CAPTURE AND ESCAPE (continued 2)

When it reached him he was so excited that he could scarcely hold the envelope. Hastily opening it—there was no seal to break—he glanced at the contents; and then, such a groan of concentrated disappointment and misery I never heard before and hope never to hear again. No words were spoken; no tear stained his cheek; quietly working his way back out of the crowd, he sought his quarters and temporarily passed out of my mind, and in a moment was forgotten by the eager, anxious crowd.

When the excitement was partly over and I had read the long-expected letter from my wife, I sought him out. He was sitting upon a box with his head resting on his hands, a picture of despair.

"You seem to have had bad news," I said.

His reply was to place the letter in my hands. It was evidently from a stranger, and in a few words informed him that his mother had died shortly after his capture, and when on her death bed had asked the writer to convey her blessing to her boy.

"I am the only child," he cried; "and my mother was a widow."

Attempts at consolation were useless. I did not try. The poor fellow never rallied from the blow. He was removed to the hospital and died a month later. His capture had killed his mother, and her death killed him. Only two of the thousands of victims offered up on the altar of the country! One more family destroyed—a sacrifice to the unholy ambition that drew the South into a rebellion whose brilliant commencement was only equalled by its inglorious ending.

In the latter part of August or the first of September, yellow fever made its appearance in Charleston. To a Northerner there was something terrifying in the thought of being penned up there, to meet this pestilence. We had endured famine, but this was worse. We knew that there had been one or two cases in the prison, and all had been exposed, or might have been. The patients had been removed under the care of the Sisters of Charity, God bless them! Having been brought up a Protestant, I had imbibed a prejudice against everything pertaining to Catholicism; but since experiencing their gentle ministrations in Charleston, where they literally obeyed the Scriptural injunction: "Sick they ministered unto us, in prison they visited us, and naked they clothed us," I have learned a broader charity. I have learned that neither creed nor sex make the Christian or the hero. I never now see their distinctive costume without a feeling of gratitude and respect.

While we were at Charleston, the Andersonville prisoners were moved to a place near Charleston, passing through the city on their way to camp on the race track. My pen falters when I attempt to describe the passage through the streets of that sad column. Starvation, nostalgia, and disease, together with brutal treatment, had reduced these gallant Union soldiers to half naked savages. I saw many with not enough clothing to cover their nakedness. Starvation was stamped on every face. Hundreds of the poor fellows died after reaching our lines, and thousands more died in prison. Why, in the name of common decency, our government has not passed a law granting them pensions, I do not know. If pensions are ever granted to discharged soldiers, it should be to them. Better lose a leg or an arm in battle, than to have suffered the living death of Confederate imprisonment. I sometimes wish a sleek, well-fed congressman might experience a short term of this same imprisonment, that he might realize precisely what it was.

To the credit of the people of Charleston, and especially to the Sisters of Charity be it said, they obtained permission to aid these Andersonville prisoners with donations of food and clothing, and helped them to the best of their own limited means. Nourishing soups were provided, and clothing enough to cover their nakedness. Although Charleston was the scene of the inauguration of hostilities, there is a warm spot for it in my heart, since my imprisonment there in 1864.

About the first of October the Confederates became anxious to rid the city of us, for fear the fever should spread and become a pestilence that might sweep them all off. It was therefore decided to remove us again, this time to Columbia. Immediately upon hearing this news, some of us began to look about us for means to facilitate an escape, and a long march across the country.

Five months previous, an officer of General Sherman's staff had been captured, who had in his possession, carefully preserved, topographical maps of South Carolina and Georgia. These had been copied by Captain John B. Vliet, Captain Henry, and Lieutenant Dahl, until there were several duplicates of them. I had been fortunate enough to secure one of these charts. I was also in possession of a small night and day compass, presented to me by Commodore Pendergrast when he was exchanged. A short time previously I had conversed with several of my comrades, and found four ready to join me in attempting a trip across South Carolina and Georgia, on the "underground railroad." The party consisted of Captain John B. Vliet, Captain Henry Spencer, Lieutenant and Adjutant Gough of the Tenth Wisconsin, Lieutenant Hatcher of the Thirteenth Ohio, and myself.

At length dawned the morning of the fifth of October, 1864, a memorable day for us. For several days there had been rumors of an exchange about to take place, the old story that we had heard every time we were to exchange prisons. Just where we were to be transported, was not stated; we thought Savannah our destination, but Columbia was actually the place to which they were taking us.

A Second Escape

No notice that we were to leave at any particular time was given, until we were ordered to pack up and fall in line. This was to prevent any special preparation or saving of rations, the intention being to discourage any attempt of escape, by reason of lack of food. But they did not by any means relax their vigilance in guarding us. An entire regiment, the Thirtieth Georgia Infantry, was detailed to guard us, and we filed out of prison between long lines of grey-coated soldiers warily watching our every movement. Once more the long precession marched through the streets of Charleston to the railroad station.

Our party managed to keep together, and were assigned to the same car, located near the centre of the train. As usual, the transportation furnished was freight cars, each car being crowded to its capacity. The side doors were thrown open to furnish air, and we secured a place between the open doors. Four guards were stationed on the inside, and from five to six others on the roof of each car, with orders to shoot any of the prisoners attempting to escape. The guards inside our car took their station beside each corner of the open doors.

At length, everything being in readiness, the whistle sounded, the wheels began slowly to revolve, and we were off.

Our plans were soon formed. We decided to wait patiently until night, and then, selecting a time when the cars were running down grade, at their maximum rate of speed, jump from the train. It was necessary that the cars should be moving rapidly, for otherwise the guards would have little difficulty in riddling us with bullets. As they passed successively by, the guards on each car would have a chance for a shot at us at unpleasantly short range: for the same reason, our chances would be better in the dark. We easily calculated that at the usual rate of progress, the train could not reach Columbia until after midnight; so that these two very essential concomitants to success were not beyond the bounds of probability. The route selected was to make the nearest practicable point in the lines occupied by Sherman's command, between Atlanta and Chattanooga.

A careful inventory was taken, of stock belonging to the party. Shoes were more essential than any other article of clothing. A man may travel without hat or coat; he can dispense with undergarments; he may even travel sans culottes, but he must have his feet protected.

With the exception of Lieutenant Hatcher, each of the party was provided with something in the shape of boots or shoes. Hatcher had a pair of boots, but they were nearly minus the soles, and it was evident that they would last but a few days. Captain Vliet had a pair of long-legged army boots that I made up my mind would furnish leather enough to make a pair of moccasins for Hatcher, and still leave enough to serve a useful (if not ornamental) purpose to their owner. Our other clothing was nothing to boast of. We each had coat, shirt, and pantaloons, but neither hat nor cap. There was but one blanket in the party, and a new linen sack or bag. We had a kettle that I had made out of an old paint keg, while in Roper Hospital. Spencer had about a quart of flour, in addition to the one day's rations furnished us at starting, and I had saved a small piece of salt pork. We had two maps and the compass.

There was yet to overcome one difficulty. Four armed men were present, to prevent our escape. We knew that at the first movement we should be fired upon. Even were we not hurt, the shot would give notice to guards on the succeeding cars that something was wrong. This would result in attracting vastly more attention to ourselves, personally, than we were ambitious for just at that time. We must therefore either disarm the guards or render their muskets temporarily useless.

This we accomplished. "Familiarity breeds contempt." At first our jailors were on the alert every moment; not a movement of the prisoners was made, that they did not narrowly watch; but after a while they became interested in our conversation, and fell to laughing at our jokes. At first perhaps a little nervous at being in such close proximity to fifty or sixty "Yanks," even though the latter were unarmed, this passed away, and we were soon conversing together like old acquaintances. As it began to get dark, tired of standing on guard so long without being relieved, they set their muskets on the floor of the car and seated themselves at the ends of the open door, with their feet hanging outside, their bayonets leaning against the top of the doorway.

One of our party was stationed near each sentinel, and getting into conversation with him quietly raised the hammer of the lock from the tube, with his thumb, while with the little finger the cap was worked off the nipple. All this, without attracting attention. Within twenty minutes of commencing operations, every musket was uncapped. Meanwhile we were nearing Branchville. It was quite dark now, and we were only waiting for the train to get under full headway.

At length we reached a thick wood. The train was moving through it at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The pine forest through which we were passing, added to the darkness. The time for action had arrived. Quietly notifying my companions to be in readiness, I grasped the bag before described, in which I had deposited the kettle and pork, gave the signal, and sprang from the car out into the darkness.

