Person:Theodore Allen (4)

I (Jerry Gross) had been looking for this account of Theodore's service for a while and finally found it. It was found at the following link: http://home.cinci.rr.com/secondtennessee/allen.html

The following article, "The 'Underground Railroad' and the 'Grapevine Telegraph,' an Escaping Prisoner's Experience, 1863" appeared in "Sketches of War History", Mollus, Ohio, Vol 6, Cincinnati, Ohio: Monfort, 1908, pages 147-167. It is Theodore F. Allen's account of his capture at the Battle of Rogersville and his daring escape while enroute to Libby Prison. In April and May of 1861 Allen served briefly in the 2nd Kentucky Infantry followed by service in the 7th Ohio Cavalry from August 28, 1862 until July 4, 1865. At the time of his capture, Allen was enrolled in the 7th Ohio Cavalry serving as adjutant of the Third Brigade and aide to Colonel Garrard. The 7th Ohio Cavalry, 2nd East Tennessee Mounted Infantry and four guns from the 2nd Illinois Light Artillery Battery M were camped at an outpost near Rogersville. Allen was later promoted to Captain of Company D of the 7th Ohio Cavalry and eventually brevetted Colonel U. S. Volunteers.

Theodore Frelinghuysen Allen was born June 13, 1842 in Mansfield, Ohio, the son of Isaac J. Allen. The family later moved to Columbus, Ohio where Ted's father became editor of the Ohio State Journal. Ted would later follow in his father's footsteps and also go into the newspaper business. After the war Allen settled in Cincinnati, Ohio and there on April 25, 1867 married Mary F. Weakley, the daughter of a minister. Ted and Mary had only one child, a daughter, Mary. They lived most of their life in the greater Cincinnati area, except for the years 1883-1891 when they lived in New York City. Mary passed away in 1909 and Ted died at age 76 at the Methodist Home in Cincinnati on April 30, 1919.

The "Underground Railroad"
and the
"Grapevine Telegraph"
AN ESCAPING PRISONER'S EXPERIENCE - 1863
by Theodore F. Allen,
Captain, Seventh Ohio Cavalry, Brevet Colonel U. S. Volunteers
Coincident with the campaign of the army under General Rosecrans, which ended in the great battle of Chickamauga and the possession of Chattanooga by the gallant Army of the Cumberland, was the movement of General Burnside's army into East Tennessee. After securing possession of Knoxville, General Burnside had moved with all his forces up the Tennessee Valley, defeating the enemy at Blue Springs. A short time prior to this our army had received the surrender of the enemy's Gibraltar at Cumberland Gap, and, after a series of successes, had driven the enemy out of East Tennessee at Bristol on the Virginia line. General Burnside then returned to Knoxville with a large portion of the Ninth and Twenty-third Army Corps, leaving General Wilcox with six regiments of cavalry and four regiments of infantry posted at a naturally strong position at Bull's Gap, covering the East Tennessee and Virginia Railroad.

My regiment, the Seventh Ohio Cavalry, with the Second Tennessee Mounted Infantry and four pieces of artillery, were detached, with orders to take station at or near Rogersville, Hawkins County, Tennessee, twelve or fifteen miles northeast of Bull's Gap, covering the eastern approaches in the valley of the Holston River. On the evening of November 5, 1863, a dispatch was received by Colonel Israel Garrard, commanding our brigade, from General Wilcox, division commander, stating that information had reached him that two brigades of Confederate cavalry, comprising twelve regiments commanded by General William E. Jones and Colonel Henry Giltner, were moving down the Holston Valley, with the probably intention of attacking our two regiments on outpost duty near Rogersville. General Wilcox stated that if attacked by these two brigades of the enemy, he (Wilcox) hoped we would be able to give a good account of ourselves. Colonel Garrard, supposing that he was to be supported by General Wilcox with the ten regiments at his hand, all of which were within hearing of our artillery, made his plans to meet the expected attack. Colonel Garrard considered that it was his duty to remain at his station and make the best fight he could, although he had only two regiments to meet the twelve regiments that were coming against us. Orders were issued to our command to be ready to fight at daybreak, and at midnight strong scouting parties were sent out on the two roads of the enemy's approach, with orders to fall back only as they were driven.

