TRAMPS ONCE MORE.
The date of my second escape was the 23d of December, 1864.
We met one solitary horseman in the early part of the night, and we
avoided him by having a skirmisher out ahead, who saw the rider in time
for us to get out of sight in the woods without being seen, the traveler
being a white man, and to be avoided for that reason.
About midnight we met a negro and learned that we were on the Shreveport
road instead of the Gilmore road, which latter we wanted to follow. The
darkey sized us up correctly in short order, but, as usual with the
negroes, the fact that we were escaped prisoners only seemed to make him
the more eager to help us, and he asked us if we would not "accommodate"
_him_ by allowing him to show us a short cut through the woods to the
Gilmore road.
We were in a very accommodating mood just then, and we cheerfully
allowed him to lead the way. He guided us for what seemed to be a very
long distance over a rough piece of wooded country, and finally led us
into a broad, well-traveled road and informed us that we were now on
the right track.
The darkey was so voluble in his expressions of gratitude for the honor
of being "accommodated" that I had half a notion of presenting him with
a bill for services rendered, but we let him off easy by allowing him to
thank us profusely, and he seemed to be entirely satisfied, while we did
not complain.
We trudged along all night without any incident worthy of mention to
break the monotony of our tedious tramp, and at daylight we went off
from the road to secure retreat in the woods, and camped for the day.
After a comfortable sleep, we ate sparingly of our provisions and
started again at dusk for the North and liberty.
Again we traveled monotonously most of the night, seeing only the stars
above us and the weird shadows and forms of silent things about.
Occasionally one of us would speak, but it was in a low tone, and only
when necessary, for our thoughts were far away, and the solemn stillness
of the night impressed us with a keen sense of the danger which at any
moment might mean recapture or possibly death.
In the very early hours of the morning we reached the Sabine river and
the problem of how to get across. It was dark in the river bottom, but
the stream was wide enough to let the starlight and the sheen of the
water give a fair amount of illumination on the river.
Miller could not swim, and was afraid to trust to our support; so that
means of crossing was out of the question.
We could see a canoe fast to the bank on the opposite side, but we could
not call up anyone to bring it over and thus take chances of discovery
and betrayal.
Miller would not risk a log, although we explained to him how easily we
could push him across upon it. If he could have mounted the log and
ridden over it would have been all right, but he would not trust himself
in the water unless he had to do so, and we, therefore, retired to the
brush for a consultation.
We found a thick clump of trees and bushes just a little way up stream,
and pushed our way into them until we stopped in alarm at the greatest
racket, it seemed, that we had ever heard. It was a minute or two before
we realized what it meant, and then it was all we could do to keep our
laughter within proper bounds, despite the fact that we feared the noise
about us would alarm the people who, we knew, must be upon the other
bank of the river. We had walked into a place which was apparently a
roosting spot for all the pigeons in Texas, and our entrance had caused
a racket in that still night which would have to be heard to be
realized.
We were so startled by the unexpected noise that we were well scared
until we learned its cause, and then we quietly stole away to a spot on
the river bank where our presence would be no intrusion.
While sitting down, discussing the chances for getting across the river
and securing the canoe on the opposite side, Rummel and I drew lots to
see who should swim over and borrow it, and the pleasure of so doing was
thereby allotted to him. He secured a log, to prevent any accident,
straddled it, and in due time reached the canoe and brought it over to
us. The carrying capacity of the vessel was limited, and, in fact, it
was doubtful whether all three could cross in her at once, but we
decided to try it.
Miller was fussy and nervous, as he had had no experience in canoe
navigation, and this particular canoe did not have an appearance
calculated to inspire confidence in one unused to boats and afraid of
the water.
We drew the boat along the bank to a low place, where Rummel and I
seated ourselves carefully in the canoe, instructing Miller how to enter
and sit down without upsetting our calculations and ourselves, but he
was too painstaking and careful. He got both feet into the canoe, but
that was all. In being exceedingly careful to place his feet in the
proper place he forgot about the perpendicular necessities of the case,
and about the time his second foot touched the bottom of the boat his
head struck the water.
We reached the bank in safety, pulling Miller after us, but the canoe
was then a good distance away.
All desire to censure poor Miller for his awkwardness passed away, as he
ruefully asked:
"How in thunder do you expect a man to walk a tight-rope in the dark?"
Remembrances of our own first attempt to keep a canoe under us came to
our minds, and the tone in which our friend spoke caused a convulsion of
laughter which threatened to betray our presence to any persons within
rifle range.
We now drew off to a safe place and built a fire to dry our clothes, a
few of our matches, that were in a safe place, not having been entirely
ruined.