Fugitives

It is difficult to describe one's sensation in jumping from a rapidly-moving to a stationary object. It is very much as one might imagine it would be in jumping from a stationary object upon a large and very rapidly-revolving wheel. You do not fall, but the earth comes up and hits you; and then, unless you hold fast to something, you roll off. I struck first upon my feet, then upon the back of my neck, and then, as it seemed to me, I rolled over several times. In fact, before I had fairly settled in one position, the train had passed me. Some idea of the rapidity with which the train was moving may be gained from the fact that five of us jumped, one after another, as rapidly as possible, and yet from where I landed to where the last man struck the earth was at least twenty rods. Fortunately the ground was smooth, though very hard. Although terribly jarred and shaken up, none of us were seriously injured, and in a few moments we were standing together on the track. We knew that an alarm would be given, and that we should probably be pursued. Even while we were talking, a musket was discharged from the train, and we heard the whistle sounded for "Down brakes."

We at once plunged into the forest in the direction of the coast, exactly the opposite of our true direction. After traveling for about a mile, we doubled on our track, crossed the railroad within a quarter of a mile of the point where we had left it, and taking a northwesterly course commenced our pilgrimage toward Sherman and Liberty.

Our object in apparently wasting precious time in making a false start, was to puzzle the pursuers, whom we knew would be on our track in the morning. We had hardly left the railroad when, in the thick brush ahead of us, we heard men's voices, and the barking of dogs. Hist! Lie down! Which way are they heading? Straight for us. Shall we run? No, that will not do, we should be heard and followed. Crouching upon the ground in a thicket, scarcely breathing, we awaited their approach. Soon they were near enough for us to understand their conversation.

"Wondah what dat shot foh?" said a voice.

"Do'no. Reck'n it war a geard on dat train. Hey, Cæsar, you rascal! Wat de mattah now, ole boy? Dat dog smell somet'in'."

"Coon, I reck'n."

"Dat no coon. See de way he growl and show his teef. Heyar, Cæsar! Come, Cæsar! Hunt 'em up, ole boy! Wat ye got, dat scars ye so?"

By this time we could distinguish two forms in the darkness, and could see the dog smelling around our track. It was a perilous moment. Evidently the men were negroes, probably out hunting for coon or opossum. If they discovered us they might prove our betrayers. We thought the best way was to keep still and await the dénouement.

"Wondah wat dat is," said one. "Don't act like coon. Reck'n we bettah let dat alone."

"Reck'n so, too. Come on, Cæsar!" and whistling off the dog, the negroes passed on, greatly to our relief.

As soon as they were fairly out of hearing we started on through the woods, taking a northwesterly direction, occasionally stopping to consult the compass and reassure ourselves as to direction. Through the brush, over fallen trees, now in quagmire, now on the ridges, among the pines, we made our way. At length we found a road running in the direction of our march, and struck into it with an accelerated pace that amounted almost to a double-quick, with hearts cheered by our successful escape from the train, and with high hopes of final success. On and on we traveled. No words were spoken above a breath, and only the whispers were such as the leader thought actually necessary to guide those in the rear.

With body half bent, the leader, listened intently to every sound, and strained his powers of vision to their utmost capacity. When any unusual sound attracted his attention, he halted those following, with a low "Hist!" while he went forward, carefully reconnoitering the ground. At the word "Again forward!" we flitted like spectres over the lonely road. So eager were we to get on, that daylight found us somewhat unprepared for a halt. We were in a cultivated country—cornfields on both sides of us, a house in plain sight. On our left, in a field, was a thicket, with a cornfield on one side running quite up to the thicket. Leaving the road, we struck across the fields and gained the thicket, fortunately without discovery save by a house-dog that barked furiously at us until we were out of sight, and then, with a growl, regained his kennel.

Selecting the densest part of the thicket, we spread our coats on the ground. After consulting our compass and map, and guessing at our location, and finding that we had traveled, as far as we could judge, about twenty-five miles, we drew our blanket over us and were soon sound asleep, with the exception of the one detailed to stand guard.

Our slumber was of short duration. As the sun came up, the horns, on all sides, calling the negroes to their labors, the crowing of the cocks, and all the customary sounds on a Southern plantation, warned us that we might accidentally be discovered at any moment. Our anxiety precluded the possibility of sleep, until we had become somewhat accustomed to our peril. It was only the knowledge that we must sleep to be able to keep awake at night, when the friendly darkness should again shield us from sight, that induced us to even try to secure this much-needed means to recuperate our exhausted physical powers.

Thus, watching and dozing by turns, the long day at length came to an end. As soon as it was dark, we were fortunate enough to find some corn and beans, not yet hard. Building a small fire, shielded from observation by surrounding it with a screen made of our coats and blankets, we boiled this food in our kettle and ate heartily of the nutritious succotash. Thus invigorated, we again started on the journey towards our lines. Passing through the cornfield, we again reached the road, our hearts light and courage redoubled. It was evident that we were not pursued; if we had been, we would have been overtaken during the day, and we intended before morning to put a good thirty miles more between ourselves and our starting point.

We had been on the road for about an hour, when ahead of us, apparently in the road, a light was discovered. A halt was called, and this phenomenon discussed in all its bearings. Why should a fire be kindled in the road? Was it an outpost of the enemy's cavalry? Were the negroes building a fire for fun? Was it a guerilla party out on a scout? Or was it that the country had been notified of our escape, and that the inhabitants were out looking for us?

Without arriving at any definite conclusion, we decided, at all events, to flank the danger, whether real or imaginary. Acting upon this decision, we left the road and took to the brush, in the following order: myself, followed by Spencer, Hatcher, Vliet, and Gough, one following the other in single file. We had thus progressed perhaps forty rods, when our onward course was arrested by something moving through the brush in our front.

I immediately halted, and by a low "s-sh!" notified those in the rear of danger ahead. Throwing myself on the ground, I cautiously crawled forward to reconnoiter. I soon discovered an object, apparently a man, cautiously picking his way through the brush towards us. Occasionally he would stop and apparently reconnoiter, and then cautiously advance. It was just opposite the fire in the road, distant from it by perhaps thirty rods. Could it be that there was a picket line here, so far away from the contending forces? At all events, he was so near us that he must have heard our movements. Was he watching to get a shot at us? I could feel the hair rise on my head as I contemplated this probability, for he was not more than a rod away. What was it best to do?

After thinking it all over, I decided upon the desperate plan of suddenly attacking him, and trusting to Providence for the result. Slowly and carefully, I raised to my feet, and with a silent prayer for success, dashed upon—an overgrown hog, peacefully following his legitimate business of gathering acorns. It is difficult to determine whether the relief afforded by the discovery of his hogship was adequate compensation for this sudden letting down from the feeling of desperation to which we were wrought but a moment before. We were too frightened to laugh, too relieved to be angry.

Only a moment was lost in contemplation of our situation. I gave the signal to advance, and started. I heard my companions following. Safely passing the fire that had at first alarmed us, we soon regained the road. I may as well say here, that we never discovered what that fire did mean, or for what purpose it was kindled. We only know that, be the purpose what it may, it resulted disastrously for our little party, as the sequel will show.

Two of Us Missing

Upon reaching the highway, it was discovered that two of the party were missing. Vliet and Gough were gone. What could it mean? Had they been intercepted and taken prisoners? Or had they voluntarily cut loose from us, and taken this method of doing it?

There was one circumstance that pointed that way. Early in the evening, Vliet had both compass and map. Just after we discovered the fire, he had returned them to me, with the remark that should we get separated he could get along better without the compass than I could. But, in justice to my companions and myself, let me say that this thought found no lasting place in our minds. We knew both Vliet and Gough too well to believe that they would pursue such a course. If they had, for any reason, concluded to divide the party they would have manfully told us of their plan, and not have deserted us.

It was at once decided to institute a search. We dared not halloo, or make any unusual noise to attract their attention. It was therefore a still hunt. So two of us retraced our steps and searched the bushes and thickets thoroughly, but could discover no trace of our missing comrades.

After spending at least two hours of precious time, we were compelled to abandon the search as hopeless, and returned to our companion in the road. He too had watched closely, but had failed to discover anything, and we were obliged to face the thought that our party was broken, that we were separated. Shall we ever meet again? If we do, will it be under the Stars and Stripes, or within the walls of a prison pen? With saddened hearts, our party of three—Spencer, Hatcher and myself—again started on our lonely journey, but doubly lonely now.

Ruminations upon our unfortunate separation so occupied our minds, that we became less watchful of our own immediate surroundings than had been our custom, or than safety required. The results of this might have proved disastrous, had we not rudely been aroused from our useless regrets by the sudden need to exercise all our faculties for our own protection.

An abrupt angle in the road had concealed from us the approach of a man, until suddenly, without warning, we were standing before him, face to face. He immediately halted. So did we. There was no time for concert of action, and for a moment I was at a loss what to do, when Spencer took the initiative by asking: "Where are you going?"

"Ober to Miss Clemen's plantation," was the reply.