At dawn the scouting party of the Second Tennessee Mounted Infantry was scattered by a charge of the rebel column coming down the Carter Valley. This rebel column, comprising six regiments, proceeded on into the town of Rogersville, thereby getting into our rear on the left flank. The enemy in the Holston Valley was delayed by the skirmishing of the Seventh Ohio Cavalry scouts, so that the fighting from our position did not begin until about 7 o'clock in the morning. The rebel force that came down the Carter Valley moved upon our left and rear and opened the attack, which was immediately followed by the attack of the other forces in our front. The Union position was a wooded tableland, with steep, open slopes to a dry creek and ravine in front, open fields to the Holston River on our right, and on our left and rear across open fields was a dense forest.

I ask to be permitted to diverge a moment from the thread of my story at this point to state, what you all well know, that during the four years of the Civil War there were thousands and tens of thousands of messages borne from the battlefields of the South which brought mourning to thousands of homes. At this time my father was editor of the Ohio State Journal, and my home was at Columbus, Ohio. I was then twenty-one years of age, and the only member of my father's household in the army, as my only brother was too young for military service. The engagement at Rogersville of which I am speaking occurred November 6, and on the next day, November 7th, the following letter was sent by Colonel Israel Garrard, commander of our brigade, to my father. This letter fully explains itself: Headquarters Third Brigade, Fourth Division, Twenty-Third Army Corps, Morristown, Tenn., Nov. 7, 1863. Hon. Isaac J. Allen, Editor The Ohio State Journal, Columbus, O.:

My Dear Sir:

It has become my sad duty to inform you of all we know of the fate of your son in yesterday's desperate battle.

He was riding by my side, when a heavy volley of musketry was opened upon us from a forest up to which we were leading a portion of the Seventh Ohio Cavalry. We were driven back, and did not regain the ground. I can, therefore, only say that his horse fell with him, rolled over on him, and then dashed off, leaving him on the ground motionless. It is possible that he was crushed senseless by his horse, and that he may be a prisoner and unwounded. The fire of the enemy was so terrific that I scarcely dare hope that he escaped it. I will know in a few days more about it, and will write to you every particular. His loss is the saddest event to me of all the disastrous day. His high character, his gallant courage, his fine intellect, and his thorough military bearing and feeling made him an honor to the regiment and to the service, and made me trust him and love him far beyond the confidence and regard I feel for any that is left to me. His place in the regiment cannot be filled.

On my appointment of command of the brigade he was appointed Brigade Adjutant, and it was in the performance of the duties of that office that he fell.

I feel such a bereavement in his absence as only a brother's death could cause, and in place of the pleasant visions of the honors we would share together, the future is blank and dreary to me. My dearest friend and my best soldier, the one that I would have delighted most to honor, is lost to me.

With great respect, sincerely your friend, Israel Garrard, Colonel Seventh Ohio Cavalry, Commanding Brigade

I am sure you will agree with me that this is a very handsome obituary notice. It is my purpose this evening to take up the thread of the story where Colonel Garrard's letter left off. He promised to write my father full details of my death, but I propose to explain to you why he found it unnecessary to comply with his promise in this regard.

I am not able to give you full details of the engagement at Rogersville by reason of the fact that I was among the number that first went down under the enemy's fire, but the result of the battle was that the twelve Confederate regiments were eminently victorious. The Second Tennessee (Union troops) surrendered. The Seventh Ohio Cavalry, fighting with the river at their back, mounted their horses and cut their way out, but in so doing lost 112 men and 5 officers in a period of about five minutes.

At the opening of the engagement, in company with Colonel Garrard, we were leading a portion of the Seventh Ohio Cavalry to take possession of a piece of woods in front of us, but it proved that the enemy already had possession of this piece of woods, and we were met with an exceedingly heavy volley of musketry, men and horses going down all around me from the effects of this fire. I was uninjured by this volley, although one of the bullets of the enemy cut away the shank of my bridle bit, leaving me only one rein. My mare was exceedingly spirited, but entirely obedient to my voice, and with this one rein I was taking her and myself out from under this heavy fire at a full gallop, when, in my effort to make her take a fence, I exercised rather too much zeal, pulled her head too far to one side, and just at this moment she struck a depression in the ground and fell, rolling over me twice. The first time I came up without serious injury, but the second time she left me senseless and unconscious on the field, in plain view of the men of our regiment. I was slightly wounded by a musket ball swiping across my face, but had multi-injuries of the body, some of which I feel even to this day, by reason of my horse rolling over me.

