IT was not very easy travelling in the swamp, but it had this advantage, that they could not be pursued by cavalry. They had silenced the howl of the dogs, and their pursuers could have no idea of the direction they had taken. The killing of the blood-hounds gave the fugitives all the advantage, and they “doubled” on the hunters by returning to the creek which they had crossed before. After following the stream for about five miles, as there were no signs of a pursuit in this direction, they halted to wait for the protecting shades of night, when they hoped to find some of the negroes, whom recaptured prisoners had uniformly represented as kind and devoted to the last degree.

It would be several hours before the journey could be safely resumed, and our reunited friends had much to say of the past and the future. Each wished to know the history of the other since they had parted. Somers accounted for himself first, and De Banyan then exhibited the scar of an ugly wound in the head, which was the one given him by the guerilla. It had knocked him from his horse; but he had soon recovered his senses, and the villains had conducted him over the creek where he fainted. When he came to himself, his captors had left him; but he was soon picked up by a squad of the regular rebel cavalry, and sent first to the hospital, then to Columbia, where he had been from that time. He had fully recovered from his wound, but his health was much impaired by hard usage and poor food. He had gone to the hospital to die, as he thought; but his vigorous constitution enabled him to survive the medical treatment.

He had been too feeble to attempt to escape, as hundreds of others had done; but he was now in better condition than he had been before since his capture. In the hospital, by the exercise of his ingenuity, he had obtained better food, which had, in a measure, improved his health. The sight of Somers had given him new life and hope; and though he was but a shadow of his former self, he felt able to undergo all perils and privations on the road to liberty.

“I think we have avoided our pursuers,” said Somers, when the major had finished his narrative. “What shall we do next?”

“Keep clear of the rebels, if we can; if we can’t, bluff them off,” replied De Banyan, hopefully.

“But where shall we go?”

“We must take the best route to the sea; perhaps the nearest is not the best. A great many men have escaped from Camp Sorghum, but I believe one half of them have been caught again.”

“Then our chances are not first rate.”

“They are very good, if we manage well. So far as I know, all who have had the escape fever attempt to reach the sea by the Santee River; and I fancy that river is pretty closely watched now.”

“Then it is not best to go that way.”

“No: about twenty miles from us to the southward, the road to Augusta crosses the Edisto River. I am in favor of taking that route, because I don’t know that any of the prisoners have gone that way.”

The point was settled, and as soon as it was dark, the fugitives started on their journey to the sea. Before night they had decided upon the direction of the Augusta road, and succeeded in reaching it. Both of them were in rags, and they were wet and cold. They had eaten nothing since morning, and the greatest obstacle with which they had now to contend was their own feebleness. They reached the road; but though the night was not half gone, they were completely exhausted. They were too cold to sit down and rest, and the exercise of walking seemed to impart no warmth to their weak and almost bloodless frames. They were not in condition to encounter the hardships in their path.

De Banyan, with his soul of iron, gave out first, and actually sank down by the side of the road. Somers could hardly keep from weeping when he realized the condition of his companion. He was not much stronger himself, and the enterprise promised to be an utter failure. It was the month of December; the air was chilly, and the ground cold and wet, and something must be done for the major, or he would perish before morning.

Somers was weak in body, but he was still strong in spirit. The condition of his friend appealed to him with an eloquence which he could not resist, and moved him to greater energy. Taking from the fence a number of rails, he made a kind of platform of them in a concealed spot in the field, which he covered with leaves, twigs, and cornstalks, obtained from an adjacent lot, until he had made a tolerably dry and comfortable bed. He conducted the major to his new quarters, and laid him on the couch he had prepared.

“Somers,” said De Banyan, feebly.

“What shall I do for you now?”

“Nothing more, Somers. I am used up.”

“You will be better soon.”

“Never, my dear fellow.”

“Don’t give up.”

“I wouldn’t give up while there is a fibre left of me to lean on; but I am almost gone. Somers, take care of yourself now. You can do me no good; follow this road till you come to the river, and then find a boat, and float down to the blockading ships.”

“I shall not leave you, De Banyan,” exclaimed Somers, horrified by the suggestion.

“You can’t do a thing for me. I shall die in a few hours. I didn’t think I was so near gone when I left the camp, or I wouldn’t have burdened you with the care of me.”

“I should have been caught before this time, if it hadn’t been for you. I will never desert you, De Banyan. God would not suffer me to live, if I should do so mean a thing!” replied Somers, earnestly.

“As you love me, Somers, save yourself. It would be the greatest favor you could do me to insure your own safety,” replied the sufferer, in quivering tones.

“I will not leave you, but I will save you. I can and will,” added Somers, with energy. “You shall not die. Keep a good heart for a little while, and you shall be saved.”

“I will keep up as well as I can; but when a strong man, like me, sinks, he generally goes all at once. Leave me, I beg of you, Somers. It is the last favor I have to ask of you.”

“I would not if you begged it on your bended knee. I must leave you for a time, but you shall be saved, if God will permit.”

“God bless you, Somers,” faintly ejaculated the sufferer.

Somers left him, and hastened back to the road, carefully noticing the path, so that he could easily find the spot again. When he reached it, he was almost overcome by his emotions, and by his own exhaustion. He wanted strength, at that trying moment, more than ever before in his life—strength to save himself and his friend. He knelt down upon the cold ground, and prayed for strength with an earnestness which had never before burned in his soul. He trusted in God, and he asked for guidance in this most trying experience of his life.