The dialect disclosed what the darkness had concealed, the fact that he was a negro. The reader will recollect that we were in the interior of the enemy's country; that every white man, almost without exception, was an enemy, who would not only esteem it a duty but a privilege to kill us at the first opportunity; and we did not then know that the negro could be trusted. Stories had been industriously circulated among us by Confederates to persuade us that the negroes would be sure to betray us if we attempted to escape. So we had started out with the determination to trust no one, white or black. Notwithstanding this, it was a great relief to us to find that our new acquaintance was a negro. However, we pursued the conversation but little further. Cautioning the fellow not to be caught out again so far from home without a pass, we started on our way, and he on his. As soon as he was fairly out of sight and hearing, we left the road and plunged again into the woods.

When we had placed a safe distance between ourselves and the highway, a halt was called, for the purpose of holding a consultation over our movements. We had met one negro; and while we had not trusted him any further than we could help, yet from his manner we were all of the opinion that he distrusted our being Southerners. Our speech, of itself, was sufficient to betray us. We had seen enough of negro shrewdness to realize that if the news of our escape from the train had been circulated, as we had every reason to believe it had been, he would be at no loss to guess that we were Yankees.

After discussing the matter, we decided to take the first road running in our direction, and run the chances of the negro's betraying us. We resolved, further, that in case we came across another, we would tell him freely that we were Yankees—this, of course, to depend upon whether we should have reason to believe the man our friend.

Consulting our maps and compass, and assuring ourselves of the proper direction, we traveled on through the woods for perhaps five miles. At length, finding a road running in the direction of our line of march, we pursued our journey without further adventure, until the near approach of daylight warned us again to seek the shelter of the friendly woods, where we could find a thicket sufficiently remote from roads and dense enough to afford us shelter from observation by any passing wanderer. We were successful in finding the desired haven, and throwing ourselves upon the ground were soon sleeping soundly.

So ended our second day's, or rather night's, march. We had traveled only about fifteen miles that night. Thus far we had been traveling in a northwesterly direction, through the parishes of Orangeburg and Lexington, nearly on a line with the railroad running from Keyesville to Columbia, about ten miles from the railroad.

We had as yet selected no particular point in Sherman's line as our goal. We were, indeed, at a loss to know what place to select. When we last heard from our forces, Sherman had taken Atlanta; Hood had succeeded Johnston in command of the Confederate army, and had commenced his celebrated movement to flank Sherman out of Atlanta, and in reality out of Georgia; so we were left to conjecture what the result of the movement would be.

Atlanta was the nearest point, but we were not by any means sure that Sherman still occupied that place. We finally concluded to make for the nearest practicable point on the line held by Sherman between Atlanta and Chattanooga. On our approach to what was Sherman's lines on the second of October, we would gather such information as we could from the negroes, and be governed accordingly.

As nearly as we could calculate, we were about twenty or twenty-five miles southwest from Columbia. We now concluded to make our course a little north of west, so as to head off some of the streams running into the Saluda River, until we should strike the Savannah.

A Friend in the Dark

On the approach of darkness we started out on our third night's march. Nothing unusual occurred until about three o'clock in the morning. We had traveled on a turnpike road, part of the time through a cultivated country, and partly through a forest of stunted pines, the second-growth of timber on abandoned plantations. We had just passed a large plantation, when we came suddenly upon a pedestrian wending his way in a direction opposite to our own. Before we saw him we were too close to avoid his observation, and we therefore boldly approached him. To our joy he proved to be a negro.

By this time we were both hungry and faint. The last crumbs of our rations had been eaten hours before. When and how we were to procure more, was a problem difficult of solution. We had tried several cornfields, but were unable to find anything except perfectly hard corn. Gathering some of this, we had determined to boil it and do the best we could. Naturally, then, when we discovered the race of our new acquaintance, our first thought was to ascertain from him if there was any prospect of supplying our larder with something more palatable than hard corn—always providing he should, upon further acquaintance, prove to be our friend. Notwithstanding our desperate situation in the matter of food, and the fact that we had deliberately determined to trust the first negro that we should meet, our intercourse would, to a looker on, have seemed strangely cautious on both sides. Our conversation, as my memory serves me, was substantially as follows:

Yankee. Well, boy, where are you traveling so late at night?

Negro. Been ovah to see my wife, massa.

Yankee. Where does your wife live?

Negro. Down about a mile from Ninety-six.

Yankee. Ninety-six. Let's see! That's on the railroad, isn't it?

Negro. Yes, sah, reck'n it is.

Yankee. Whose boy are you?

Negro. Massa Gen'l Haygood's.

Yankee. That's his plantation about a mile down this road, isn't it?

Negro. Yes, sah. Dat's Massa's plantation whar de big house is.

Yankee. Well, boy, what do you think of the war now going on? Your master's in the army, I suppose?

Negro. Yas, sah. Massa in de ahmy. I do'no jus' what I does tink 'bout it.

Yankee. You know that the Yankees are trying to make you blacks all free, don't you?

Negro. Wal, I hab heard dat dey were.

Yankee. Would you rather be free or would you rather be as you are—a slave?

Negro. Wal, Massa, I don't zac'ly know. Spects ebery man like to own hissef.

Yankee. Now, supposing you found a man on his road to liberty, that had been a slave or prisoner, would you help him, or would you betray him?

Negro. Who is you, Massa? Wat for you asks such queer questions?

Yankee. Suppose we tell you; suppose we put our lives in your hands—will you betray us?

Negro. No, sah. I reckon not. But who is you?

Yankee. We are Yankee officers, and have been in prison. We are now trying to get through to our lines, and want you to help us.

Negro. 'Fore God, Massa! Is dat so?

Yankee. Yes, that is so! We've started for the Yankee lines in Georgia. Now you won't betray us, will you, when you know we're trying to help you and your people, and to give them their liberty?

Negro. 'Fore God, Massa, if you is wat you say you is, I'll do eberyting for you. Wot ken I do?

Yankee. The first thing is something to eat; and next, we want to know whether you have heard that any Yankees escaped from the train when we were being taken from Charleston to Columbia.

Negro. Yes, sah. I hab heard all about it, an' dey has been hunting de country all ober for you—an'," taking a tin pan from his head, "my wife hab made up some biled bacon an' greens for me to take home wid me, an' you's welcome to dat, if you want it."

We stood upon no ceremony, but seating ourselves upon the ground, greedily devoured the poor fellow's bacon and greens with a relish that an epicure might have envied. It was astonishing the rapidity with which we stored away six quarts of greens and bacon. And yet, truth to tell, the supply was not equal to the demand.

Had there been another panful, I venture to say it would have followed the same downward road traveled by its predecessor, without any extra effort on our part.

Having swallowed the man's dinner and obtained from him all the information it was in his power to impart, we again started on our way, with thankful hearts and renewed courage and physical vigor.

Novel Foot-gear

But the night was not to pass away without our experiencing a reverse, almost commensurate with our good fortune. As will be remembered, Hatcher was, when we left the cars, almost destitute of boots. The old pair he started with had become almost useless, and the soles were nearly or quite gone. They were better than none when traveling through brush; but when on the smooth road he could do better barefoot, and when we met the negro he was carrying the boots in his hands. Strange to say, when we again started on our journey, he left them lying beside the road where we had eaten our nocturnal dinner, and failed to discover his loss until many miles stretched their weary length between us and the forgotten property. It was so near daylight when the loss was discovered, that we did not dare retrace our steps for fear of being seen. Poor Hatcher was discouraged. To attempt to travel barefooted across two States, looked like an impossible task. If we had only had Vliet's long boot-legs, the problem would not have been so difficult of solution.

Hatcher must be supplied with boots, or something to cover his feet. To attempt to obtain them from the negroes, we knew to be hopeless. A pair of shoes was among them something to be hoped for, prayed for, and when obtained, preserved with the greatest care. Even the whites were driven to extremities for clothing of every description, and shoes were especially difficult to obtain at any price. What should we do? I say we, because we had started out with the agreement that we would keep together, under any and all circumstances. If anyone fell sick, the others were to remain with him, giving the best care we could under the circumstances, until he was able to travel, or died. We had also agreed that we would under no circumstances give ourselves up, or voluntarily abandon the attempt to escape, so that the misfortune of one was the misfortune of all.

Something must be done. An inventory of stock was taken. I had a pair of badly-worn shoes. Spencer had a boot and a shoe. Jointly, we had the kettle made from the paint keg, and the new linen sack. Here were the materials from which a pair of shoes were to be constructed, and the feat was accomplished. An inventory of tools disclosed a needle and a jack-knife. A close inspection of the sack showed that it was strong, new, and that the ravelings could easily be converted into stout thread. There was leather enough in Spencer's one boot leg to furnish the soles, and material enough in the sack to make the uppers. It was amusing to see the rapidity with which Hatcher's face shortened up, as one difficulty after another was met and overcome.