I do not know how long I lay on the field; but with the return of consciousness the first thing I knew was that a Confederate soldier was trying to take my boots off, or it may be that this action on the part of the Confederate soldier was what brought me to my senses, as the loss of my only pair of boots was a serious matter. After I had convinced this soldier that the time had not yet come to number me among the dead, he gave me a helping hand and assisted me to a log cabin near by. Here he supplied me with water taken from a well by one of the old-fashioned sweeps, which you have so often seen throughout the South. This soldier helped me to bathe my face and remove the blood and mud from my face and hair. It had rained nearly all night before, and I had been rolled over twice in the Tennessee mud, giving my uniform the color of the soil, which was nearly a butternut. After a while I revived sufficiently to enable me to realize my surroundings. This rebel soldier then told me that my boots were worth about three thousand dollars (Confederate money, of course), and as he was almost barefooted he proposed an exchange of footgear. I told him that I had about fifty dollars in money (greenbacks) which I would give him for my boots and I keep the boots. He agreed to this arrangement, and I bought my own boots. I surrendered the fifty dollars to this soldier, who was a member of the Fourth Kentucky Confederate Cavalry, together with my cavalry saber and an exceedingly handsome pair of Mexican spurs, which had been presented to me. I felt that I was not likely to need spurs or saber for some time to come, as at this time the exchange of prisoners had been suspended.

About noon that day the Confederates gathered all their prisoners together, including the Second Tennessee Mounted Infantry, which had surrendered, and quite a bunch of the Seventh Ohio Cavalry boys. We started afoot along the vitrified road of Despair toward Libby Prison and Belle Isle, with a heavy force of Confederates guarding us. We marched two abreast, and the man alongside me was Lieutenant A. A. Carr, of my regiment, a very gallant officer, who had been taken prisoner out of our hospital, where he was suffering from a double rupture. Lieutenant Carr and myself were a mighty weak set of twos, as we were both so badly hurt that we were hardly able to walk. We continued this painful journey until about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, when the rebel cavalry column stopped to feed their horses. The prisoners were turned into a large meadow with a heavy guard around us. Neither the Confederate soldiers or the prisoners had anything to eat. I remember making an appeal to a Confederate officer for some food. He told me that all he had to eat was two apples, but that he would be very glad to divide with me, which he did, giving me one apple and keeping one himself. I divided my apple with Lieutenant Carr. From observation, made on the spot, we concluded that this

Confederate force would probably march all night in order to escape being intercepted by a force which we expected would be sent out by General Wilcox from Bull's Gap. I did not feel myself to be physically capable of making an all-night march afoot, and I asked the officer of the guard for permission to go to General W. E. Jones' headquarters near by, with the intention of making a request for a mount for myself and Lieutenant Carr. The officer of the guard was kindly, and sent a soldier with me to General Jones' headquarters. I saw the General and told him I was badly hurt, and that my companion, Lieutenant Carr, was suffering from a double rupture, and neither of us felt able to march all night on foot. I found General Jones to be a fatherly sort of a man, and when he looked upon my condition he expressed surprise that I had been able to walk as far as I had. He was very sympathetic and very kindly, and promised that he would send horses for Lieutenant Carr and myself, and he directed the guard who was with me to return to the prisoners' bivouac and to say to the officer of the guard that Lieutenant Carr and myself were not to be dispatched on foot with the other prisoners when the column took up its night march. We returned to the meadow, where the other prisoners were under guard. It was now near nightfall of a gray November day. The cavalry horses had finished their meal and preparations were being made for a night march. Soon the Confederate cavalry had begun to move along the road and the prisoners were being marched out on foot into the column. About this time a new officer of the guard appeared upon the scene for the night duty, relieving the officer who had had charge of us during the day. The officer of the old guard stated to the new officer of the guard that all the prisoners were to be marched out except Lieutenant Carr and myself, and that General Jones would furnish horses for us two. Just as this conversation was taking place an orderly appeared on the scene from General Jones' headquarters with two led horses, which he stated were for Carr and myself. The officer of the guard turned to me and said, "Here are your horses." Lieutenant Carr was physically unable to mount his horse, owing to his injuries, and I helped him up on his horse, after which, with some effort, I mounted my horse. Just at this moment a Confederate captain was mounting his company right near us, and gave the order, "Prepare to mount." The men led their horses out, and, at the command, "Mount," they all sprang into their saddles, but, in mounting, their horses moved forward, and took Lieutenant Carr and myself into the company. The captain then marched the company out of the field into the road, and we marched out with this company, Lieutenant Carr and myself forming one set of twos in this rebel company. The night was cool, and both Lieutenant Carr and myself had blankets thrown over our shoulders. We had done this for warmth, but at this moment the blankets served excellently to hide our uniforms. The rebel soldiers in the company we were marching with also had their blankets thrown over their shoulders, so that we were quite in uniform with the rest of the company. As I have since learned (many years afterward), the officer of the old guard presumed we were being looked after by the officer of the new guard, while the new officer of the guard presumed that the old officer of the guard was still looking after us. At all events, we very quickly observed that no one was guarding us, and we rode along with the rebel company which had formed about us. With this company we filed out into the road and joined the full column of twelve regiments, and, without any definite idea of what we were going to do or when we were going to do it, Lieutenant Carr and I rode along in peace and comfort as a part of this rebel column. We had discussed the situation with each other during our afternoon march, and agreed to escape together if possible, but we were not looking for the opportunity to come so soon. We had rather expected that, as this rebel column had marched all night previously, they would be sleepy during the night and that we might make our escape unobserved in the early hours of the next morning; but here, almost by accident, or by Providential interference, we were in a fair way to make our escape early in the evening, after having been prisoners for less than one day.

