In and Out of Rebel Prisons

CHAPTER XIII.

Wrapping a small stone in this note, I sauntered along near where he was pacing his beat, and, watching my opportunity, when none of the other guard were looking, tossed the note to him and sat down under the shade of a small tree to await the result. It would be impossible to describe with what feelings of hope, doubt, anxiety, and fear I awaited the answer to this note, as he paced his beat carefully reading it.

If he consented, I was free; but if he refused and reported me to Captain Semple for attempting to bribe him, there was no telling what would be my punishment; for attempting to bribe a sentry on duty was no slight offense. The stake for which I was playing was a great one, and the hazard was equally great. It was liberty on the one hand, and perhaps death on the other. No wonder then that the moment was an anxious one.

After carefully reading it, he walked to the farther end of his beat and wrote on the back of the note, and wrapped a stone up in it, and, on his return, when opposite where I sat, after cautiously glancing around, tossed it back to me. This act satisfied me that my secret was safe, at least; but when I read his answer, my gratitude to this noble friend was greater than I could express. He wrote: “I do not want your money; but if you will come just as the moon goes down and throw a pebble at my feet I will leave my beat; but be very careful not to make any noise.” With a joyful heart I hurried to my companions to tell them the good news.

That was a busy day for me. I bought some flour, sweet potatoes and meat, and commenced making biscuit, roasting sweet potatoes, and frying meat to fill our haversacks. This, with our slight conveniences for cooking, was no easy task. I made two dozen biscuits; and this, with our other provisions filled our haversacks, and together with our blankets, overcoats, etc., was about all we could carry. Having completed our preparations, I went to where Col. Miller and Lieut. H. H. Lyman had taken up their quarters, which consisted of a dry goods box with one end knocked out, and about half long enough to cover their bodies. They were both too ill to build a brush tent as I had done. I told them that I was going to take a walk the next morning, and asked them to move into my tent, and if I was brought back I would take it back, but if not, then it was theirs, together with the mattress, extra blankets, and cooking utensils.

We then lay down and took a good sleep and rest, waiting for the moon to set, which would be at three o’clock.

By that hour we had eaten our breakfast, picked up what we intended to carry, and cautiously, one by one, gathered under a tree, a few feet from the dead line, where, concealed in the shade, we could plainly see my friend pacing up and down his beat. When the moon had disappeared long enough so that it was quite dark, I tossed a pebble, which struck right at his feet, at which he said in a low tone, “all right” and walked away, and commenced talking to the other sentry.

This was our opportunity, and lying flat on the ground, we crawled across the guard line like so many snakes. There were seven of us, viz.: Captains Geere, Hock, Eastmond, Hays, and Cratty, and Lieutenant Winner and myself. Having all got across, we raised up and stole softly away. We had not gone far, however, before some one stumbled over some dry brush in the darkness, which made considerable noise and attracted the attention of one of the guard, who immediately sent a bullet in our direction and called out lustily: “Corporal of the guard, post number fo.” This was followed by other shots; but they could only shoot in the direction of the noise, and if ever seven fellows made good time, we did for about half a mile, till we gained a small patch of woods. We did not stop here long, but getting our direction, we made for another and larger woods about three miles away.

We entered these woods just as it was getting light; and making our way far into its dark recesses, made our camp for the day. We could plainly hear the reveille in the prison camp, from where we lay that morning, and would not have been surprised to have heard the dogs on our trail that day. But the dogs had been kept pretty busy for the past few days, and were perhaps busy then, following some other track. We spread down our blankets and took a nap for an hour or two, and then after eating a light breakfast, commenced perfecting our plans for the future.

We each cut a good, stout hickory staff, and then agreed upon our manner of march. Captain Geere, who had escaped once before and been recaptured, was chosen leader, and we were to march in single file, about ten paces apart, Geere first, Eastmond next, myself third, and the others behind. If the leader saw any danger, he was to raise his hand as a signal for all to drop down; and if he wanted to consult, he would stop and wait for us to come up.

The moon was full, and shone brightly nearly all night; so that when we were in the open road, these signals could be plainly seen by the man next behind, who was to raise his hand, and so pass the signal back to the rear. About ten o’clock that night we started for the road, which we had reconnoitered and found during the day. We had nearly reached the road, when we heard a dog baying as though on a trail of some kind, and also heard the voices of men shouting to him. Making quite a long detour, we again approached the road, this time where the timber was sparse, and the greensward soft beneath our feet. Captain Geere had just reached the middle of the road, and Captain Eastmond was near the edge of the woods, when suddenly a large white dog, with a loud bay attacked Geere. I was near enough to see Geere swinging his stick in front of the dog to keep him off, and dropped flat down. I saw two armed men come up and silence the dog, but waited for no more, and stealthily glided away as fast as I could, back into the woods.

The greensward beneath my feet, the barking of the dog, and the loud talking of the men, prevented them from hearing me, and I assure you it was not long before I was out of their hearing, no matter how much noise I had made. I was all alone, and did not know in what direction I was running, I only knew I was getting away from the sound of that dog. I had run, I should judge, about a mile, when I again came to the road and crossed it. Soon getting into a swampy piece of ground, I climbed over fallen trees, plunged into mud holes, tore through brier bushes, and stumbled over stumps, and finally sat down, completely out of breath, to listen.