He rose from his knees. He knew that the good Father had heard him—was with him. Strength came, if not to his muscles, in the increased earnestness of his purpose. He walked along the road till he came to the house, which the cornfields he had seen assured him could not be far distant. It was the mansion of a large plantation, and beyond it was its village of negro huts. The blacks were friendly, but he could hardly expect to find among them what he required to restore the waning life of De Banyan.

Somers was a desperate man. It seemed to him then that the rebels had no rights which he was bound to respect. Throwing off his dilapidated boots, he approached the house, and went to one of the windows. To his surprise he found it partly open. With all necessary care he raised the sash, and got into the house. There was just light enough in the room to enable him to find his way to the mantel, on which were a lamp and matches. He lighted the lamp and looked about him. There was a bed in the room, on which lay an object which would have frozen the blood in the veins of a timid person.

It was a corpse, the eyes covered with cents, enclosed in paper, and the jaw tied up with a handkerchief. Somers glanced at it: he was startled, but not appalled; for death, in its most horrid forms, was so familiar to him that he did not shrink from the sight. He had a mission to perform, and he proceeded to search the room for what he wanted. In a large closet he found two full suits of men’s clothing, one of them a rebel uniform; and he concluded that the deceased had been an officer in the army. On a table, with a number of vials, he found a bottle of brandy, of which he drank a few swallows himself.

Dropping the clothing out of the window, where he could take it at his leisure, he continued the search, and found a couple of revolvers in a drawer, with caps and cartridges, which he appropriated. He then left the room, and in the hall found an overcoat; but the most needed articles were bacon and bread, of which he discovered a plentiful supply in another room. Filling a basket with the food, he hastened to make his escape.

“Is that you, Alfred?” said the voice of a woman on the second floor.

“Yes,” replied Somers.

“Is everything right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think you had better shut the windows? I am afraid some creature will get into the room.”

“I will,” answered Somers, afraid to use many words.

He crept back into the chamber of death, and respecting the fears of the woman, who might be the wife or the mother of the deceased, he closed three of the four windows, and when he had passed out himself, shut the remaining one. With the utmost care, he departed from the house laden with the precious articles he had obtained. It was one o’clock at night, as he had seen by a clock in the house, and all was still. At a safe distance from the mansion, he took off the rags he wore, and put on the rebel uniform, leaving the other suit, which was heavier and warmer, for De Banyan. Thus relieved of a portion of his burden, he hastened to the couch of his perishing companion.

“How do you feel, my best friend?” said Somers, as he bent over the sick man.

“Is that you, Somers? I hoped you had gone,” replied the major, very faintly.

“No: I am come with life and hope,” added Somers, as he placed the bottle of brandy to the sick man’s lips.

He drank all that his faithful companion dared to give him. It warmed his stomach, and gave him new life.

“God bless you, Somers! I was thinking that brandy would save my life. I felt as though my vitals were frozen.”

“Could you get up for a moment or two?”

“O, yes! I feel like a new man,” answered the patient, who was not only strengthened but exhilarated by the strong liquor he had taken.

“Let me put these clothes on you.”

“Clothes?” said the major, as he rose to his feet.

“Yes: I have a whole suit for you,” replied Somers, as he assisted him to put on the dress he had brought.

They were warm and dry, and the poor fellow manifested a childish delight as he put them on. They were rather small, but they were warm and comfortable. To these was added the overcoat.

“Now, could you eat bacon and bread?” asked Somers.

“Could I eat them? I could if I had them.”

“You have them,” replied his attentive friend, as he brought the basket to his couch.

They both ate heartily, and when they had finished, De Banyan declared that he could walk ten miles more that night.

Somers knew that he could not—that he was under the influence of the brandy, and over-estimated his strength. When he left the hospital he was as feeble as an infant, and nothing but the flashing hope of freedom could have sustained his weak body in the battle with the blood-hounds, and the walk from the creek. His friend determined to keep him quiet for a few days, if possible, assured that otherwise the enterprise must fail.

“Do you feel warm?” asked Somers, when he had told the story of his visit to the house.

“All but my feet,” replied the patient.

“I will warm them,” added the devoted nurse, as he took from his pocket a pair of socks, which he had transferred from the old to the new suit. “These are my fighting socks, but they shall do the best work now they have ever done.”

De Banyan protested, but Somers persisted, and put the cherished mementoes of Lilian upon his feet.

“Now go to sleep,” continued Somers, as he adjusted the overcoat, and placed the rags—of which the major had divested himself—on his feet.

He went to sleep, and Somers departed on an exploring expedition. In a pine forest, half a mile distant, he found an old shanty, which had been used for men engaged in drawing pitch from the trees. To this he transferred his patient, and kept him there for a week. The negroes on the plantation discovered the fugitives, but they were faithful friends, and supplied them with food and bed-clothes, so that they were quite comfortable.

From these devoted allies of the Union army, Somers learned that the deceased person he had seen in the house was the son of the planter, who had been sent home wounded. The articles taken had been missed, but the robbery was attributed to a couple of negroes who had run away at the time.

De Banyan gained strength each day, now that he was well clothed and well fed. After a week’s rest, the fugitives started again, guided by a negro belonging to the plantation, who conducted them to the river, and provided them with a boat. Night after night they floated down the stream, guided and fed by the negroes, till they reached the sea, and went on board of one of the blockaders.

Once more they were beneath the old flag; once more they were in the hands of friends; and from their hearts went up the song of jubilee to Him who had guided and strengthened them in their pilgrimage from darkness and death to light and liberty. When they reached Port Royal, they heard of the capture of Savannah and the conquering march of Sherman from Atlanta to the sea. Then they sang a new song of jubilee, for the days of the rebellion were numbered.