As we rode along in the column we came to frequent fires on the roadside which the soldiers had made for warmth, and as we passed we saw several gaps in the fence which we thought it would be possible for us to go through, but our courage rather failed us at these gaps until we had passed them by. We had marched maybe a mile and a half with this column, when the officers began to ride along the column, going to the rear, giving directions to the troops to "close up," this being quite necessary with all cavalry columns on night marches by reason of the fact that the slow-walking horses made gaps in the column. We were quite familiar with all this, and after a little while we rode out and started down the side of the column, going to the rear, calling out in a moderately loud voice, "Close up," wherever there happened to be a gap in the column. The rebel soldiers obeyed these commands and closed up the gaps promptly, and so we proceeded toward the rear until we came to a gap in the fence leading off from the column, and we turned gently and quietly through this gap. It was now quite dark, and when we were fifty feet or even less distant from the column, we were out of sight. We made no effort to pass along the road, knowing full well that a strong rear guard would gather up all stragglers, and would catch us in the net. We therefore diverged from the column, and started across the open field which we had entered. Coming to a fence, we threw off the top rail, jumped our horses over, and galloped across the turf of that field, which gave no sound, until we came to the line of foothills, almost mountains, following the Holston River Valley.

We were perfectly familiar with the country, and knew now exactly where we were going and what we intended to do. Coming to the base of the foothills, which were covered with a dense forest, we turned our horses loose, knowing full well they would graze the rest of the night and that they would not stay where we left them to indicate the direction we had taken. We hastily entered the forest-clad hills, and started on our journey to freedom.

One hour prior to this moment I could have testified under the most solemn oath that I was physically unable to walk another mile, and I am quite certain that Lieutenant Carr would have truthfully testified that he was not able to walk as far as I could. All this when we were marching in the direction of Libby Prison, but when our faces were turned in the other direction, and we were marching to freedom and to rejoin our regiment, we were as good a pair of sprinters as ever struck Tennessee soil! All our wounds, pains and aches were forgotten, as we jumped into the forest-clad hills of the Holston Valley with only the stars to guide us.