It took the combined mechanical skill of the party to fashion and fit this novel foot-gear; but before night they were finished. Hatcher now had by far the best pair of shoes in the party; and if we had only been better supplied with rations, we should have started out that night in better condition for a night's march than at any time since we jumped from the cars.

But the fact was, we were hungry, and after an hour's march found that we were getting faint. Provisions must be had in some way. Leaving the road, we struck into a plantation, in hope of finding either corn or sweet potatoes. We were fortunate enough to secure some hard corn, and a quantity of a species of bean, which I have never seen in the North. They are called peas by the natives, but there is nothing about them, either in growth or appearance, that resembles a pea, and they do not taste like a bean. Be they what they may, they are nutritious if not palatable.

Building a fire in a hollow, and then making a screen of our blanket and coats, to prevent the light from being seen, we proceeded to cook our corn and beans. We soon discovered, however, that while it is an easy matter to cook beans in this way, hard corn has a perverse inclination to remain hard corn, however much it is boiled; so while our supper served a very useful purpose, it was nothing to boast of as a palatable meal. We lost at least three hours in finding, cooking, and eating our supper, and made our jaws ache in our effort to masticate it. Hence, daylight found us only about eighteen or twenty miles from our shoe shop of the day before.

We now knew that the people had been notified of our escape, and that in all probability there were even then parties searching for us. We knew that they had not as yet been able to get upon our trail. Every consideration of prudence demanded that we should remain concealed in the daytime, and we fully intended to observe this caution; but as the long day slowly dragged to a close we became impatient, and concluded to risk a start before dark—traveling away from any road, and thus making up for lost time. We were also anxious to find a negro, if possible, and procure something more palatable to eat than boiled corn.

Taking our course by the sun, we left the road and hurried into the woods. After traveling perhaps four or five miles in this way, we were somewhat shocked at hearing voices not far from us, and hastily concealed ourselves in a thicket. What was our astonishment to see two white men pass, not more than a rod from our place of concealment. After they had passed, we discovered that we had been traveling nearly on a parallel line with a well-traveled road, and probably had not been out of sight of it for a mile back. Here was a dilemma. Had they discovered us and gone on, making no sign, with a view of getting arms and returning for us, or had we been fortunate enough to escape observation?

It was evident that in case they had discovered us, our only safety lay in immediate flight. So, taking an entirely new direction, we started again with beating hearts and greatly accelerated speed. A mile, perhaps, on our new direction, and we came to an open, cultivated country. Beyond a field in our front, we could see a wood; we determined to risk crossing the field, and then change our course again. Skulking behind the fences and crouching along behind thickets, we at length succeeded once more in reaching the friendly shelter of the woods.

Interrupting a Revival

At the corner of the field, near the woods, was a cross-roads, and nearby a church. We could see neither the church nor the roads until reaching the fence, and then it was too late to return. We were in full view of the church, situated to the left of our line of march. Notwithstanding that by our reckoning it was not Sunday, it was filled with people, and some kind of religious services were being held.

Only a few rods farther and we should be out of sight, but we were not fortunate enough to escape observation. We could see fingers pointed at us. As soon as we were out of sight, our careless, measured walk changed to a brisk run. Leaving the road, we struck into the woods again, and as good fortune would have it happened to discover a negro cutting brush, and immediately told him who we were and of our dilemma.

"You git in de brush ober dar," said he. "Dere is a big meetin' goin' on, an' lots ob white folks on de roads. Mighty dang'rous runnin' 'way to-day."

"But suppose they come after us now, won't they find us?" I asked.

"Golly, Massa, I reckon I ken fool dem if dey do—ef dey don't go after de dogs, an' dey aint no nigger dogs less dan eight mile, an' it's mos' night now. Reckon you uns mus' be hungry, aint ye? Looks as t'ough you didn't have nuffin to eat for a week—S-st! Mars, git in dat brush quick! Dere's white folks comin'!"

The warning came not a moment too soon. In the road, not more than a dozen rods from us, we could see persons moving. Throwing ourselves on the ground, we crawled into a thicket and awaited the denouement. The negro caught up his axe and commenced cutting brush industriously. Soon gathering an armful of it, he started towards his cabin, situated on the road, in sight of our retreat in the thicket. He had so timed himself as to reach his cabin about the time the parties on the road passed it. We could see them in conversation, and soon after we saw them pass on, and the negro go into his hut.

It was now nearly dark. Our suspense can be imagined, during the time we were waiting for his return. Would he be true to the interests of three unknown men, simply upon the statement that they were Yankees? Would not the education of a lifetime of slavery teach him to side with the strong against the weak, as a matter of policy? Were he to deliver up to the whites three Yankee officers who had escaped from prison, he would win a local notoriety for fidelity to his master and his master's interests, that would make him the hero of the neighborhood, at least among the whites, and probably insure a reward that to him might be riches. Or would he be faithful to his race, by succoring their recognized friends? For it is a fact that none of his people were so ignorant that they did not know that the result of the war was to be to them either freedom or perpetual slavery.

The action taken by the black man was to us a question not of capture and imprisonment, but of life. We had fully determined that we would not be recaptured. If necessary we would die; but be recaptured while we had life or reason—never! Little was said by either of us, but our thoughts were pictured on our faces.

About an hour after dark we heard footsteps stealthily approaching our hiding-place. How anxiously we listened! Was there more than one person's step? Yes, there were two of them. We could hear voices. What should we do? Run now, while we had a chance, or wait and fight? If they were after us, they would of course be armed. Now they were coming again. We could hear them breathe.

"Say, Joe! I tell you dey was just de patroles foolin' ye, boy. Dey warn't no Yankees—dey's just tryin' to see wot you'd do ef dey was Yankees, an' dey'll gib you de debbil."

"I know bett'n dat. Didn't I talk wid dem, an' didn't dey talk Yankee? 'Sides, two ob dem had on blue coats. Tell ye I know dey was Yankees, an' I'se goin' to find dem an' gib dem someting to eat."

Our fears were gone, our unjust suspicions removed. We would have been ashamed to have that faithful fellow know how unjustly we had dealt with him in our thoughts. We left our lair and joined them at once. A hearty clasp of the hand and fervent thanks from all of us in turn, soon convinced them that we were indeed Yankees.

A generous loaf of corn bread and some sweet potatoes, nicely baked, in quantities to suit the demand, soon filled our empty stomachs. Say what we may, there is a very close affinity between one's stomach and that state of mind we call courage. Poorly fed and overworked troops will not and cannot fight with the courage of fresh troops with well-filled stomachs.

Negro Sympathizers

Our prospects, which a few moments before looked so dark, were now rose-colored. It was not altogether because we had satisfied the cravings of hunger and thereby invigorated our physical powers, that we felt renewed courage to endure the hardships before us; we now had evidence of the fidelity of the negroes to us as representatives of the great element of Freedom, then in combat with Slavery. We were now persuaded that we could trust the negroes as a class—not because of any sympathy they had for us personally, but because they appreciated the vital interests of their race in the struggle. The difficulties of the long and dangerous road before us seemed vastly lessened and to a great extent shorn of their terrors, for the majority of the inhabitants along our route were friends—ignorant, it is true; prisoners at large, so to speak—but nevertheless our friends, who would shield us so far as lay in their power, and, to the best of their ability, aid us on our journey.

These faithful friends also told us how our first friend had contrived to mislead the persons whom our unfortunate appearance at the church had put on our track. He managed to meet them on the road with his load of brush, and upon their inquiring if he had seen any strangers pass along, replied that he had, and that they had crossed the field and gone off in a direction opposite to our place of concealment. Believing his statement, they had followed the direction indicated by him.

We were warned, however, that they would probably get the dogs and put them on our track, and this did not serve to make us feel over secure; we therefore determined to make the greatest possible efforts in the way of traveling that night. Securing the remnants of our supper, and an old coverlid furnished by the negroes, we again started on.

As ill luck would have it, early in the evening we again incurred the risk of capture, by reason of what seemed to us the extraordinary religious excitement prevailing among the inhabitants of this region. We were traveling along the road, using, as we thought, all due care, when suddenly we came upon a private house, situated near the road, where there was another religious gathering. The door was open, and several persons were gathered around the outside. We passed along the road without attracting any particular notice, as we then thought; but we felt that our appearance then, coupled with our presence near the church the day before, might serve to put the hounds on our track. We pushed on, with beating hearts and accelerated speed. As we were passing the house, I heard for the first time the plantation hymn,

sung in melodious negro voices. There certainly never was a musical number more appropriate to the occasion.