It was now about 11 o’clock, and there was not a sound to be heard. After listening some time I again started for the road, feeling that I must make the balance of the tramp alone. I soon found the road, and then put in some of the tallest walking I had ever done, knowing that every stride I made was a stride towards safety. I had walked about five miles, as near as I could judge, and had just come to the open country again, when from the fence beside the road just behind me, I heard my name spoken; and knowing that no one but my comrades would know my name, I at once halted and answered. It proved to be Captain Hock and Adjutant Winner, who had heard me coming and waited for me.

We pushed on rapidly, knowing that our safety depended on the distance we placed between ourselves and Columbia that night, and at daylight went into camp in a piece of woods about fifteen miles from Columbia. I did not take any blanket with me; but had a good overcoat, which we spread on the ground, and covering ourselves with the blankets of Hock and Winner, slept soundly until about ten o’clock, when we awoke and took our breakfast of two biscuits each, and spent the balance of the day in chatting, smoking, snoozing, etc. About half past nine that evening (the 14th) we started on again, proceeding cautiously in single file, but we did not make more than twelve miles that night, on account of being obliged to make a long detour two or three times, to flank some wagons that had camped beside the road, on their way to market at Columbia.

People going to market there are frequently eight or ten days on the road, camping like gypsies, wherever night overtakes them. They would build a fire beside the road, and cook their supper, picket their horses, and go to sleep in their covered wagons.

In these detours, we sometimes came across a few sweet potatoes, or some corn in the field, which we would gather to roast for our breakfast. In fact, after the third day, our biscuits were all gone, and we had nothing to eat except what we could thus find along the road. On the third night out, my legs began to pain me, and the next morning they were quite swollen and inflamed. This was Sunday, and we camped in a pine grove, near a clear brook; and after breakfast I took a good bath in the cold water, and felt quite refreshed after it. That night, just after we started, we found a guide board, and mounting Captain Hock’s shoulders, I got near enough to read that we were thirty-four miles from Columbia, having averaged not quite twelve miles a night.

ESCAPED PRISONERS SEARCHING FOR THE ROAD AT NIGHT.

Being now out of provisions, much of our time was spent in looking for sweet potatoes along the road. Sometimes we would see a nice patch in front of some wayside house; but almost every house had a dog or two, and they ever seemed on the alert for tramps; and it was quite a risk to attempt to dig sweet potatoes with those dogs making such a racket, and we were often glad enough to get away without being detected, and even without the desired potatoes. How those dogs would bark! It seemed as though they would arouse the whole neighborhood with their eternal yelping. I took a solemn oath during that journey that if I ever lived to get free, I would thereafter shoot every dog I could find, and I pretty near kept that oath, too. We were not so much afraid of their biting us as we were that they would be followed by their masters with loaded guns; and often we would make a detour of a mile, rather than have attention attracted to us by those yelping curs.

The fifth night of our tramp was cloudy and dark, so much so that the little North Star, that had thus far been our guide, as well as the full moon that had lighted up our road, was completely hidden from our view, and we were left to grope our way as best we could. In the darkness we came to where the roads forked, and although there was a guide board, it was in vain that I tried by mounting Captain Hock’s shoulders and lighting matches, to read the directions, to find which road led in the right direction.

After talking the matter over, and consulting our little map as well as we could by the aid of lighted matches, we took the road to the right, and although it may seem paradoxical, for this once right was wrong.

We traveled on this road two or three miles, when we were satisfied that we should have taken the other fork, but thinking we would come to a road soon that bore in the right direction, we kept plodding along in the darkness and finally in the rain, and when near daylight we went into camp, we only knew we were in the woods somewhere in South Carolina, but in what particular portion of that state we could not tell. Of one thing we were satisfied, and that was that we were tired out and half starved. We spread our blankets on the wet ground and, with the rain falling in our faces, slept as soundly as though our bed was one of down instead of the wet ground.

Awaking about 10 o’clock, I started out on a reconnoissance, and, after carefully skirmishing around for an hour, found that we were near the Saluda river, and that there was a ferry near by, the river at this point being very wide. We did not wish to cross this river, and had tried hard to avoid it, but by taking the wrong road at the forks had run right onto it.

Instead of laying by this day, we started out to try to find a road that led in the right direction. We found some persimmons, which we gathered and ate to satisfy our hunger; but tramped all day in the rain until 4 o’clock in the afternoon before we found a road that seemed to run in the direction we wished to go. When we finally came to a road that seemed to point to the northwest, we pushed on rapidly for sixteen miles before halting, although we were hungry and tired; and when we finally came to another guide board, we found that we were only forty-four miles from Columbia. This was Tuesday, the 18th, and we had left Columbia the morning of the 14th, thus making an average of only eleven miles a day, or rather a night.

We had nothing to eat but raw corn, which we shelled from the cob, and munched as we walked. My legs had now became swollen and inflamed to such an extent that, had I been at home, I would not have thought I could walk a dozen blocks, still we marched sixteen miles that night, and the next morning we went into camp within the sound of passing cars. That night we started out again, but had not gone more than half a mile before we again came upon the river. This was discouraging for, as I have said, we did not wish to cross the river but to go in a parallel direction, and this road ended at a ferry.

