Splash!
Rose cursed as he trudged out of the freezing waters of the Chickahominy. He’d tripped in a hole while wading across the river, and his clothes were completely soaked.
The morning’s first rays of sunlight shone through the foggy haze. Rose’s wet boots squished as he stepped onto the riverbank. Up ahead were some woods. He headed toward them, his breath steaming in the frigid morning air.
Upon entering the forest, he leaned briefly against a large oak tree.
My feet are killing me. Couldn’t hurt to rest for five minutes . . .
Shivering under his wet jacket, he sat down against the tree and closed his eyes.
Just a . . . few minutes, he thought. It wasn’t long before he had drifted into sleep.
He suddenly jolted awake, his eyes wild. He could hear dogs barking, along with the sound of thundering hooves.
There was little doubt in his mind that it was a Rebel search party.
They’ve discovered our escape! Have to run . . . NOW!
Using every ounce of strength he had, Rose dashed through the woods. He was exhausted. Each step he took felt like there were ten-pound bricks in his boots. He hadn’t gone far when he tripped on a log and toppled over. Rose staggered back to his feet. On pure adrenaline, he forced himself to keep moving. The horses and the dogs were getting closer. He could hear men shouting, but he dared not turn to see how far they were. He just kept running.
The colonel reached a ditch overgrown with a thick canopy of thorn-covered vines. He fell to the ground and began crawling on his belly into the ditch, the tangled nest of thorns ripping his uniform and flesh. But he kept going, only stopping to lie still when he heard the horses stop close by.
“I saw him!” Rose heard one of the men say over the barking dogs. “I know I saw that Yank runnin’!”
“He couldn’t have gotten far,” another man said.
The longest minute of Rose’s life passed. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the men ride on. As much as it hurt, he crawled his way out of the thorns as fast as he could. Then he continued his run.
Five days after he’d escaped from Libby, Colonel Rose stepped out into an open field. As if looking at a mirage, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A few hundred yards away, he spotted a small group of soldiers on horseback—and they were wearing blue Union jackets.
I made it! I finally made it!
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
Wobbling on weak, shaky legs, he started toward them. They saw him and began riding over. As the men got closer, Rose’s smile faded. He’d made a mistake. These men weren’t Union soldiers—they were Confederates in blue jackets! And one of them was Dick Turner!
Rose turned to run, but he was too weak. One of the Rebs leaped from his horse and tackled him to the ground. Rose struggled, but soon a second soldier was on top of him.
The men wrestled Rose to his feet. He found himself face-to-face with the sneering Turner.
“We caught you, boy,” the warden growled. Rose’s face twisted at the smell of his rancid breath. “All your work was for nothing. And I’s gonna see to it personal that—”
All of Rose’s rage suddenly boiled to the surface. With his last burst of strength, he broke free and snatched a rifle away from one of the men. Then he hit Turner across the face with it.
The warden grunted and fell to the ground.
Rose turned and ran. He didn’t get far, however, before he was tackled again. The Confederates surrounded him.
As he lay on the ground, Turner reappeared. He was bleeding and angry.
“You dirty Yank . . .”
Turner kicked him in the face. Then the other soldiers joined in. By the time he began the long march back to Libby, Rose was badly beaten.
Two days after Rose was captured, Hamilton arrived at the Union lines outside Williamsburg. He’d decided to travel through the thick swamps where no Rebs on horseback were crazy enough to go. Half frozen and cut to shreds by the thorns, the major staggered into the Union camp.
A crowd of stunned bluecoats turned and watched in silence as he approached them.
“My name’s Andrew Hamilton,” he told them, identifying himself. “Major. Twelfth Kentucky Cavalry. I’ve just escaped from Libby Prison.”
Colonel Rose followed the Rebel guard down the creaky wooden steps and into the dark bowels of the Libby Prison dungeon. Candle in hand, the guard opened one of the steel doors and shoved Rose inside.
“Let’s see you dig your way outa there, boy!” the guard cackled.
The cell was packed with prisoners, the other men groaning at the prospect of less space. Rose caught glimpses of their skeletal faces, a sea of ghostly eyes staring back at him in the darkness. There was hardly any room to sit, let alone lie down. Not that Rose would want to lie down. He could already feel the rats scurrying over his boots. The smell of waste was almost overwhelming, and he could make out a filthy toilet in the middle of the cell.
The guard went back upstairs, taking the light with him. Rose closed his eyes and hung his head.
For a while, I was free, he told himself. I escaped. They can’t take that away from me.
“Colonel Rose?” a voice called from somewhere in the dark. “That you?”
“I’m afraid so,” Rose replied.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled you out of that chimney after all,” the man said.
Rose recognized the voice.
“Bennett!”
The two friends embraced. The others in the dungeon listened, grateful for the entertainment, as Bennett started to describe the scene after Rose and Hamilton had departed Libby.
“It was a mess, Colonel,” he said. “I was on the last shift out. The word soon got out to all the prisoners about the tunnel. There was a mad dash for the fireplace. It was a regular stampede. Men were starting to fight over who got to go next. Finally, everyone ran back upstairs once they heard one of the guards outside the window. We all thought the jig was up.
“I went back a half hour later,” he continued. “There was no crowd there this time. Guess everyone realized nobody would get out if they made too much racket. Anyway, I made it to the cellar and crawled into the tunnel. When I got to the narrowest passage—where the tunnel gets real small—I found myself face-to-face with a pair of legs kicking every which way. They belonged to Colonel Streight. The old boy was stuck and frightened as all get out.”
Rose had to chuckle. Colonel Abel Streight, infamous for his raids on Alabama and Mississippi, was almost as well-known for his large girth. He was one of the heaviest of Libby’s inmates—a true feat considering the lack of food.
“I managed to talk him down and helped pull him out by the boots,” the prisoner recounted. “Once I got the colonel out, he stripped down to his underwear. Carrying his clothes, the colonel was able to squeeze through, but just barely!”
“I’m sorry to see you were captured. How’d it happen?”
“They found me in the woods just north of Richmond,” Bennett said.
“Last I heard, they caught about forty of us. Two men drowned trying to swim across the river. Reckon we’re luckier than they are.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Rose said. “It’s good to see you, Bennett.”
Over the next two months, Rose managed to survive on what little corn bread and water the guards gave him. He and Bennett also ate the occasional rat they caught, cooking with matches handed down through the floorboards from charitable prisoners in the rooms above.
Sleeping was more difficult. Rose tried to find space on the wall to lean against, resting in snatches. On more than one occasion he fell to the floor, where rats and spiders bit his flesh.
Time passed. Rose didn’t know how much, as there were no windows in the dungeon to tell day from night.
April arrived. Rose was feeling around the floor, looking for a rat to catch for dinner, when the door opened. A guard stood in the doorway, holding a candle.
“Rose! Bennett!” the guard said, before naming three others. “Move it out!”
The five prisoners were led up the stairs, back onto the main floor of the prison. They were then taken outside into the sunlight. Rose and Bennett, with their long, stringy beards and filthy uniforms, shielded their eyes.
“Into the carriage, boys,” the guard said. “Y’all are going back North. Prisoner exchange.”
Rose’s dry, cracked lips broke into a grin.
I can’t believe it, he thought, feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time in months. Seven months after entering Libby Prison and two months after his escape attempt, he was finally free.