We made a good night's march, of at least twenty miles. At daylight we again sought the cover of a thicket and were soon asleep. It would seem, that after our experience of the day before, we ought to have been satisfied to remain quiet that day; and probably we should have been, had it not been that about noon we heard the baying of hounds. Were they after us? We listened. They certainly were trending in the direction of our trail. What should we do? Remain and test the question as to whether the dogs were after us or other game; or should we risk traveling by daylight, and, if they were indeed after us, give them a long race. We decided on the latter course, and, taking our direction from the compass, we started on through the forest, running where the ground would admit of it, and again plunging through the most impenetrable thickets, to delay horsemen should they attempt to follow us.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, we came into the open, cultivated country. Here the greatest caution was needful. We were beside a fence, with a cornfield on one side and on the other an open, uncultivated space. Skulking, so as to keep our heads below the top of the fence, we were passing it.

We had nearly reached the end of the field, when on our right, in the cornfield, in a hollow that had concealed them from our sight, we came upon about twenty negroes of both sexes, two white men and one white woman, engaged in husking corn. They saw us about the same time we saw them; so, straightening ourselves up, we walked by them, trying to look as unconcerned as possible.

Hunted with Hounds

We passed the field and on into the woods beyond. At the first opportunity we halted, and one of our number skulked back to see what effect our sudden appearance had had upon the people in the cornfield. It took but a moment to satisfy ourselves on that score. They had scattered like a covey of quails at the approach of the hunter; all were running, some in one direction, some in another. It was very plain that the whole country would be aroused, and we should have the hunters upon our trail, if they were not already following us.

Now then, for it, boys! We must gain on them all we can. A short run brought us to a stream of water, and into it we went without a moment's hesitation. Turning our heads down stream, we floundered along—now over huge boulders, then into holes up to our chins, now through shallow rapids, and again through deep, still water. We were profiting by the lesson taught us by the South Carolina man-hunter in the swamps. The stream was rapid most of the way, and would carry our scent down with its turbulent waters.

We must stick to the stream as long as possible. Stop. What is this? A bayou putting into the stream, and overhung with willows on its banks. Here is our refuge. Wading out into the bayou and behind the willows, we are at least safe from observation. We have left no track since reaching the stream, and unless the hounds are sagacious enough to catch the scent from the air or water, they will be baffled. At all events, it is our only safety.

Hark! Do you hear it? Listen! Yes, here they come! Away up the creek, at regular intervals, the baying of the hounds can be distinctly heard. Now then, for it! Will they be able to discover our retreat? Listen. Do you hear them? No. They have ceased their infernal howl.

A long pause, and then the notes of the horn. Soon a noise along our side of the creek is heard. The hunters are upon us. The bayou is reached and crossed. On and on down the creek, out of sight and hearing. Thank God! Thank God! We are safe.

Hark! Not so fast! They are coming back. Nearer and nearer the sounds of the hunters come, on the other side of the creek, going up again. They have passed us, and again the sounds of the chase die out, and are heard no more.

We remained in the water, shivering until night, and then, exhausted as we were by cold, hunger, and excitement, traveled through the entire night, this time making twenty-five miles.

Just before daylight it commenced to rain: not a drizzling mist, but a regular, pouring rain, as though the clouds had a day's work to perform, and meant to get the most of it done before noon; a rain that not only wet to the skin, but gave you a good pelting besides. The reader will recollect that this was in October, and even in South Carolina the weather was not as warm as it might be. The nights, especially, were cold and unpleasant. It was no pleasing prospect, that of crawling into a thicket and lying down in the beating rain, with neither shelter nor fire; but, disagreeable as it was, we hailed the storm with rapture. We remembered the lesson of the man hunter in the swamps: "The rain gits us; dogs can't keep the scent after a smart rain." We knew, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the hunters would be able to get on our track in the morning; without this merciful rain, sent, as it seemed, by kind Providence, we should probably be overtaken before night.

Shivering, and nearly exhausted by fatigue and want of food, we crawled into a thicket, some twenty rods from the highway along which we had been traveling. Throwing ourselves down, we drew over us our one blanket and the old coverlid obtained from our black friend, and sought, by lying close to each other, to preserve enough of the natural heat of our bodies to prevent perishing from the cold. How we did suffer! It required all the force of will of which we were possessed, to prevent us from stirring around. It was only by keeping constantly before our minds the fact that if we attempted to travel or even to move among the wet bushes, it would be a very easy matter for the hounds to get our scent again, that we could keep still. So, with aching bones and chattering teeth, we lay there in the rain and waited.

The sun was up, but his rays could not penetrate the dense rain cloud. What a blessing to have been, if only for a few moments, warmed by his beams. We had the material to build a fire and relieve our sufferings; but to build a fire would have advertised our exact locality for miles around. Thus the tedious hours slowly passed.

About noon we were rewarded for our self-denial by seeing two horsemen and five hounds pass along the road. It required no stretch of imagination to determine their business. The men were armed with carbines, and were evidently searching for somebody, and we were strongly of the opinion that we knew who it was.

In the afternoon the sun came out once more, and, throwing off our wet blanket, we sunned ourselves in his cheering beams. But still we did not dare to stir around much. Our only safety consisted in keeping down the scent. If we started on then, through the wet bushes, we could easily be followed, for after our impromptu bath of the day before and our subsequent thorough drenching from the rain, it would not require a very sagacious dog to find us. We were nearer the road than we thought thoroughly safe; but we were afraid that if we attempted to put more distance between us and the road, we would run more risk of creating a scent that could be caught by the dogs than if we remained where we were.

About five o'clock in the afternoon we saw the same men and dogs returning. As they were about opposite us, one of the dogs, probably the leader, stopped, threw up his head, and snuffed the air for a moment as though there were some game near. Fortunately, the men did not notice him. After snuffing around for a while, he dropped his head and followed the other two brutes on horseback—on, and out of sight.

Hurrah! We were saved! Not by any skill of our own, but by the merciful interposition of Divine Providence, in sending the rain, and thus depriving our enemies of their only means of tracing us.

We had now been without food for about twenty-four hours. Our bodies were cramped, and our joints stiffened, by cold and exposure to the rain; yet we hailed the friendly darkness that closed around us, shielding us from observation, with feelings of gratitude to the Great Giver of All Good. We could endure hunger and fatigue vastly better than we could our forced inaction.

At the earliest practicable moment, therefore, we were again upon the road. Our greatest need just then was food. We were growing weak, and we knew that unless we could soon get relief our strength would entirely fail. We also knew that it would not do for us to attempt to visit negro quarters to procure supplies—the country was roused, and undoubtedly we were watched for. The negro quarters would of course be placed under surveillance.

We therefore concluded, to supply our pressing need, to depend upon our own resources, or rather upon our ability to forage upon the resources of the enemy. It was late at night, however, somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve o'clock, before we reached a plantation. Reconnoissance was made, and the location of the house and of the negro quarters ascertained. Avoiding the dwellings, we commenced a search for food. Sweet potatoes are usually abundant on Southern plantations at this time of year, but we were unable to find any. We found plenty of corn, but it was as hard as flint. We also found a quantity of the peas before described; and this was all that we could raise in the way of a supper. Skirting the plantation, we finally reached the highway beyond it. A consultation was held, and all the pros and cons of the situation discussed.

After due deliberation, we decided that it would not be safe to build a fire, as the light would betray us. We must do the best we could, with the raw material. So, dividing it between us, we munched the dry corn as we walked. We were our own millers, cooks, and bakers, but while our primitive repast served to maintain life and to a certain extent relieve us from the cravings of hunger, I cannot recommend it as a steady diet. It is open to very serious objections: first, want of variety; second, difficulty of mastication—one can grind corn with his teeth for an hour or two, but after that one's teeth get sore; thirdly, although hygienists tell us that to preserve health we should eat slowly, the process of masticating corn is altogether too slow for comfort. In fact one must eat all the time or go hungry, and if the mill be ever so much out of order, the grinding must still go on, or the baker and cook will be out of employment.

We were now near Savannah River, about two miles south of Abbeville, South Carolina. Since our adventure at the church, detailed above, we had been obliged to devote all our energies to saving ourselves from recapture. We had necessarily made many divergences from our line of march, so that while we had traveled a long distance we had gained but little, so far as reaching Sherman's lines was concerned. But we again took up our regular line of march, and there was but one obstacle in our way that caused us much uneasiness. The Savannah, a deep and rapid stream, was to be crossed. But two of our party could swim—Spencer and myself. Hatcher must be got over the stream in some way, but how? We had studied upon this difficulty for several days, and concluded, if we could do no better, to make a raft and float him over, provided we could find the materials with which to construct one. We did not dare take a boat, because if we left it on the opposite shore from which we got it, the enemy would certainly get on our track; while if we turned it adrift, after crossing, the fact that the boat was missing would serve the same purpose. After our success in getting rid of the hounds, we were determined not to have them again on our track if we could avoid it.