There was nothing to do but go back and try to find a road that branched off from the one we were just traveling. The country through which we were passing was densely wooded, and the weather was cloudy and rainy, and, after tramping all day and all the next night, we finally went into camp again; but where we could not tell, except that it was in the woods. We had traveled hither and thither for thirty-six hours without anything to eat.

After resting and sleeping until about 11 o’clock in the forenoon, we started out again to find a road. We found a corn field in which some beans had been planted between the hills, and gathered the ears of corn and picked some of the beans, which we shelled and cooked in a tin plate that I had brought along. We were near a spring of water, and, by placing the tin plate on three stones and building a fire with twigs under it, we could, by frequently pouring in water from a tin cup, manage to keep them from burning until they were soft enough to eat. It took a good deal of time and patience to cook enough for three in this way; but by working faithfully all day, I cooked enough to make us think we had had quite a dinner.

During the day, Captain Hock in skirmishing around the woods came across four or five shoats and an old sow feeding on the nuts and persimmons, and tried by shelling corn to coax them near enough to knock one over to cook for rations; but they were so wild he could not get near enough to capture one. He worked a long time to gain their confidence; and they would come within a few feet, and then, with a loud snort, would scamper off into the woods again, patiently followed by the Captain. Finally, however, he was obliged to give up the chase, and the prospects of a good dinner vanished.

About four o’clock we found a road, and then completely tired out, we lay down and slept. It was nearly midnight when we started on, and then it was with difficulty that I could walk at all. My legs gave me such pain that it seemed as if they would break off at every step. They were swollen to three times their natural size and were so inflamed that I thought I would be obliged to give up. The agony I suffered that night can never be told, but I would not let my comrades halt for my sufferings, and they would not go on without me—God bless them! They would not desert me, but rather stay and share my fate, whatever it might be. I never can forget those two noble comrades, who so faithfully stood by me, when, by leaving me behind, as I begged of them to do, they, who were strong and hearty, could have made double the distance I could make in my enfeebled condition.

We soon found the railroad, and knowing that it would take us to Knoxville, where we were making for, we started along the track. Although my sufferings were almost unbearable, I trudged along uncomplainingly, for I would not impede their progress; and when, shortly after, we came in sight of a covered bridge, which we thought might be guarded, I volunteered to make a reconnoissance, for I thought it better for me to be re-taken than either of them.

Fortunately, there was no guard at the bridge, and we crossed. Captain Hock was obliged to crawl across on his hands and knees for fear of falling, as there was nothing but the ties and stringers to cross on and it made him dizzy to walk upright. After crossing this bridge, we came to a sweet potato patch and filled our haversacks so as to have a breakfast.

Just at daylight that morning, we met a negro going to work in a mill; but, as we were afraid to trust him, we did not speak except to say “good morning” as we passed. This was the first person, black or white, that we had met since our escape, and we had then been out six days. We went into a piece of woods near by, and I cooked sweet potatoes in that tin plate nearly all day to satisfy our appetites.

We had our camp this day in a small thicket near a sweet potato field; and, knowing that we could lay in a good supply after dark, we cooked and ate all we wanted of our former supply. It kept me pretty busy cooking them in that tin plate, as I was obliged to slice them up and then keep adding water as it boiled away; but we managed to make out a good dinner, and then lay down and slept until nearly dark. We made our supper on some of the potatoes that I had roasted in the hot embers, so we had a variety that day, boiled sweet potatoes for dinner, and sweet potatoes roasted for supper. After supper we went into the field, and filled our haversacks for the next morning’s breakfast. It was hard digging, as the soil was gravelly, and we had nothing but our fingers to dig with.

If any one thinks that a peck of sweet potatoes is not heavy, let him try carrying a peck all night, and walk the railroad ties. This, the seventh night, we started out early, taking the railroad track, which would take us direct; but it was hard walking, and especially for me, as my legs were so swollen and lame. I had been obliged on account of my swollen feet and limbs to cut off the legs of my cavalry boots, and split down the vamp nearly to the toe, to make them more roomy and comfortable, for my stockingless feet.

I used to think during that tramp on the railroad, how much better walking it would be, if they would place the ties straight across the road bed, and at an equal distance apart, say about eighteen inches, instead of putting every third or fourth one on a bias. We dis-cussed this thing pretty thoroughly during the time we were engaged as track-walkers between Columbia and Wallhalla, and came to the conclusion that a reform was necessary, in this regard.

We were continually obliged to take one or two short steps and then a long one, and if the reader does not believe that to be tiresome, let him try it for two or three hundred miles, and he will believe that I am right, and that I know something about how railroads ought to be built for foot passengers. At any rate, I was so completely used up by one o’clock that night that I tried to have my comrades go on and leave me to try to get some negro to take care of me until I was able to resume my journey. I told them that it was impossible for me to proceed; but they said they would go into camp there, and see what success I met with in finding shelter.

We went into a piece of woods near the railroad and in sight of the village of Greenwood, S. C., at one o’clock in the morning, and lay there all day, watching for some negro to come along the road, which here ran along the railroad. Towards night, I walked out to the railroad, and saw a negro coming along on horse back. I sat upon the fence with my blue overcoat on, and the following dialogue took place:

“Hello uncle!”

“Howde massa?”

“Uncle, did you ever see a Yankee?”

