Cent. Railway at a speed of thirty-five miles the hour, bearing McCartney and his guard among its passengers towards the Old Capitol Prison, he desperately sprang from the car, though he was ironed at wrists and ankles, and dashed out upon the track without an instant's thought of the probable jeopardy to life he might encounter by this bold rash act. The alarm was instantly given by the suddenly roused guard, the train was stopped as quickly as possible, the soldiers returned where all hands expected to find the reckless prisoner a mass of broken bones—at the least—upon the track-side, but no McCartney could be found, nor did that party of officials see the color of his face, subsequently! He had again made good his escape from custody.
"And how did you manage this affair?" we inquired, when Pete had himself quietly given us his brief account of this startling episode in his career.
"Easy enough," he said, with a smile. "You see," he continued, "I was bound to get out o' the hands of those fellows. I knew the 'Old Capitol' was an ugly prison-house, and it wouldn't do for me to go there. I was also aware there was risk in jumping from the cars, when the train was flying along at such a rate. But then we have to take risks as we meet with them. And this was no worse than the peril that loomed up before me in Washington. Though I was manacled, hand and foot, I took my chance—and bolted. I was hurt, of course. But I fled to the woods, waited till all was quiet, and the train had gone, struggled along for hours, skulked and secreted myself, and with a stone finally smashed the iron shackles from my limbs. I suffered for want of food, and from the bruises I got—but finally found daylight, and got among friends, once more in safety."
Constantly upon his guard, and ready upon emergency