Of course, we were entirely without food, without arms, and without anything in the world except the clothing on our backs, and that was none too good, but, as previously stated, I had saved my boots. We were fully prepared to take what might come. By midnight we had crossed one range of hills and were proceeding across a little valley to the next range of hills toward the Holston River. The underbrush was dense, and we made but slow progress; none the less, we made progress all the time. When crossing this little valley we were halted by the barking of a dog. We feared that maybe we were making too much noise and that the dog, with his keen senses, had discovered us. We stopped and waited a little while until we concluded that the dog was not disturbed by us. We had gone but a little way when we were halted by a man saying "Whoa" to his horse. It was now about midnight, and we were not taking any chances with stray Confederates who might live in that locality. We made a wide detour around this man and his horse without betraying our presence. I have always felt that it was fortunate for us that he spoke to his horse when he did, otherwise we might have walked right into his arms in the night. In ascending the next range of hills we found several places too precipitous for our progress. We made detours and found ways to get around these precipitous places, and daylight the next morning found us safe on top of the hills overlooking the Holston River. In view of the fact that a considerable number of Confederate soldiers lived in that locality, we concluded, after a council of war, to take no chances in daylight and would spend the day under cover. We selected a "cozy corner" among some cedar trees for our day's rest, and took turns in sleeping, one of us being awake and on guard at all times. During the day we saw several Confederate scouting parties passing along the road, but we were not discovered. It was now about fifty hours since we had anything to eat, except half an apple for each of us; but we were provided with an ample supply of chewing tobacco, and did not suffer particularly from hunger; but later in the day we began to experience an exceedingly uncomfortable degree of thirst. A little mountain brook ran through the valley below us, but it was greatly exposed and we were afraid to make an effort to get water from this brook, as it could be seen from every direction. When the first shades of night began to fall we crept down toward this little brook, and when we arrived at the banks we simply rolled down to the water's edge, and drank to our full content. Following the road in the Holston River Valley, we journeyed westward, keeping just outside the road and inside the line of fence that we might jump to cover in case there were any scouting parties coming along the road. During the day we had each of us cut a good stick for a cane, which we might use as a club to drive off dogs, but it would be of no use to us against armed soldiers. About 9 o'clock at night we came to a cabin alongside the road, in front of which Lieutenant Carr had one time stood picket. He knew the family in this cabin in a casual sort of way, knew that they were Union people and that the father had run away to join the Union army, leaving his wife and children to drag along on a little farm attached to the cabin. It was just such a cabin as you have all seen thousands of times throughout the South, where the front door was cut in two, that the upper half might be open, while the lower half was closed to keep the pigs and chickens out of the house and the young children in the house. It was not chinked, and we could look into it from any quarter. On approaching the house we were questioned by the family dog. We immediately made friends with him and boldly knocked on the door of the cabin. The upper half of the door was opened and a woman presented herself. We could make out her outline by the small fire on the hearth. On this occasion Lieutenant Carr was the spokesman, and told the woman that he had on such and such a date stood picket in front of her house, and that we were escaped Union prisoners trying to get back to the Union lines, and that we were very much in need of food. The woman expressed her gratification that we had made our escape, and stated that she was glad to be able to help us. We entered the house, and her little group of children gathered around us. She immediately stirred up the embers on the hearth to cook us some meat. Upon second thought, however, she asked that we would not stay in the house, as scouting parties were passing up and down the road more or less all the time, and that we had better go out in the orchard, and that one of the girls would go with us and take the family dog along to keep him quiet. While we waited there she prepared a meal for us and brought it to us. The meal was composed of bread, meat and a pitcher of milk. We made a hearty meal here, after about sixty hours of fasting, ate as much as we could, and what was left over we put in our pockets for such future use as our necessities might require. In the years which have passed since then I have eaten at Delmonico's, I have partaken of some of the best food in America around Baltimore, and I have had many bounteous feasts, but never before or since have I had as satisfactory a meal as that little supper of cornbread, sidemeat and milk on the night of November 7, 1863, at this poor woman's cabin in Hawkins County, Tennessee. At the conclusion of our repast we thanked the woman most heartily, and resumed our journey. We did not follow the middle of the road, but kept close to the edge of the road all the time, that we might be prepared to take cover in case of threatening danger. About midnight we stopped to rest, being at that time in a little nursery, where the growing trees were planted in rows. Our line of march was across the rows, and it was rather difficult going. While resting, Lieutenant Carr fell asleep. Soon he was dreaming, and he evidently was cold, for he said, "Allen, give me more of the blanket." I woke him up, and told him what had happened while he was asleep, and he replied that he guessed we had better be continuing the journey, that he might get warmed up. About 3 o'clock in the morning we came to the town of Rogersville, this being the county seat of Hawkins County. It was populated by a considerable number of Union people, and an equal number of rebels. Between the two factions there was great enmity. On each side of the town were precipitous hills, and we felt that if we undertook to scale these hills we would not succeed before daylight, and might be discovered. We therefore decided to go right through the town, presuming that everybody would be in bed. We tiptoed through the town without making sufficient noise to waken a cat. By dawn we were out of the town of Rogersville and fairly on the way to Morristown, the advance post of the Union line.