“No sah, I spects I never did.”

“Well, now, take a good look at me and you’ll see one.”

“Is you a Yankee, massa?”

“Yes, I am a Yankee, and I want you to help me. You know we are going to make the darkies all free. We are your friends. I have been a prisoner at Columbia, and have escaped to get back North; but I am sick, and cannot go any farther until I get better. Now I would like to go home with you and have you take care of me until I am able to travel again, and I will pay you well for your trouble.”

“Well massa, you see I would like to do it mighty well; but I live six miles back, and there’s so many chiller bout dare, and all the house servants dey can’t be trusted. Our oberseer he’s a black man, but he do any ting massa say. I don’t dare trust him, and if dey kotch me, dey’d hang me, sure. But ders a collored fellah up the road, ‘Free Mitchell,’ he’ll keep you if you get dere.”

After making inquiries how to find “Free Mitchell,” and getting as definite directions as it was possible to obtain from a black, which was quite vague, I bid him “good bye,” after enjoining the strictest secrecy, and receiving his most solemn promise not to say a word. I went back to my comrades, and reported what I had done, and proposed that as soon as it was dark we should hunt up this free negro, and try and get help.

Soon after dark, we all started and walked two miles to the little village of Greenwood. Thinking by the directions given, that we were nearing the house, Hock and Winner lay down in the corner of the fence to wait until I could find this place of refuge, and, if possible, bring them something to eat.

CHAPTER XIV.

When I parted from them, Captain Hock, with his usual thoughtfulness and generosity, took out his pocket book and divided the contents with me, saying I might need more than he would. I sat down in the shadow of a large pine tree that stood close to the road, and, after about half an hour, I heard someone approaching from the direction of the village; and thinking it might be my companions, I waited until a large negro came up. Just as he passed me, I stepped up behind him and touched him on the shoulder, at the same time saying, “hello!” I think that negro jumped two feet straight up, when I thus abruptly saluted him. As soon as he could speak, he said, “Golly, massa, how you skeered me!”

I asked him where he was going, and he said he “done got a pass from de massa to go see his wife, about two miles up de road.”

“Well,” said I, “then you go past Free Mitchell’s, don’t you?”

“No, not zacly; but I go right near.”

“Well, Uncle,” said I, “I am going to Free Mitchell’s, and if you show me to his house, here is a dollar for you.”

“All right, massa; but you walk behind aways, for if we meet any one, and dey see me wid a white man, dey’ll take me back agin, sure.”

So we started on, and after walking about two miles came to a small cabin in the woods. My guide went in and called out the owner, who proved to be an intelligent looking mulatto, and who said he was “Free Mitchell.”

I told him who I was and who had directed me to him, and asked him if he could keep and feed me for a few days, telling him that I had plenty of money to pay for the trouble I should cause him. But he said he would not dare even to let me in his yard, for he was already suspected of secreting fugitives; and there was a Yankee schoolmaster living just beyond, who kept a pack of hounds, and hunted around his house every two or three days, and if he found any tracks leading into his yard they would hang him right quick. He advised me not to make any stops until I got safely beyond those hounds. He had nothing cooked up to give me a bite to eat, so I thought I would start on and get beyond those dogs, and try for some safer place.

About a mile beyond this cabin I saw a house back from the road, and a pack of hounds commenced a fearful baying before I was within a quarter of a mile of the premises. Knowing the keenness of scent possessed by those brutes, I made a detour of about half a mile, and got into a marshy piece of ground covered with alders. Through this I tramped some distance, half way to my knees in the soft mud, and tearing myself on the bushes, until I finally came out on the road again, out of hearing of the dogs. I soon came to a place where the road crossed the railroad again and, thinking that my comrades must come on one or the other of these, I sat down on a pile of ties beside the track to rest and wait for them.

It was now nearly midnight and the moon was shining bright, while all around was still as death. Just behind me on the railroad was quite a deep cut and, after waiting some time, I heard some one approaching from that direction, their steps on the railroad ties resounding on the still night air with a wonderful distinctness. Thinking it must be my comrades, as no one else would be likely to be out at that time of night, I sat still and waited for them to come up.

Suddenly, a large powerful looking man emerged from the shade of the cut, and was so near before I saw him, that I could not have escaped detection if I had tried. Thinking to have the first word, I raised up before he discovered me, and sung out:

“Hello!”

“Good evening,” said he, very civilly.

“Where are you going?” I asked somewhat sternly.

He hesitated and stammered out, “to Greenville, sir.”

“Do you live in Greenville?” I asked.

“No, sir,” said he, “I live in—in Columbia,” hesitatingly.

“You are a Yankee officer, I believe!” said I.

“Well, sir,” said he, “there is no use in denying it, I am.”

“So am I, old boy,” exclaimed I, grasping his hand, “put it there.”

If ever two fellows were pleased to find a friend when they had both expected to find an enemy, we two were, just then. The hearty hand shaking that followed showed that we were mutually pleased to find, that, instead of running onto an armed reb, we had run across an old comrade. We had been in prison together in Macon, Savannah, Charleston and Columbia, and still were strangers to each other. This officer proved to be Captain H. H. Alban, 21st Ohio Vols., who was taken prisoner at Chicamauga. He had two dressed chickens, and a quantity of corn bread, that he had just bought in Greenwood of a negro.

