But in a
moment he was on his feet, trying his limbs. No bones were
broken. A mud-bath was the full measure of his misfortune.
Murphy was equally sound. The car was none the worse. With
scarce a minute's delay they sprang to it, righted it, and
with some strong tugging lifted it upon the track. With very
few minutes' delay they were away again, somewhat more
cautiously than before, and sharply on the lookout for
further gifts of broken rails from the runaways ahead.
Leaving the pair of pursuers to their seemingly hopeless
task, we must return to the score of locomotive pirates.
These men who had done such strange work at Big Shanty were
by no means what they seemed. They were clad in the
butternut gray and the slouch hats of the Confederacy, but
their ordinary attire was the blue uniform of the Union
army. They were, in truth, a party of daring scouts, who had
stealthily made their way south in disguise, their purpose
being to steal a train, burn the bridges behind them as they
fled, and thus make useless for a time the only railroad by
which the Confederate authorities could send troops to
Chattanooga, then threatened by the Union forces under
General Mitchel.
They had been remarkably successful, as we have seen, at the
beginning of their enterprise. Making their way, by devious
routes, to Marietta, they had gathered at that place,
boarded a train, and started north.
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