After we had thoroughly dried out, we recollected our pigeons, and
concluded to go back and gather in a few for a feast. It was no trouble
to locate them, as they were still keeping up their clatter in a jerky
sort of way, partially quieting down for a few minutes and then breaking
out again as some disquieted bird would sound a new alarm. The
difficulty was to catch some, and we exhausted our ingenuity, patience
and vocabulary without being able to bag a pigeon, even though the trees
and bushes were fairly loaded with them. Dark as it was, they seemed to
see us before we could see them, and would fly away just in time to
avoid us, with a total absence of regard for our feelings in the matter.
As the day dawned it turned colder, and a breeze sprang up which had a
very prominent "edge" to it.
We discussed the situation, and organized for the coming campaign by
electing Rummel as guide of the expedition, Miller as man of all work
and myself as minister plenipotentiary and envoy extraordinary for all
cases requiring diplomacy.
This day was Christmas, as we discovered by accident, Rummel remarking
that he intended to make a note of the date of our baptism, and asking
what day of the month it was.
There was no Christmas for us, however, and we banished all thoughts of
roast turkey or pigeons and of home comforts by taking up the
all-absorbing question of how to cross the river.
Rummel suggested that Miller should be made to cross on a log in tow of
ourselves, inasmuch as he had shown a greater fondness for the water
than he had professed, but we decided to walk a short distance up stream
in an effort to find a ford before trying to swim the river.
About half a mile beyond the scene of our upset we found a riffle, and I
was appointed to investigate the character of the bottom and find the
best place to cross.
Divesting myself of my clothes, and leaving them to be brought over by
my companions after I should have picked out a course for them, I
entered the cold water and proceeded to investigate. At almost the first
step I slipped from a smooth rock into a pool and went in over my head.
As I came up, Miller remarked that I need make no report on that
locality, and I tried a little farther down. This time I struck a
straight course in a depth varying from my knees to my armpits, and
reached the opposite shore, after a struggle to keep my feet at the
points where the water was deepest.
When I emerged from the water the keen wind nearly took my breath away,
as its cold was made more intense by my recent immersion. Hastily
getting under the lee of a big tree on the bank, I shouted for my
companions to come over, and be lively about it, but they were engaged
in a discussion, and I could see that Miller was hanging back.
My teeth were now chattering and I was shaking as if with the ague; so I
yelled spasmodically to Rummel to come on and bring my clothes if he did
not want to see me lose all my teeth.
Rummel undressed and started, carrying his clothes and mine above his
head, and Miller followed when he saw that he was to be left behind.
Both got over in safety and without wetting the clothing, but I was so
cold when they arrived that it took over an hour for me to get over my
shivering fit.
Captain Miller was in many respects one of the finest characters I ever
knew, and I liked him more as I knew more of him, but he was the most
apprehensive individual imaginable. He was more afraid of a river than
of the whole Confederate army, and was continually imagining all sorts
of possible contingencies, trying to decide in advance what was to be
done in each case, and losing sight of the fact that we could not
foresee any of the surrounding conditions of a probable contingency, and
hence could not meet the emergency until it and all its phases could be
clearly seen. He bothered me half to death at times by his questions as
to what I would do if such and such a thing occurred, and when I told
him that I could not tell until it happened he would look as serious as
if we were in immediate danger.
I never could make a success of trying to anticipate details, for I
always found that my action turned upon some unforeseen thing, and I
never worried about such things, having found that the proper action for
an emergency always suggested itself to me when I stood face to face
with the necessity for doing something.
As we proceeded on our way we came to a bayou, which we waded, and a
little later we reached one which was too deep to be forded. We seemed
to be in a section cut up by a network of these streams, and we
concluded that by a little extra walking we could probably dodge around
bends in the streams so as to preserve our general course without
recourse to the swimming which Miller so dreaded. We could see no signs
of a curve in this bayou, and it was a question of luck as to whether we
went right or wrong in our first attempt to get around the obstruction.
Rummel was our guide, and we would have followed his lead had he started
off, but he hesitated so long, and did so much guessing, that I started
off to the left, saying that one way was as good as the other when we
had nothing to point out the best course. Of course, Miller now wanted
to go the other way, and we came as near having a row as we ever did in
all our acquaintance. After some sarcasm and heated comments, we started
off, finally, in the direction which I had chosen, and a few minutes'
walking proved that I had by accident chosen correctly, as we saw a
curve ahead of us which subsequently proved to be a bend in the bayou.
Our passage around the curve opened up a good stretch of country ahead
of us, and I could not help reminding Miller that we had lost more time
in discussion than it would have taken to prove the case one way or the
other. This was our only dispute, and it was not serious.