Living just west of the town of Rogersville was Colonel John R. Netherland, a noted Union man, a distinguished lawyer and a citizen of Tennessee, a man who was known far and wide all through that section of the country for his stanch loyalty to the Union. He had been a candidate for Governor of Tennessee just prior to the war, when Isham B. Harris was elected Governor. I had previously been at Colonel Netherland's house, only on one occasion, however.

I knew his strong Union sentiments and that of his family, and, as it was now approaching daylight, I concluded to go to this house for advice and protection, feeling that it was a station of the "Underground Railway" for Union men. It was in the early morning when we knocked at the door of Colonel Netherland's residence, and without any preliminary questions from the upper windows or from inside the door, the door opened, and Mrs. Netherland, but lightly clad, and evidently just from bed, asked what might be wanted. In the gray dawn of the morning and in my exceedingly unattractive appearance, I being bloody, muddy, and wholly wretched, she did not recognize me. I told her who I was, that we were escaped Union prisoners, and had stopped at her home for such assistance as she might be able to give us. She gave us a most cordial welcome, invited us in, called up the household and the servants and began to prepare breakfast for us, and gave every evidence of joy and satisfaction at our escape. As the family began to gather after their night's rest, among others there came a lady who introduced herself by stating that she was from Vermont. She did not give her name, but simply stated, "I am from Vermont." This, I told her, was sufficient introduction to assure us that she was a Union woman. I told her that she needed no further introduction, that there had never been anybody from Vermont who was other than a strong Unionist. She was a Vermont woman by the name of Mrs. Kneeland, who had married in the South. She was then a widow, owning handsome property in Tennessee. To make a long story short, I may state that we spent the larger part of the day at this house, Mrs. Netherland and Mrs. Kneeland standing guard for us while we slept on the parlor floor. We were afraid to go to bed upstairs for fear that we might have to make a quick run from the house and that it might lengthen our journey too much to run downstairs, so Mrs. Netherland and Mrs. Kneeland and the family made a bed for us on the parlor floor. Mrs. Kneeland then went to a neighbor's house which stood on the roadside on the top of a hill, where she could have a long view of the road each way. In case of approaching danger she was to wave a towel as a signal for us to seek cover. Mrs. Netherland and her daughter Margaret remained at home to watch for this signal, while we two escaping prisoners revived our energies by sleep. Early in the afternoon we were awakened by Colonel Netherland appearing on the scene. As I have stated, he was a strong Union man, and it was by no means safe for him to sleep in his own house. He only visited his home occasionally, and on this occasion when he came home he found two escaped prisoners, and he was very greatly rejoiced at the opportunity to do something for us. He immediately began to send "grapevine telegrams" to Union people all along the road we were to pass on our journey toward our lines at Morristown. These "grapevine telegrams" were sent mostly by little Negroes, some mounted on mules, some afoot. There were no written messages, as you can well understand, but the Union people all through that section were informed of our coming, and were asked to be prepared to take care of us. Furthermore, he sent up into the mountains and brought out a man who was known in that section as a "Mountain Pilot," a man who was thoroughly familiar with the mountain paths and who knew every possible road of escape and could lead us from one place to another without danger of us being discovered. While we were holding a conference, our picket, Mrs. Kneeland, at the house on the hill, gave the signal of danger. Her towel was seen waving from the window, and there was a scattering of our crowd. We all ran out of the house, for that house has been searched a hundred times for Union men. We hid in the overgrown field, filled with tall grass and weeds. While here we discovered a rebel scouting party coming down the road, a lieutenant and about fifteen men. We felt certain that this scouting party was on our trail. We saw the scouting party come along the road, stop in front of Colonel Netherland's house, where they seemed to hold a council of some kind. Apparently they were familiar with that section, and knew everybody, and I dare say some one of them said that there was no use searching that house, that it had been searched a hundred times already, and nothing had ever been found. So, on this occasion, they passed the house by and did not search it, although we were within close pistol range.