He gave me a good sized piece of corn bread, which I thought the sweetest morsel I had ever tasted, for I had not eaten anything all day, and was half starved.

I bought one of the chickens for ten dollars, Captain Alban excusing himself for taking the money, by saying that he had just paid the last dollar he possessed for those two chickens and corn bread, and when they were gone he would be obliged to forage or starve.

He urged me to go on with him, promising to carry my haversack and do all the buying, taking the risk of recapture, if I would furnish the money. I showed him my legs, and told him that I would only be a hindrance to him, and would wait there until my companions came up.

Finally, after talking the matter over, I agreed that if my comrades did not come within an hour, I should think they had got ahead of me, and would go on with him, for this night at least. We sat there and waited until about one o’clock, and, as they did not come, I started on with him, feeling like a new man after the good lunch and the rest. Captain Alban, who was a large, strong man, six feet high and in robust health, took my haversack. This lightened me up a good deal, and I was too plucky to let him think I could not keep up, and so I stubbed along, notwithstanding my swollen legs and feet, and that night we put in seventeen miles, after I met him, before we went into camp.

CHAPTER XV.

Bending over a small sappling about two inches through at the butt, I fastened the top to the roots of a tree, and then trimmed off the branches. From the centre of the bow thus formed, I hung the chicken by means of a limb with a hook on the lower end, so that the chicken nearly reached the ground. Then building a fire in a circle around the fowl, with dry twigs and bark, as a blacksmith would to heat a wagon tire, I soon had a chicken as finely browned as ever was cooked in an oven. I salted it as it roasted and within an hour I ate the first satisfactory meal I had eaten in eleven days, roast chicken and corn bread, with a tin cup full of cold water. After a good sleep which lasted until nearly dark, I felt like a new man, and only for my swollen and inflamed feet and legs, would have felt fit to endure anything.

We started out at dark, having made a supper of the remains of the chicken and some corn bread, and, before daylight had made twenty miles, though my legs kept getting worse, if possible, and pained me so that at times I could scarcely keep from crying out in my agony.

Captain Alban would not leave me, and encouraged me to renewed efforts when I was almost fainting from pain.

It was Saturday night that I met Alban, and on Monday we ate the last of our chickens and corn bread, and with full stomachs, but empty haversacks, we started out at dark again. About nine o’clock, as we were going along through a piece of woods, we suddenly came upon a negro with a large wooden trunk on his head. He was frightened at first but after finding out that we were Yankees, he was about the most delighted darkey I ever saw. I told him I would give him twenty dollars if he would get me five chickens, and corn bread enough to eat with them. This he promised to do, and told us to wait there until he toted the trunk over to his old grannies, and when he came back he would whistle, to let us know it was him, and when we answered the whistle, he would take us to the house and give us some supper. He was soon back and we went with him to the edge of the woods, near the shanty, when he again left us to make sure that everything was all right. It was not long before we again heard the low, musical whistle, which I answered, and he came up with two other negroes and took us to a cabin, where a good fire was burning and an old black woman was cooking some bacon and corn bread, or hoe cake, as they call it. While auntie was getting our supper prepared, the three men went out to see about the chickens.

It was not long before they were back, and had five nice fat fowl, which they proceeded at once to dress for us, and by the time we had finished our supper, which we greatly relished, the fowl were ready, the feathers burned, and the floor carefully swept, so that every trace of the transaction was removed. I had a silver quarter in my pocket which I gave to aunty, and which she received with profuse expressions of joy and gratitude. We staid with them until eleven o’clock, and although we only walked eleven miles after that, I was completely used up the next morning when we went into camp again. I cooked three of the chickens that day, and we eat one for dinner and one for supper.

That night we walked twenty miles on the railroad, crossing four long iron covered bridges, and went into camp in a large piece of woods some distance back from the railroad, as daylight again warned us to seek shelter.

About eight o’clock we made a fire and were roasting our last chicken, making our breakfast in the meantime, on the one left from the night before. I had laid aside my overcoat, and was therefore in the full dress of a cavalry lieutenant, shoulder straps and all, and we were chatting over our breakfast, when I heard the brush crackle close by, and looking up we saw two white men within a few rods of us; one dressed in the homespun usually worn by citizens in the south, and the other wearing the uniform of a Confederate soldier.

I just had time to say to Alban, they are unarmed and I can handle one if you can the other, when they came up to where we were sitting. They both seemed a little embarrassed, and the situation was slightly embarrassing to us.

After the usual salutation, the elder of the two said, somewhat apologetically: “We saw the smoke out here, and thought some one had built a fire while possum hunting last night, and was afraid it might get into our fence, which is just through yonder thicket.”

We assured him that we would put the fire out carefully when we went away, which we would do as soon as our chicken was done. I was well aware that they must know we were Yankees, and feared that our tramp was over for the present, but anything was better than suspense, and rising to my feet I said to the old man who stood near me: “Well, sir, I suppose you know that we are Yankees; now, what do you propose to do with us?”

“Yes,” said he, “I know you are Yankees, but you need have no fear of us, we are Union men.”

“How is it, then, that this young man wears the Confederate uniform?”

“Well, sir, to save being conscripted and sent to the field, he joined a company of home guard, who are nearly all Union men, and by doing so is kept about here.”