Slowly the long night passed away. I say slowly, because we were getting wretchedly tired and faint. Long exposure and excitement were beginning to tell upon us. It was only by the stern exercise of will that we were enabled to move at all. Under ordinary circumstances none of us would have believed himself capable of marching an hour. Daylight at length admonished us that we must again seek shelter for another twelve hours. It so happened that daylight overtook us in an open, cultivated country, and the best we could do was to crawl into a thicket in the midst of an open field, where we lay all day, alternately dozing and munching corn.

Friendly Blacks

At length darkness again closed around us. Exhausted, footsore, and almost disheartened, we once more started upon our tedious journey. Discovering a road not very well traveled, and evidently neither a turnpike nor a public highway, but running in the direction we wished to go, we concluded to follow it. This road, unfortunately as we then thought, led us to a plantation, and directly through the negro quarters. The planter's house was but a short distance from the quarters. It seemed a fearful risk to run, to attempt to pass at so short a distance from the house and through the quarters, so early in the evening. If we had not been so nearly exhausted, we certainly should not have attempted it; but to make a detour would have involved additional travel through the forest. We were just in that state of mind and body that, rather than incur any extra travel and add to the bruises and scratches on our already blistered feet and lacerated limbs, we preferred to take the extra risk, so we boldly pushed on. It was Sunday evening, and the cabins of the negroes were all closed, with one exception, and no one was stirring without. In passing the last cabin, I saw, through the only open door of the row, an old negro, apparently alone, sitting before the fire. Instantly I determined to appeal to him for help, and whispered this intention to my comrades. They hid in an angle of the fence while I boldly entered the cabin, closed the door, and locked it.

Those familiar with the construction of negro cabins, will at once understand how this was done. To those who are not, I will explain. Nearly all of the cabins are provided with a wooden bar, running across the door; so all that I had to do, was to take the bar standing near the door jambs, and drop it into the hasps.

The sudden apparition of a gaunt, unshaven man, clothed in rags, with famine stamped in every lineament, thus abruptly entering his hut, evidently startled the old man. Rising to his feet, he exclaimed: "Who is you?"

Walking up to him, I placed my hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye, asked: "Old man, if I place my life in your hands, will you betray me?"

I shall never forget the appearance of that man as I asked this question. He was, I should think, between sixty and seventy years of age, and his head white as snow. In his prime he must have been a fine specimen of a man, physically. Straightening his tall form he looked me over from head to foot.

"Who is you?" he asked again.

"I am a Yankee officer, escaped from a Rebel prison, and I am trying to reach the Yankee army," I replied; and again I asked, "Will you betray me?"

"No, sah, and dar ain't a nigga in Souf Car'lina dat would betray ye!"

I have seen some of our most gifted and celebrated orators, when they have seemed almost inspired; but never in my life did I see more dignity of deportment or a countenance display more nobility of soul, than did that old man's as he uttered this sentence.

While we were talking, a young negro woman, who had been lying on a bed at the back part of the room, and whom I had not observed before, got up, unbarred the door, and left the cabin.

In less than ten minutes, the room was filled with negroes of both sexes. Notwithstanding the assurance of the old man, I became uneasy. "For God's sake," I said, "don't let any more in."

Some one inquired, "Why?"

"I am afraid some of you may betray me," I replied; "and I would rather die than to be recaptured."

It was evident that the girl had told them who I was, from the remarks dropped by one and another.

"I'd jes' like to see the nigga as would do dat," said a young, stalwart negro.

"Pears to me dat you do'no who your frien's is," said another.

It took but a very few minutes to convince me that I had nothing to fear from that party, at all events. I then told them of my companions in the fence corner, and they were called in.

"Now, den, Massa," said the old man, "jest you tell us wot we can do for ye."

"We want something to eat, and we want to cross the Savannah River," I replied.

One motherly old woman, after peering into our faces, asked: "W'en did ye hab anyt'ing to eat las', honey?"

We told her.

"De Lord bress ye, honey, ye mus' be mos' starved!" she cried.

Here the old man broke in. He had evidently been revolving the matter in his mind.

"See here, Bob, you an' Jim take dese men out in de cornfield an' hide 'em. Mary, you go an' made dem some brof an' chicken fixin's. Ole Massa may come down heah, an' de debbil 'd be to pay, 'fore we know it. Den we'll see 'bout crossin' de ribber. I tell ye de Lord sent dese men heah to be took keer of, an' we're gwine to do it."

Following the directions of the old man, we were taken out into the middle of a large cornfield, where we remained while these good friends were preparing our supper.

Soon the old woman appeared, bearing a kettle of nourishing broth. Seating herself upon the ground, she commenced feeding us.

"Only tiny bit, Massa. Jes' tiny bit at a time. Lor' bress ye, honey, take yer time, dar's 'nough of it. I went an' killed some o' ole Massa's chickens, purpose fur ye. Specs he'd swear awful ef he knowed dat you uns was eatin' dem. When ye gits filled up wid some brof, I got de meat heah, an' sweet taters, an' hoe cake."

All the while she was talking, she kept the spoon busy, first ladling out the broth to one, and then to another of the party. At last she consented to let us have more substantial food, and the way the corn bread, sweet potatoes, and boiled chicken disappeared was wonderful.

"Ki-ki! 'Pears like ye was holler all de way down, don't it, honeys?" exclaimed the kind old woman. "Does me good to see ye eat. You'll feel a heap bettah when ye gits yer stomachs full. Ya-ya!"

But even our appetites were at length satisfied. Meanwhile, three stalwart negroes reported for duty. They were detailed to ferry us across the river, distant only about a mile. When ready to start, young and old gathered around us, and with a hearty grasp of the hand and a fervent "God speed!" they bade us good-bye; but not before furnishing us with cooked rations sufficient to last us five days.

Upon reaching the Savannah, a ferry-boat was stolen, and we were safely landed on the Georgia side. While crossing, I asked one of the negroes what would be the result to them, if it were known that they had assisted us in this manner.

"Golly, Massa, dey'd hang us to de fus tree!" was the reply.

These faithful fellows were not only ready to feed and shelter us, but they willingly risked their lives for us. We also obtained from them accurate knowledge of the movements of Sherman's troops only five days previous; and this, too, a hundred and fifty miles from the scene of action. How they obtained it they would not tell; but it was plain they had means of conveying intelligence in some way, probably from one plantation to another, by means of runners.

In truth, traveling by the underground railroad, as we did, associating with and depending upon slaves, we were enabled to judge of them with far greater accuracy than it would have been possible for us to do under any other circumstances. After the lapse of eighteen years, I may be credited with speaking dispassionately when I say that in my opinion they were, as a class, better informed of passing events and had a better idea of questions involved in the struggle between North and South, than the majority of that class known as the "poor whites" of the South. In this opinion I venture to say that I will be sustained by seven-eighths of our soldiers who had opportunities for forming an intelligent opinion. They were faithful to every trust imposed upon them by us, even to the imperiling of their lives. They were not only willing to divide their final crust with us, but to give us the last morsel of food in their possession. May my right hand wither, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, when I forget to be grateful to that people, or fail to advocate their cause, when their cause is just!

With our hearts overflowing with gratitude, we shook hands with our sable ferrymen, and bade them good-bye.

"Take keer ob yousel's, Massas; an' wen you comes back wid de army, don't forget Jake an' Tom, an' de res' ob us."

These were the last words we heard from the lips of our friends. We have not been able to hear anything from them since; but let the circumstances be what they may, those men and women who succored us in our great peril are my friends, and will be met and treated as such, wherever found, though their skins be darker, and their hair curl tighter than my own.

Difficulties, Day by Day

It was long past midnight before we were fairly upon our road again; yet we felt better able to travel twenty miles before daylight, than we did to travel five before finding friends and a supper. How changed our prospects from a few hours before! We were now buoyant and happy; difficulties that had seemed insurmountable had been met and conquered. We were invigorated with good food, and had enough more provided to last five days.

We were now in the county of Elbert. Shaping our course so as to flank the village of Elberton on the south, we started on in the direction of Carnesville. We had learned from the slave "telegraph line" that Sherman still held his lines between Atlanta and Chattanooga, but that our troops were falling back towards Tennessee. We made up our minds to strike the railroad at the nearest practicable point between Dalton and Atlanta.

A glance at the map will show the reader one of the many difficulties that beset our way. The country through which we were passing is well watered. Numerous small streams rise in the mountains and empty into the Savannah and Appalachicola rivers. Many of these were not bridged. Even when they were, we dared not attempt to use the bridges, for fear they might be guarded. Many of the streams are deep and rapid, and it was by no means pleasant fording them, for the nights were cold and frosty, even for that time of year. So, in shaping our course, we endeavored to keep as close to the heads of the streams as possible, without greatly increasing the distance to be traveled.