While Lieutenant Carr and I were at Colonel Netherland's house we were told of the frequent searchings of this house for Union soldiers and Union refugees. One instance I may mention. A Union soldier, hard pressed by the enemy, took refuge at Colonel Netherland's house, and was seen to enter the house. The Confederate forces in pursuit dashed into the house, almost at the heels of this Union soldier, but he had mysteriously disappeared and was not to be found. Guided by Mrs. Netherland, he had entered a cabin of one of the servants near the house. This cabin was occupied by a colored woman who at that moment was rocking her baby to sleep in the cradle. Grasping the situation, this colored woman moved the cradle aside, lifted a board in the floor and put the soldier in this opening in the floor. She replaced the board, put the cradle in its place over the board, and resumed her lullaby. The Confederate soldiers entered this little one-room cabin and asked the colored mother if she had seen the Union soldier. She replied, "Yes," that he had come to this cabin and had gone right on through, whereupon the Confederate soldiers continued the search elsewhere. In relating her experience, the young colored mother stated that she was afraid that the loud beating of her heart would betray the presence of the man under the floor.

The rebel scouting party, after stopping a few minutes near our hiding place, disappeared, going west along the road in the direction we were to follow later. We returned to Colonel Netherland's house, where the "Mountain Pilot" took charge of us, and, skirting up through the mountains, avoiding the main roads, and under the guidance of the pilot, we went to the residence of Mr. John Blevins, who lived a few miles down the road in the direction we were to go. It was full daylight, maybe 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when we started from Colonel Netherland's house under the guidance of this pilot, and, going as rapidly as we two could walk, which was not very fast, the pilot guided us along the mountainside and throughout the valleys, always under cover, until about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, when we reached the mountainside in the vicinity of Mr. Blevins' home. Mr. Blevins had been United States Marshal of Tennessee, and was a man of strong character, too old for service in the army, but a union man of the first water. Old as he was, he was ready to fight, at any time, and with anybody, in support of his Union principles. He had a family of several daughters, one married, Mrs. J. R. Pace. Her husband was in the Union army, and had served with me, and we were well acquainted. The pilot, leaving us on the mountainside, under cover, went himself to Mr. Blevins' house to see if the road was clear. The "grapevine telegraph" had notified him of our coming, and he was prepared for us. He sent a written note to me by the pilot, telling me to come down to his house and we would be cared for, and signed his name to it, which was quite an unusual thing in those days. Upon receipt of this note we went down to the house. It was a handsome mansion in the Tennessee River Valley, surrounded by a beautiful farm. Mr. Blevins and his family were standing on a wide veranda in front of the house to welcome us. Five or six steps led up to this veranda, and I found myself in so wretched a physical condition that I was scarcely able to mount the steps. Seeing my condition, Mrs. Pace, Mr. Blevins' daughter, came down the steps, and, putting her arm around me, helped me up, while the Mountain Pilot helped Carr up. Mrs. Pace marched us into the wide hall of this residence, on one side of which was located a large sideboard with an array of glasses of generous size. Mrs. Pace poured two of these tumblers half full of strained honey and the other half she filled with peach brandy, stirred the whole together and passed one of them to me and the other to Carr, with directions to "Drink it all." Each of us finished our tumbler of "peach and honey" to the last drop. I can state here that it was the best drink I ever had in all my life. Mr. Blevins told us the scouting party we had seen in the afternoon had been down as far as his house, and had there turned back and gone east. We had supper here, and after supper, by which time it had grown dark, Mr. Blevins furnished each of us with a horse and a revolver, and also furnished us with a mounted Negro man as guide, with directions to take us to Mr. John Profit, a strong Union man, who lived some miles further along on our journey. The directions given by Mr. Blevins were to reach this point by midnight, feed the horses there, send them back by the guide, and Carr and myself were to spend the rest of the night with Mr. Profit, who would see us further on our journey in the morning. The colored man who was to guide us on this night trip was thoroughly familiar with the byways and avoided the highways. We went at a good gait until midnight, at which time we arrived at Mr. Profit's house. Mr. Profit had also been informed of our coming by the "grapevine telegraph," as his house was also a station on the "Underground Railroad" for escaping prisoners and Union refugees. Upon our knocking at the door with ever so gentle a knock, it was opened and the house was aglow with light, and a full square meal awaited our coming to be served on the table at the prearranged hour. Mr. Profit was more than six feet tall, weighed about 225 pounds, and very much resembled that distinguished soldier patriot of Ohio, the late Rev. Colonel Granville Moody. Mr. Profit and his family greeted us most cordially; told us that the Union pickets were within two miles of the house, and told us to eat a hearty midnight meal and go to bed, and that they would stand picket the rest of the night and warn us of any possible danger. We felt so secure in the hands of these Union people in charge of the stations on the underground railroad for escaping prisoners that we confided entirely and absolutely in them, obeyed literally their instructions, and actually went to sleep that night in a bed in the house. At the first streak of gray in the morning Mr. Profit waked us up, told us the road was open, and that our pickets would be found less than two miles away at the ford of the Holston River. We thanked him and his family for their cordial and generous entertainment and safe-guarding, and took up our journey down the middle of the road. In a short time we came to the ford of the Holston River, where we could see our vidette on the opposite side. We threw up both hands as a signal of friendship. The vidette called over to ask who we were. We told him we were escaped Union prisoners. He told us to stay where we were until he could call the officer of the guard. He rode back for the officer of the guard, and returned, bringing a lieutenant, who called across the river to ask us who we were and what regiment we belonged to. After we had identified ourselves, he told us to wait and he would bring horses over the ford to us. In a few minutes the lieutenant came back with two led horses, which he brought over to us, and we mounted them and rode back. We were again within the Union lines. The lieutenant then sent us with an officer to the colonel of his regiment, in compliance with his proper duty in such cases.