I well knew he was telling the truth, and I grasped his hand and shook it heartily, and while we all sat around the fire, I told them of our imprisonment and escape, and of our long tramp for freedom. They told us their names were John Addis and William Addis, father and son, and that they would do anything they could to assist us.

They went to the house and had some wheat biscuit baked, and some sweet potatoes roasted for us, the young man promising that if his mother would consent, he would go with us to our lines; but she was so fearful that he would be captured and shot as a deserter, that she would not listen to the proposition for a moment, but sent by him a hearty God-speed to us.

Mr. Addis directed us to his brother in Towns County, Georgia, and said that he had heard, that the Union forces were in that county a few days before, and it would be perfectly safe for us to travel in the day time, passing ourselves for Confederate soldiers on furloughs.

He said that at Walhalla, thirteen miles ahead, they were very vigilant, and at Tunnel Hill, (nineteen miles) there was a picket station, at a gap in the mountain, which it would be necessary for us to flank. He gave us the name of the captain of a company of youths who guarded this pass, which I carefully noted, and instructed us as well as he could, how to get around this gap. The young man went with us about two miles, to get us past the depot without being noticed, and then bade us good bye, saying that he would like to accompany us north if he could. We started on, feeling much encouraged, expecting to get beyond the picket at Tunnel Hill before daylight. But it soon commenced raining fearfully, and the walking was slippery, which made it intensely painful to my poor inflamed limbs, and chafed the skin off my stockingless feet, as they slipped up and down in legless boots.

I stood it as long as I could, but at twelve o’clock I was obliged to give up, and drenched to the skin, we lay down under a pine tree beside the road, and covering ourselves with a wet blanket, with my overcoat for a bed, and the rain beating in our faces, we slept the sound refreshing sleep of tired soldiers. We awoke just before daylight, wet, cold and stiff, and started on towards Walhalla, which was about a mile ahead. I thought the one street that passed through that little hamlet, was the longest I ever saw. It was daylight when we entered the town, and the early risers were stirring, but they were all negroes. We walked rapidly, but it seemed as though we would never get through the village and gain the woods beyond. And finally seeing some covered wagons just at the further edge of the town, with the owners cooking their breakfast, we concluded to make a flank movement to the right, as though we were going to work in the woods. We gained the woods in safety, and crossing the road, went in a considerable distance, and sat down on a fallen tree, ate our breakfast and rested for about an hour.

As it was still raining and very cloudy, we concluded to go on, and try and flank the picket post at Tunnel Hill before night, thinking they would not be as watchful during the day. We kept in sight of the road, and hearing some mounted men coming, we hid until they passed. We could plainly hear them talking, and concluded that it was the relief, going up to change the guard. Going on, we kept the road in sight, until we came to a plantation, which we thought best to go around, keeping in the edge of the woods that skirted it. It was a long detour, and when we tried to come out on the road again, we could not find it. There was a path in the woods, leading up quite a steep looking hill. It seemed to be well traveled, and thinking we could go over this hill and probably come out on the road, we followed this path in a circuitous way for nearly a mile, when we came to the top of a ridge, that seemed about ten rods wide, and densely covered with large timber. Looking down on either side, we could see through the clouds and fog, a valley of wooded land on one side, and clear land on the other. We walked along this ridge all day, and as the sun was completely obscured, we could not tell in what direction we were moving. We examined the moss on the trees, but sometimes it would be on one side, and then on the other. About five o’clock, our path led down the mountain, and in half an hour more, we were surprised to find, that although we had followed the path all day, we had come out just where we went up in the morning. We learned after, that this was Cheat mountain, and is a high ridge shaped like a bowl, with a valley in the center, and we had walked around the crest all day, making nearly ten miles. It was now about sundown, and reconnoitering in different directions, we finally found the road again, and laying down in some weeds, waited for darkness.

CHAPTER XVI.

Starting out again at dark, we walked on rapidly for about five miles, when we came to some covered wagons beside the road, and just after passing them, I said to Alban, “I believe this is Walhalla again.” He thought it impossible; so said I, “we won’t go far before we come to a carpenter shop, with a bench outside.” Sure enough, we soon came to the carpenter shop that I had noticed as we passed hastily through the town that morning. Turning about we walked back, and soon found how we had made the mistake in the darkness. Near where these wagons were camped, there was a fork in the road; we had taken the right hand fork in the morning, and turned into the woods to the left of the road. The road we had found at night, was the other branch of the fork and turning to the left again, we had walked directly back to where we started from in the morning. It was now nine o’clock, and again taking the right hand road, we started back towards Tunnel Hill.

There were mile boards on this road, that told the distance, and as we had been told it was six miles to Tunnel Hill, we walked along briskly for nearly four miles, when all of a sudden there rang out clear and distinct that well known challenge: “Halt! Who comes there?”

The voice was not five rods ahead, and through the darkness we could discern the outline of the sentry, and just beyond a dim fire of dying embers.

“Soldiers!” was the prompt reply to the challenge by Captain Alban. “Have you got any showance?” (pass.) “Yes, sir,” he answered. “Well, come in and let’s see it.” Alban was about twenty yards ahead of me, and as I had not yet spoken, I thought perhaps I might not have been seen, and as he approached the sentry, I crouched down, preparatory to sliding into the woods. But the guard saw me, and asked if that was another soldier behind, and upon being answered in the affirmative, told me to come in too. I said I didn’t think he would allow us both to approach at once; that we never would at the front allow but one to approach at a time.