We were determined to use the greatest caution, to run no risks of being seen by a white man, and never again to get the hounds on our track, if we could possibly avoid it. We were satisfied that we had successfully baffled them this time, but our escape would be only by the merest chance should they again scent us. We also determined to husband our provisions, and, if possible, make them last us through. In fact, we were in such buoyant spirits over our good fortune in securing them and getting across the big river, that it seemed as though all difficulties were now cleared from our path; as though all we had to do was to march ahead in order to succeed—another evidence of the close affinity existing between the mind and stomach.

The time lost in the society of our black friends necessarily made our journey that night a short one. We had made no more than ten miles, when daylight again compelled us to seek safety in a thicket. The next night we traveled twenty-five miles, as nearly as we could judge, without an incident worthy of mention. The same may be said of the two or three nights that followed. We averaged about twenty-five miles a night, until we reached the vicinity of Gainesville.

On reaching this point, we were in something of a dilemma in regard to crossing the Chattahoochee River. The stream was about eighteen rods in breadth at the point where we desired to cross. We could see that it was rapid, but we had no means of determining its depth. We were anxious to reach the river before daylight, so as to have the advantage of the light in reconnoitering and finding a safe place for fording; but daylight overtook us while still about five miles from the stream.

We were in a very dense forest, with heavy undergrowth. We again concluded to risk traveling to the river by daylight, and, if possible, selecting a crossing place. Pushing forward, we reached the bank of the stream without accident. Here we found several wild-grape vines, loaded with fine fruit, and differing from any other species I ever saw, in that the grapes grew singly instead of in clusters. They were large and luscious, although the skin was thick and tough; otherwise, there was nothing in the appearance or taste to distinguish them from the largest varieties of cultivated grapes. We soon stripped the vines, and converted Confederate grapes into a Yankee dinner.

We felt somewhat discouraged at the prospect facing us. The river was evidently too deep to ford at this point. We could discover no boat on our side of the stream. Opposite, a house was in sight; on our side, near us, a plantation. As far as the eye could reach, up and down the river, the country was under cultivation. We tried to find driftwood with which to construct a raft, but were unable to do so.

At night, we were no nearer accomplishing our purpose than we were in the morning. We concluded, however, to push on up stream, in the hope of finding either a boat or a landing place; so, following the bank, we came at length to a place where a road led into the river, suggesting a ford, and made up our minds to attempt a crossing. Taking off our clothing, we started in.

Whew! But the water was cold! If the place was in reality ever used as a ford, I must say that the people who used it were not very particular about having a bottom for a good portion of the way; and where there was bottom, it was shockingly rough. The water averaged five feet in depth, varying from one foot to eight. Taking it in the night, with no knowledge of the river, was not only very unpleasant, but highly dangerous.

We hoped to save our clothes from getting wet, but in this most signally failed. In fact, each of the party, at different times, was under water, struggling for life; but we crossed at last. Wringing the water from our clothing as best we could, we dressed ourselves, and started on.

We had proceeded but a few rods, when lo! here was another river right before us. We consulted our map and compass. We were not mistaken in our direction. We wanted to go west. The map laid down only one river, running south. We had crossed from the east to the west bank; and yet, going west, we were confronted with another river, running north. What could it mean? I do not think I was ever so puzzled in my life. We retraced our steps to make sure we were not mistaken as to the direction of the first stream. There was no mistake; the river laid down on the map was the Chattahoochee. We had passed that; still within sixty rods, was another of about the same size, running north. Simple as was the solution of the problem, I do not believe any circumstance during the entire trip caused me more uneasiness for the time being. I began to distrust map and compass. We soon discovered that the river at this place merely ran in the shape of an ox bow. Afterwards we had many a hearty laugh over the matter, but at the time our perplexity was far from amusing.

It will be observed that our general direction was northwest; yet actually, for various causes—traveling in the night through a strange country, divergences when pursued by the dogs, and occasionally losing our way—the route we actually followed was crooked and erratic. The distance we traveled was in the neighborhood of three hundred and fifty miles.

It would be tedious to narrate each day's experience; therefore I will confine myself to incidents that seem to me to be of special interest.

The provisions furnished by our black friends at the time we crossed the Savannah, were at length exhausted. We concluded again to recruit them at the first opportunity, but for some reason this seemed long in coming. However, early one morning, after crossing Etowah River, and secreting ourselves in the brush, we heard voices, and soon afterwards footsteps, which we discovered to belong to two young negroes. We at once made ourselves known, and asked them to supply our wants. This they promised to do during the day, and just at dark they appeared with some provisions, sufficient to fill our empty stomachs, and begged to be permitted to accompany us. This request we dared not grant, for this would unquestionably have put the man-hunters again upon our track. If caught under such circumstances, we would be treated to a speedy passage to the celestial regions, without calling into practice the services of judge or jury. Selfish reasoning this, no doubt, but quite sufficient for three feeble and well-nigh exhausted fugitives.

We were now within some sixty miles of where we supposed our lines to be, and concluded to divide the distance that night, so as to be able to reach the army the following night. But after traveling until three o'clock in the morning, the supper of the evening before had served its purpose. We were like the nightingale in the fable of the "Nightingale and the glow-worm," beginning to feel the keen demands of appetite.

During all this time Spencer had saved a few spoonfuls of flour. We thought we should never need it more than we did just then. My old kettle was brought into requisition, a small fire kindled, and the flour converted into gruel. This consumed, we went on.

By the map, we were nearing Jasper, the seat of Pickens County, about forty miles from Calhoun, the point at which we were aiming to strike our lines. As we were winding along the side of a hill, at a turn of the road, there stood within a couple of rods of us a man with a gun in his hand. It was just in the grey of the morning.

A Cautious Picket

A man was the last object we wished to see just then, unless he happened to be clad in Federal blue, and this fellow was in Confederate grey. If we could, we would have avoided his acquaintance. In truth, we could not have encountered a more startling object. Under such circumstances men think quickly. Avoid him we could not. If we ran, he would shoot, and it struck me quite forcibly that the gun was a thing to gain control of, so I jumped for him. To my astonishment, he exclaimed in startled tones: "Who is you, Mars?"

In appearance he was a white man; his dialect was that of a negro.

"Who are you?" I inquired.

"I'se Mars Jackson's boy."

"You don't pretend you are a slave?"

"Yes, Mars."

"What are you doing with that gun?"

"Mars tole me I might go out coonin'."

I knew negroes, as a rule, were not to be trusted with a gun for such purposes; this, together with the color of his skin, which was as white as ours, caused us to distrust his story, and we began to quiz him:

"See here. You don't look like a nigger. You're a white man. What do you want to deceive us for?"

"I'se not tryin' to deceib you. I'se tole you uns the truf, shore."

"Whose gun is that?"

"Dat gun? Dat—dat's Mars Jackson's gun."

"How long is it since your master trusted you with a gun? That story won't hold water."

"Sho' as you lib, Mars, dat's Mars's gun; he tole me to take it an' come out heah an'—an'—look fer coon."

"Yes, and you found three of them, eh?"

The fellow grinned. At length he asked, "Is you Jordan's men?"

We had heard of Jordan, a Confederate guerrilla said to infest the country near this point.

"No," I answered. "Are you?"

"No, Mars Jordan don't want no niggas in his band."

"Who do you belong to, then? Come, you might as well tell the truth!"

"I tole you, I'se Mars Jackson's nigga."

It would be tedious to follow out a conversation that occupied the better portion of an hour. Suffice it, that after a time the man convinced us that he was in reality a slave. Then we told him truthfully who we were. At this he seemed filled with terror, and evidently did not believe us. Finally we sat down and talked with him until we convinced him of our character. We showed him the compass, but he could comprehend nothing of its uses; it excited his curiosity, but nothing more. Then we showed him our map, and explained to him how we used it: showed him our route from Branchville, and at last, when we came to the place where we had crossed the river (Etowah), he laughed outright.

"Golly, Mars! De ribber is more'n so fah from heah," marking on his finger-nail the space indicated on the map.

We explained to him that the map was drawn on a certain scale, representing certain distances, etc. After a while we told him that just before we had left Charleston, Spencer had received a letter from his home in Wisconsin. This letter Spencer read rapidly aloud. The negro, for such he really was, pondered on this for awhile, and finally said: "I blieb you couldn't make up dat so fas' as dat."

At last convincing him of our truthfulness, we began to question him as to the road, the chances of getting provisions, etc., when he said: "Ef you uns is Yankees, you is all right, foh it's jes a little way to the camp of de Home Geards."

The Home Guard

Supposing that this was of course a Confederate organization, I asked how we should get past them.