The colonel of this regiment sent an escort with us and loaned us horses on which to rejoin our own regiment. We rode along toward Morristown, where we saw a regiment moving through the fields, apparently taking up a line of march. I said to Lieutenant Carr: "There is our regiment." Carr said: "I think not." I replied to Carr that I had been adjutant of that regiment too long not to know it when I saw it, and I galloped across the fields, struck into the head of the column, and rode to my position at the side of the colonel. Colonel Garrard had not observed me, or if he had, he did not recognize me. This was by no means surprising, as I fancy my own mother would not have known me as I then appeared, as I was still bloody and muddy. However, as the regimental adjutant, I felt that I was privileged to ride in my own place. Colonel Garrard gave a surprised look at this strange fellow who had ridden up alongside him, and then a gleam of recognition came over his face. He reached out his hand to take hold of me, apparently to satisfy himself that I was not a ghost, but real flesh and blood. After taking hold of me and feeling me to see that I was really and truly in the flesh, he threw his arms around me, halted the regiment, and Carr and I held a regimental reception right there, shaking hands with every man in the regiment, who all gathered around us, and greeted us as though we had returned from the dead. At the conclusion of this hearty reception, Colonel Garrard then directed me to ride immediately to the nearest telegraph station, even if I had to go to Knoxville, and telegraph my father that I was alive and as well as could be expected under the circumstances. I learned afterward that my father received my telegram ten minutes after he had received Colonel Garrard's letter telling him that he scarcely dared hope that I had escaped the terrific fire of the enemy, under which I went down.

Lieutenant A. A. Carr, of Jackson, O., my companion in this escape, was not able to resume his duty in the regiment. He never recovered from the effects of the hardships here experienced, and died soon after.

The story here told covers a period of only four days of my three years' service. On my return to the regiment I immediately resumed my duties, and continued in the field till the end of the war.

An award winning movie was produced based on this experience:
'Freedom' Wins Feature Film Category in 2008 Virginia Film Competition.
Mike Ostroski and John Hedges portray Capt. Theodore Allen and Lt. A.A. Carr in the award-winning feature film "Freedom." May 11, 2008 http://artsmagazine.info/articles.php?view=detail&id=2008051122420964705

1. ↑ United States. 1860 U.S. Census Population Schedule. (National Archives Microfilm Publication M653)
   Cincinnati, Hamilton Co, Ohio.
2. ↑ ^2.0 2.1 Death Certificate.

   Can be found at the LDS Family Search Labs website, http://search.labs.familysearch.org

3. ↑ Death Certificate.
4.   Autobiography of Isaac Jackson Allen transcribed and published: www.jacksonfamilygenealogy.com/pages/bioIsaacJ.