“Oh, we’ve got force enough to take care of both of youans,” said he. So we walked in, and he took us up to the smoldering fire, where six or eight others were sitting and lying around, and speaking to some one whom he called Dock, told him to get up and look at our “showance.” While Dock was crawling out, pulling on his boots, and rubbing his eyes, the guard asked what command we belonged to. We told them that we belonged to the 32d Georgia. (This was the regiment that was guarding Yankee prisoners at Columbia.) That we were stationed at Columbia, guarding Yankee prisoners; that we had just come to Walhalla by the train, and thought we would walk as far as Tunnel Hill, and stay there all night, and see the Captain, (giving his name,) who was an old friend of mine, that I had not seen since the war broke out, and I wanted to have a visit with him. That we were going to Towns County, Georgia, where my sister (giving a ficticious name), who was Alban’s wife, lived; that I had a sick furlough for thirty days, and Alban had a pass for ten days, to go and see his wife. We mentioned two or three names that had been furnished us by Mr. Addis, and asked if they knew them.

By the time “Dock” was ready to examine our papers, we had got them thoroughly interested in us, and had so thoroughly impressed upon them the belief that we were all right, and then I showed them my legs which were so terribly inflamed, and told them that I was suffering from inflammatory rheumatism,—which was the nearest the truth of anything that I had yet told them—and groaned over the excruciating pain I was suffering. When I had fully impressed them with the truthfulness of my story, I took from my pocket an enlistment paper that I had, and produced it as my furlough. I told them that I bought that overcoat of a Yankee for five plugs of tobacco, and got the pants for two plugs; that you could buy any thing of those Yankee prisoners for tobacco; They would sell the shirt off their back for tobacco. Finally “Dock” took my furlough, and as it was raining hard, and the fire would not burn, he got down on his knees beside it, and would blow up a little blaze, and try to make out the papers; but could only see that it was a printed and written document of some kind. At the same time I was groaning over my suffering legs, and rubbing them, and wishing I was at the captain’s quarters, where I could rest and care for them. After “Dock” had tried in vain for sometime to make out my furlough, I said it was too bad to keep me there in the rain where I was sure to take cold in my legs; that the Captain could examine the papers in the morning, and see that they were all right. So he finally said, well I reckon you are all right, you can go ahead. If you want to go to Clayton it is the nearest way to take the left fork, but if you want to go to Tunnel Hill take the right. We passed on a few yards to the forks, and not wishing to let them see how anxious we were to get away, we stopped and discussed the question whether we would go on to Tunnel Hill, or turn towards Clayton.

We finally turned towards Clayton, as we had all the time intended, and when we got out of sight and hearing of the picket post, we just lay down and rolled and laughed. Up to the time that “Dock” told us we could go on, we had scarcely the slightest idea that they would not detect the fraud, and march us off under guard to headquarters. Sick and lame as I was, I could not restrain my laughter at this adventure, for hours after.

We hurried forward however, for fear the officer of the guard might be making his rounds, and learning of our passing the picket, follow us up to ascertain that we were all right. About one o’clock we halted, completely tired out with our almost incessant march of nearly forty-eight hours, in the mud and rain, with little to eat, and as wet as we were, we lay down in a thicket beside the road, and slept soundly until daylight. When we awoke, we were wet through and completely chilled, and started on to try and get warm. We soon came to a river which we were obliged to ford, the water being nearly up to our waist, but as we were already as wet as we could be, it did not make much difference whether we were in the water or on dry land.

We soon came upon some teams that were camped beside the road, being on their way back from Walhalla to Cherokee County, North Carolina. There were two rebel soldiers acting as guard for the teams, and the owner was a Doctor Washburn, formerly from Livingston County, N. Y., as he informed me. They were cooking their breakfast, but did not say anything about our taking breakfast with them. They, however, directed us to the house of a widow, a little farther on, where we could be accommodated. We stopped there, and she got us up a nice breakfast of corn bread, sweet potatoes and fried mutton, and I guess she thought by the way we eat that we had not had anything before in some days, and did not know when we would get anything again. This widow was quite bitter towards the Confederacy on account of her son having been conscripted, and she left alone, with no one to work her little farm or care for her children. She was too poor to hire the work done, and was obliged to do all that was done towards supporting herself and children; as her son’s pay scarcely amounted to enough to keep him in tobacco, and left nothing towards the support of his mother and a family of small children. Having eaten and paid for our breakfast, we waited for the teams to come along, and then we concluded to travel with them, as it would give us the appearance of being all right, if we should meet any soldiers on the road.

We soon made ourselves at home in their company and I found Dr. Washburn a very kind-hearted gentleman, and I think that he more than half suspected our true characters, though he did not pretend to doubt that we were Confederate soldiers, belonging to the 32d Georgia. He offered to loan me all the money I needed, which, as he was a perfect stranger, seemed to me pretty good evidence that he knew I was an escaped prisoner and wanted to help me to get home. He inquired whether there were any prisoners at Columbia who were from Livingston County, N. Y., which he said was his native place; and I said I didn’t know where any of them were from, except I had heard Captain Cady say that he was from Rochester, N. Y., but I did not know what part of the North that was. I was more than once on the point of revealing myself to him, and now believe that had I done so, he would have assisted me. We traveled in company with them two days, and it was quite a help, to me especially.