"You doesn't want to git past 'em," he replied. "Go right in dar, and dey'll gib you somet'ing to eat. Dey's Union men, dey is, an' has got a camp an' geards, an' all dat. Dey's fightenin' Jordan's men ebery day mos'."

This information was startling, and it took the sentinel, for such he proved to be, a long time to convince us he was telling the truth. At length we agreed to the following conditions for accepting his guidance: One of us was to carry the gun, the two others were to carry clubs, and he was to pilot us to the camp of the Home Guards. On the first evidence of his having deceived us, we were to kill him.

To this he assented, and under his leadership we started forward. Soon we reached a log house, and he went to the door and knocked. There was considerable delay about opening the door; so much, that our suspicion was aroused. At length the door was partly opened, and a woman's face appeared. She recognized our guard and he briefly informed her who we were. She hardly trusted him, but after a brief parley we were admitted. We told her frankly who we were, and she supplied our wants as well as she could from her own limited resources, at the same time informing us that her husband was in the house when we arrived, but that he had hastily taken himself to the brush. We afterwards learned the cause.

We had proceeded but a short distance from the house when we discovered in the road ahead of us, a mounted picket, dressed in Confederate grey.

To describe our feelings at the sight, is impossible. My first impulse was to turn and fly. I grasped my club with fierce energy, with the mental vow that if that negro had betrayed us into the hands of our enemies I would send him to his long home, if my life paid the forfeit. Not a word was spoken until the picket challenged, "Who goes there?"

"Friends," replied Spencer.

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."

"We have no countersign," I replied.

"Who are you?"

My voice trembled as I replied, "Escaped Union prisoners."

"All right. Come in."

"Wait a moment. Are you a Union man?"

"I just am that. I belong to the Home Guard."

"Well, who are the Home Guard?"

"Union men, belonging around here. Come along. We will take care of you."

"All right," we replied, and under his guidance we moved forward.

We soon reached the camp, more properly the rendezvous, of the command. We found perhaps a dozen men, all armed, in and around a small but comfortable log house. The guard reported us to one whom he saluted as Major, who immediately put us through a thorough questioning. We told him who we were, and the rank and regiment of each. We showed him our letters, and, among other things, our compass and map.

After undergoing a rigid examination, we were successful in convincing our new-found Union men that we were in very truth Yankees and escaped prisoners, and we were permitted to go where we pleased, being cautioned, however, that it was highly dangerous to stray far from camp. Immediately after our examination was closed, one of the men came up to us and said, "Did you uns stop at a house back here, this morning?"

"We stopped there, certainly," I replied; "and the woman gave us a good breakfast. Why do you ask?"

"I only wanted to be sure that you were the ones stopped there. That was my house. I made tracks out of the back door and took to the brush, when you went in at the front."

"Why did you do that? Why were you frightened at our approach?"

"Well," said he, "I'll just tell ye. We're mighty scary 'bout strangers comin' to our houses, jest now. 'Taint more'n a month since one of Jordan's Band came to the house of my neighbor, not more'n a mile from heah, an' let on he was a Union man, an' wanted to join the Home Guards, and his wife sent to the bush an' had her husband come in. But afore he got clar into the house a dozen of Jordan's men come out'n the bush, an' they just took an' tied him hand an' foot, mutilated him in the most horrid manner, an' then, bleeding as he was, they hung him to a tree right in sight of his own house. I tell ye, stranger, it stan's a man in hand to look out for himself these times. If I'd knowed who you was, I wouldn't have run into camp, as I did."

While we were talking, a little group of men gathered around us, listening to the conversation. Our looks must have expressed incredulity. In fact it was hard, soldiers as we were, used to scenes of blood and brutality upon the battlefield, to believe it possible that such hellish deeds could have been enacted in a Christian land.

"Reck'n that's a pretty tough yarn to believe, now, ain't it?" said a tall, gaunt specimen of a North Georgia man. "But I tell you it's true, every word of it. I seed it with my own eyes. I helped to cut him down and bury him—and he ain't the only one that's been served that way."

Among the Georgia Unionists

Looking around, a little later, we saw in the field at a short distance, three or four men at work digging sweet potatoes—each man with a musket strapped to his back.

I had read in histories of the early settlement of the Eastern States, and of pioneering in the West, incidents corresponding in some respects with this. There was, however, one radical difference between the cases of our pioneers and the Georgia Unionists. The former were compelled to defend themselves against the North American savages, in a war prosecuted without regard to the laws governing civilized nations; but this was in the interior of Georgia, one of the older States, in the noon-tide of the nineteenth century. These men were not warring with savages, but with their fellow men of the same race, with their neighbors, their former friends and acquaintances.

Here were about a hundred men banded together for mutual protection—Union men, who had voted against secession, who had refused to join in that fratricidal step, and who were in sympathy with the North in desiring to maintain and preserve the Union. When conscripted into the Confederate army they fled to the mountains, and were there hunted like wild beasts, and when pressed like them, stood at bay. Their wives and little ones had tilled the soil, and managed to raise enough corn and sweet potatoes to maintain life, and to send to the hiding places of their husbands and fathers and brothers, supplies from this meagre store, as occasion required.

To this class were added those who were so unfortunate as to have been captured—forced into the Southern service by conscription, and who had subsequently escaped and returned to their homes. So soon as they were in sufficient numbers to warrant it, they had left their places of concealment and formed an organization for mutual protection. They were armed with muskets, carbines, revolvers, shot-guns—anything that would shoot.

They had made one or two raids on the planters in the lowlands, known to be prominent Confederates, and had supplied themselves with provisions. The exigencies of the Southern cause had compelled that government to put into the field every available man. The theatre of activity being so far removed from here, however, had, to a certain extent, protected these mountaineers from attack by any detachment of the Confederate army.

There was, however, a guerrilla company, known as Jordan's Band, used by the Confederates as scouts, whose business it was to give information of the movements of Sherman's forces, which were located on the railroad. They waylaid foraging parties, bushwhacked pickets, etc. Well armed and mounted, they outnumbered the Home Guards nearly two to one. With this band the Home Guards were constantly fighting. It was a war of extermination between them. No prisoners were taken by either side. When we arrived in camp they were momentarily expecting an attack. The men were stationed where they could overlook the different roads, with orders, if attacked, to fall back slowly to camp, sending in information to the commander, Major McCreary, so that he might put his men in the best possible position to receive the enemy.

The Home Guards were outside any regular military organization, but were most desirous of entering the United States service. They were not so anxious for the pay they would then be entitled to draw, as they were to procure good arms and clothing, and to be entitled to the protection of the government, as regularly-organized soldiers. They begged of us to represent their case to our government, and see if this could not be accomplished. I may as well state right here, that information concerning their case was promptly filed in the War Department, but I could never learn that it was acted upon.

With few exceptions, these were rough, unlettered men, without even the rudiments of an education. But they were generous, hospitable, brave, and Union men to the core; men who would suffer privations, and death itself, rather than array themselves in strife against the Stars and Stripes, the emblem of the country they loved. All the power of the Confederate government could not compel them to fight against it. Uneducated though they were, under their homespun jackets beat hearts pure as gold, and stout as oak.

These were the men to whom Providence had directed our steps. We were invited into the house, and after eating a good dinner and enjoying the luxury of a bath—more strictly speaking, a good, thorough wash from head to foot—we were provided with good beds. What a treat! Soft, clean beds, for men who for six months had thought a blanket a luxury, and who for the last twenty days had turned day into night and slept in the woods, with no kindly covering but the sky—depending upon the rays of the sun for warmth; all the time with a sense of danger hovering over us that would only permit brief and troubled rest, liable to be broken should a leaf fall, or a twig snap. Throwing ourselves into bed, we were soon lost in quiet, refreshing sleep, from which we did not awaken until long after daylight the next morning. We now felt like new men, and after a hearty breakfast were eager to take the road as soon as circumstances should permit, certainly by the time darkness should again make it prudent.

Our new friends would not for a moment listen to this proposition. We must stay and rest, they said, and when fit to travel some of them would accompany us to Sherman's lines. The roads were scouted during the night by Jordan's men, and the chances were two to one in favor of our being recaptured. They could not go with us that night, and perhaps not the next, because they were expecting an attack. So soon as the emergency had passed, and it was safe to proceed, they promised to take us on our way.

It was hard to act upon this prudent advice. Our patience was sorely tried. Only forty miles separated us from our lines, and from telegraphic communication with wife and home. One night or two at most, would finish the journey. It was hard to wait, but discretion and the urgent advice of friends prevailed. We consented to remain, provided they would furnish us with any kind of arms, and permit us temporarily to volunteer in the Home Guards, and in case of a fight to participate in it. To this proposition they gave a cordial assent. I was furnished with a revolver, and Spencer and Hatcher with other weapons.