trial, been convicted and remanded back to prison to await his sentence. On the second day after the return of Price Lewis he was conducted before a court-martial, and in a remarkably short space of time was accorded a trial, if trial it could be called, and his conviction followed as quickly as did that of John Scully. They had been charged with being alien enemies, and at one time acting in the service of the Federal government in Washington. In addition to this, they were charged with loitering around the fortifications at Richmond and taking plans of the same. Notwithstanding the fact that no witness could be procured who would swear to having seen them in such localities, or engaged in any such occupation, the members of the court-martial, with singular unanimity, found them guilty of the second charge, with as much haste, and as manifest an air of solemnity, as they did of the first. The next day they were each informed of their sentence, which was that they should be hung by the neck, as spies, and that their execution should take [524] place in one week from the day of the communication of the information to them. This sentence was a heavy blow to the two prisoners; and from the character of the men by whom they were surrounded, they felt that hope was useless. The spirit of animosity manifested toward them by the court, the indecent haste with which their trial had been conducted, and the rapidity with which their sentence had followed their conviction, gave them no reasons for hoping for clemency, or that they would be able to escape the dreadful fate which now was impending over them. The conduct of the various members of the Morton family in betraying my operatives to the authorities, and in appearing as accusing witnesses against them, in face of their promises, long ago made, to befriend them if possible, was an act which did not reflect very favorably upon their regard for truth, or their appreciation of delicate treatment when they themselves were suspected of treachery. Lewis and Scully had never seen each other from the time when the latter was removed from the cell a few days after their first imprisonment, and each was unconscious of the other's fate or of the state of their feelings under the fatal sentence which hung over them both. After their conviction they had both been sent to a prison called Castle Godwin, and had been placed in irons, and in separate cells. During the first two [525] days that elapsed after their conviction, they were visited by Judge Crump, who conducted the trial, and by several members of General Winder's staff, all of whom endeavored to obtain some admissions from the two prisoners which would justify their action in condemning them to death. All with no avail, however; the two men stoutly insisted upon their original story, except so far as to admit that they had searched the premises of Mrs. Morton, but each man was firm in stating that he had become disgusted with the service, and had left it very soon after that act had been committed. On the day after their sentence had been communicated to them, a letter was brought to Lewis, from the commandant of the post, stating that Scully was suffering with a serious illness, and having requested that Lewis be allowed to visit him, the privilege had been granted. On entering the cell where Scully was confined, Lewis found his fellow-prisoner in a very depressed condition of mind, although his physical infirmities had been assumed in order to secure an interview with his partner in misfortune. After discussing their situation as philosophically as possible under the circumstances, seeking for some ray of hope and finding none, they were at last compelled to the belief that their doom was sealed, and that their only plan was to bear up manfully to the end. Scully, who was a Roman Catholic, desired the services of a priestly comforter, to whom he could [526] make such statements as would relieve his mind in the coming trial, and made known this wish to Lewis. “ You will not tell him what you know of Webster, and his connection with this matter, will you?” said Lewis, fearful that Webster might be betrayed. “I don't know what I will tell him,” answered Scully; “I have not decided what to say, nor do I know what I will be commanded to relate.” “ For God's sake, Scully, don't say anything about Webster; we can meet our fate like men, but to mention his name now, would be wrong indeed.” “ I tell you,” said Scully, “I don't know what I am going to say. I don't want to do wrong, but I cannot tell what I may have to do yet.” Lewis argued with his companion long and earnestly upon this matter, and when at last the priest arrived, and Scully followed him to another cell, the warning admonitions of his fellow-prisoner were ringing in his ears. What transpired during that secret meeting between the condemned spy and his father-confessor, Lewis did not know, but when he was conducted to his own cell, late that night, he saw a man and woman closely guarded, in the lower hall, and his heart grew heavy and cold as his imagination conjured up the direful fate which a confession from his imprisoned comrade would bring to the faithful patriot Webster, who lay suffering and anxious upon his bed of pain. After a long and restless night, in which he tossed [527] uneasily upon his hard prison bed, vainly attempting to court the rest-giving slumber of which he stood so much in need, Lewis arose from his couch, feverish and unrefreshed, as the first faint rays of the morning sun penetrated his damp and dingy cell. His mind was in a state of confusion, and his heart was filled with fear. What had been done he knew not, and yet those guarded figures of the night before were ever in his mind. Could it be that they were Webster and his faithful attendant Mrs. Lawton? He shrank involuntarily from this thought; and yet, strive as he would, it recurred to him, with increased force, and with more convincing power, after each attempt to drive it from him. In a little while, the prison was astir. The guards were making their accustomed rounds, breakfast was served, and another day, with all its solemn activity, and its bustle so death-like and subdued, had begun. Unable to partake of the scanty meal that was set before him, Lewis impatiently awaited the hour when he would be permitted to visit his fellow-prisoner whom he had left upon the eve of consulting with his spiritual adviser, and, if possible, learn the result of his interview with the priest. About ten o'clock the turnkey appeared, and he was conducted to Scully's cell. As he entered the dimly-lighted room, he noticed that the face of the man whom he had left the night before, had undergone a wonderful change. His cheeks were sunken [528] and pale; his eyes had a strange, wild expression, and the shadows under the lids were dark and heavy. His hair was unkempt, and his lips trembled with the emotions which he was struggling to repress. Whatever events had transpired since he had seen him last, it was evident that their effect upon Scully had been terrible and agonizing. He had been unable to sleep, and the tortures of his mind had been almost unbearable. His greeting to Lewis showed a degree of restraint which had been unknown before, and for a moment he seemed unable to speak. At length he grew calmer, and related to his friend the events of the preceding night, and the influences that had been brought to bear upon him. The promise of freedom; his loving family at home; the certainty of an ignoble death if he refused; the degradation of the impending scaffold; and the promise that his admissions should result in injury to no one, all combined against his weak condition of both mind and body, and at last, yielding to the influences which he could not control, he had told his story, and had given a truthful account of all his movements. Who can blame this man? Who, that has stood before the frowning scaffold, and with a free world before him, can utter words of censure? Only those who have suffered as he did, prostrated as he was, can know the terrible agony through which he passed ere the fatal words were forced from his trembling [529] lips. For myself, I have no judgment to utter. Now, as when the news was first communicated to me, I cannot express an unjust sentence. John Scully and his companion were not heroic martyrs. What then? They were simply men who, after having performed many brave acts of loyalty and duty to their country, failed in a moment of grand and great self-sacrifice. I cannot apologize for them — I cannot judge them. Their trial was a severe one, and they were in sore distress. If they succumbed to a controlling emergency, it was because of a lack of the heroic elements of humanity; and who, in our day, can claim their possession in the very face of death and dishonor? Let us hasten over these unpleasant and disastrous events. Finding that the worst had occurred, and that further concealment was of no avail, Lewis, too, opened his mouth. He was again visited by the rebel authorities, and at last he, too, added his voice to that of Scully, and made a revelation of his true character, and of the nature of his mission to Richmond. The next day they were respited. They had escaped an ignominious death, but, perhaps, in their lonely cells they suffered a death in life, beside which an actual demise might have seemed a blessing. Leaving them to their reflections, we turn again to Timothy Webster.