The teams were so heavily loaded that I could not ride much, but on down grades and at the different fords we came to, he asked me to get on and rest up a little, which offer I gladly accepted, crossing the Chatuga river on the back of one of the mules. Dr. Washburn had a Columbia paper, which gave the particulars of Sheridan’s famous fight with Early in the Valley. When they went into camp the first night, Alban and I went into a barn near by, and slept until morning. Having travelled until ten o’clock and forded three streams, we were very tired and slept soundly. The next day we started on ahead of them, but they overtook us before night; as they halted early, however, we kept on and were overtaken by a man on horseback who told us he lived about five miles further on, and if we got that far, we were welcome to stay over night with him. We found his house about dark, and he gave us a good supper and a good drink of apple-jack, which he fished out from under the bed.

Alban would not drink any, and tried by winks and sly nudges, to keep me from accepting a second invitation, but I didn’t take the hint worth a cent. Mr. King (for that was his name) was running an illicit distillery near where we first met him.

After we had taken two or three drinks, he became talkative, and I think my tongue was a little loose. He did not go a cent on the Confederacy, and thought the whole thing was about gone up; and he didn’t care much how soon it collapsed. If he was in my place, he would not go back into the Confederate army and I told him that I did not intend to. Before we went to bed, we were on pretty good terms with one another and the world in general, with the exception of the Confederate government. He lived near the bank of the Teroria river, and before breakfast we went down to the river, and cold as it was that morning, stripped off and took a good bath. When we went back to the house, he again fished out the demijohn from under the bed, and we took a good one for an appetizer. Alban was fidgety and nervous, for fear my tongue would run away with me, but I was as jolly as a lord, and as wary as a member of Congress.

After a good breakfast, for which he would take no pay, we crossed the Teroria river and pushed on briskly. I felt just in humor for any adventure, and one soon presented itself.

We had not gone far when we saw a company of reb cavalry coming towards us from ahead. We sat down on a log beside the road and waited for them to come up, as there were no woods to slip into just there. When they came along I saluted the Captain and asked, “Whar youans going, Captain?” “Oh, just going up the road a piece,” he answered, and passed on without questioning us.

One of the men at the rear of the column stopped long enough to ask us where we’uns were from, and I told him we had just come from the valley and had had some right smart fighting with Sheridan. I then hastily detailed the fight as I had read it in the Columbia paper. He seemed flattered with the fact that he had talked with two old soldiers who had been with Earley (for they were home guards), and rode briskly forward to overtake his comrades.

We soon came to Clayton, Georgia, and the court being in session, there was quite a crowd gathered about the court house. We were debating whether or not it would be safe to keep the road, which led directly past the court house, when a mounted officer, who had evidently found some applejack somewhere, came riding down to meet us, and when he learned from us that we belonged to the 32d Georgia, and had just come from Earley’s army, wanted the latest news. We told him that we had had a right smart fight with Sheridan, and taken his camp, with all of the stores and a number of pieces of artillery, but that while the boys were plundering the camp, Sheridan had surprised us and cut us all up. Having filled him as chock full of news as he was of applejack, we told him we were going to Hiawassee, and asked the most direct road.

He directed us across a common, that would take us to the road leading to Hiawassee, that would not necessitate our passing the court house, and rode back to retail the news we had given him.

After passing Clayton two or three miles, we stopped at a farm house to get dinner. As we sat down at the table, the host introduced us to the sheriff of Rabun county. We chatted pleasantly with him during the meal, but felt greatly relieved when we were once more on the road.

The next day (Sunday) we struck the Hiawassee river, and fording it, we pushed on, and just about sundown, came to a house that seemed to promise good fare, and, representing ourselves to be Confederate soldiers on a furlough, asked for supper and lodging.

The gentleman, who had the appearance of a wealthy planter, hesitated, but when I told him we wished to pay for the accommodation, he said he reckoned they could keep us, and invited us in. The family consisted of the planter—Major Carter—his wife, and one daughter, and a lady teacher, who seemed to be of Northern birth. After supper the conversation naturally turned on the war, and we discussed the situation freely, and finding that he was a rank reb, we were, of course, in favor of a vigorous prosecution of the war as long as there was a soldier left to fight or a dollar in the treasury. We got on swimmingly for a time. Major Carter was a man of intelligence, and was thoroughly posted on the situation, as well as the position of the two armies. In fact, I began to fear that he was too well posted to make it safe for me to attempt to tell too much of where I had served, and it soon became convenient for my inflamed legs to pain me so much that his good wife had one of the colored servants bring me some warm water out on the stoop to bathe them in.

This brought the conversation, which was getting a little too deep for me, to a close; and I asked to be shown to my room, after offering him a ten-dollar bill to take out for our supper and lodging. I told him we should probably wish to start before he was up and so preferred to pay that night. The fact was, I did not wish to meet him the next morning, after he had taken time to think over the matter, for I was quite sure his suspicions had been partially aroused. He would have taken two dollars, but could not change the ten, and I told him I would call on my way back and pay him.

CHAPTER XVII.