THE HOUNDS, AND THE DIFFICULTIES THEY PUT IN THE WAY OF ESCAPE --THE
WHOLE SOUTH PATROLLED BY THEM.
Those who succeeded, one way or another, in passing the Stockade
limits, found still more difficulties lying between them and freedom
than would discourage ordinarily resolute men. The first was to get
away from the immediate vicinity of the prison. All around were Rebel
patrols, pickets and guards, watching every avenue of egress. Several
packs of hounds formed efficient coadjutors of these, and were more
dreaded by possible “escapes,” than any other means at the command
of our jailors. Guards and patrols could be evaded, or circumvented,
but the hounds could not. Nearly every man brought back from a futile
attempt at escape told the same story: he had been able to escape
the human Rebels, but not their canine colleagues. Three of our
detachment--members of the Twentieth Indiana--had an experience of this
kind that will serve to illustrate hundreds of others. They had been
taken outside to do some work upon the cook-house that was being built.
A guard was sent with the three a little distance into the woods to
get a piece of timber. The boys sauntered, along carelessly with the
guard, and managed to get pretty near him. As soon as they were fairly
out of sight of the rest, the strongest of them--Tom Williams--snatched
the Rebel’s gun away from him, and the other two springing upon him as
swift as wild cats, throttled him, so that he could not give the alarm.
Still keeping a hand on his throat, they led him off some distance,
and tied him to a sapling with strings made by tearing up one of their
blouses. He was also securely gagged, and the boys, bidding him a
hasty, but not specially tender, farewell, struck out, as they fondly
hoped, for freedom. It was not long until they were missed, and the
parties sent in search found and released the guard, who gave all the
information he possessed as to what had become of his charges. All the
packs of hounds, the squads of cavalry, and the foot patrols were sent
out to scour the adjacent country. The Yankees kept in the swamps and
creeks, and no trace of them was found that afternoon or evening. By
this time they were ten or fifteen miles away, and thought that they
could safely leave the creeks for better walking on the solid ground.
They had gone but a few miles, when the pack of hounds Captain Wirz was
with took their trail, and came after them in full cry. The boys tried
to ran, but, exhausted as they were, they could make no headway. Two of
them were soon caught, but Tom Williams, who was so desperate that he
preferred death to recapture, jumped into a mill-pond near by. When he
came up, it was in a lot of saw logs and drift wood that hid him from
being seen from the shore. The dogs stopped at the shore, and bayed
after the disappearing prey. The Rebels with them, who had seen Tom
spring in, came up and made a pretty thorough search for him. As they
did not think to probe around the drift wood this was unsuccessful, and
they came to the conclusion that Tom had been drowned. Wirz marched
the other two back and, for a wonder, did not punish them, probably
because he was so rejoiced at his success in capturing them. He was
beaming with delight when he returned them to our squad, and said, with
a chuckle:
“Brisoners, I pring you pack two of dem tam Yankees wat got away
yesterday, unt I run de oder raskal into a mill-pont and trowntet him.”
What was our astonishment, about three weeks later, to see Tom, fat
and healthy, and dressed in a full suit of butternut, come stalking
into the pen. He had nearly reached the mountains, when a pack of
hounds, patrolling for deserters or negros, took his trail, where he
had crossed the road from one field to another, and speedily ran him
down. He had been put in a little country jail, and well fed till an
opportunity occurred to send him back. This patrolling for negros and
deserters was another of the great obstacles to a successful passage
through the country. The rebels had put, every able-bodied white man in
the ranks, and were bending every energy to keep him there. The whole
country was carefully policed by Provost Marshals to bring out those
who were shirking military duty, or had deserted their colors, and to
check any movement by the negros. One could not go anywhere without
a pass, as every road was continually watched by men and hounds. It
was the policy of our men, when escaping, to avoid roads as much as
possible by traveling through the woods and fields.
From what I saw of the hounds, and what I could learn from others,
I believe that each pack was made up of two bloodhounds and from
twenty-five to fifty other dogs. The bloodhounds were debased
descendants of the strong and fierce hounds imported from Cuba--many of
them by the United States Government--for hunting Indians, during the
Seminole war. The other dogs were the mongrels that are found in such
plentifulness about every Southern house--increasing, as a rule, in
numbers as the inhabitant of the house is lower down and poorer. They
are like wolves, sneaking and cowardly when alone, fierce and bold when
in packs. Each pack was managed by a well-armed man, who rode a mule;
and carried, slung over his shoulders by a cord, a cow horn, scraped
very thin, with which he controlled the band by signals.
What always puzzled me much was why the hounds took only Yankee trails,
in the vicinity of the prison. There was about the Stockade from six
thousand to ten thousand Rebels and negros, including guards, officers,
servants, workmen, etc. These were, of course, continually in motion
and must have daily made trails leading in every direction. It was the
custom of the Rebels to send a pack of hounds around the prison every
morning, to examine if any Yankees had escaped during the night. It was
believed that they rarely failed to find a prisoner’s tracks, and still
more rarely ran off upon a Rebel’s. If those outside the Stockade had
been confined to certain path and roads we could have understood this,
but, as I understand, they were not. It was part of the interest of the
day, for us, to watch the packs go yelping around the pen searching
for tracks. We got information in this way whether any tunnel had been
successfully opened during the night.
The use of hounds furnished us a crushing reply to the ever recurring
Rebel question:
“Why are you-uns puttin’ niggers in the field to fight we-uns for?”
The questioner was always silenced by the return interrogatory:
“Is that as bad as running white men down with blood hounds?”