DETERMINATION TO ESCAPE--DIFFERENT PLANS AND THEIR MERITS--I PREFER THE
APPALACHICOLA ROUTE--PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE--A HOT DAY--THE FENCE
PASSED SUCCESSFULLY PURSUED BY THE HOUNDS--CAUGHT --RETURNED TO THE
STOCKADE.
After Watt’s death, I set earnestly about seeing what could be done in
the way of escape. Frank Harney, of the First West Virginia Cavalry, a
boy of about my own age and disposition, joined with me in the scheme.
I was still possessed with my original plan of making my way down the
creeks to the Flint River, down the Flint River to where it emptied
into the Appalachicola River, and down that stream to its debauchure
into the bay that connected with the Gulf of Mexico. I was sure of
finding my way by this route, because, if nothing else offered, I could
get astride of a log and float down the current. The way to Sherman,
in the other direction, was long, torturous and difficult, with a
fearful gauntlet of blood-hounds, patrols and the scouts of Hood’s Army
to be run. I had but little difficulty in persuading Harney into an
acceptance of my views, and we began arranging for a solution of the
first great problem--how to get outside of the Hospital guards. As I
have explained before, the Hospital was surrounded by a board fence,
with guards walking their beats on the ground outside. A small creek
flowed through the southern end of the grounds, and at its lower end
was used as a sink. The boards of the fence came down to the surface
of the water, where the Creek passed out, but we found, by careful
prodding with a stick, that the hole between the boards and the bottom
of the Creek was sufficiently large to allow the passage of our bodies,
and there had been no stakes driven or other precautions used to
prevent egress by this channel. A guard was posted there, and probably
ordered to stand at the edge of the stream, but it smelled so vilely in
those scorching days that he had consulted his feelings and probably
his health, by retiring to the top of the bank, a rod or more distant.
We watched night after night, and at last were gratified to find that
none went nearer the Creak than the top of this bank.
Then we waited for the moon to come right, so that the first part
of the night should be dark. This took several days, but at last we
knew that the next night she would not rise until between 9 and 10
o’clock, which would give us nearly two hours of the dense darkness of
a moonless Summer night in the South. We had first thought of saving
up some rations for the trip, but then reflected that these would be
ruined by the filthy water into which we must sink to go under the
fence. It was not difficult to abandon the food idea, since it was very
hard to force ourselves to lay by even the smallest portion of our
scanty rations.
As the next day wore on, our minds were wrought up into exalted tension
by the rapid approach of the supreme moment, with all its chances
and consequences. The experience of the past few months was not such
as to mentally fit us for such a hazard. It prepared us for sullen,
uncomplaining endurance, for calmly contemplating the worst that could
come; but it did not strengthen that fiber of mind that leads to
venturesome activity and daring exploits. Doubtless the weakness of our
bodies reacted upon our spirits. We contemplated all the perils that
confronted us; perils that, now looming up with impending nearness,
took a clearer and more threatening shape than they had ever done
before.
We considered the desperate chances of passing the guard unseen; or,
if noticed, of escaping his fire without death or severe wounds. But
supposing him fortunately evaded, then came the gauntlet of the hounds
and the patrols hunting deserters. After this, a long, weary journey,
with bare feet and almost naked bodies, through an unknown country
abounding with enemies; the dangers of assassination by the embittered
populace; the risks of dying with hunger and fatigue in the gloomy
depths of a swamp; the scanty hopes that, if we reached the seashore,
we could get to our vessels.
Not one of all these contingencies failed to expand itself to all its
alarming proportions, and unite with its fellows to form a dreadful
vista, like the valleys filled with demons and genii, dragons and
malign enchantments, which confront the heros of the “Arabian Nights,”
when they set out to perform their exploits.
But behind us lay more miseries and horrors than a riotous imagination
could conceive; before us could certainly be nothing worse. We would
put life and freedom to the hazard of a touch, and win or lose it all.
The day had been intolerably hot. The sun’s rays seemed to sear the
earth, like heated irons, and the air that lay on the burning sand was
broken by wavy lines, such as one sees indicate the radiation from a
hot stove.
Except the wretched chain-gang plodding torturously back and forward on
the hillside, not a soul nor an animal could be seen in motion outside
the Stockade. The hounds were panting in their kennel; the Rebel
officers, half or wholly drunken with villainous sorgum whisky, were
stretched at full length in the shade at headquarters; the half-caked
gunners crouched under the shadow of the embankments of the forts, the
guards hung limply over the Stockade in front of their little perches;
the thirty thousand boys inside the Stockade, prone or supine upon
the glowing sand, gasped for breath--for one draft of sweet, cool,
wholesome air that did not bear on its wings the subtle seeds of rank
corruption and death. Everywhere was the prostration of discomfort--the
inertia of sluggishness.
Only the sick moved; only the pain-racked cried out; only the dying
struggled; only the agonies of dissolution could make life assert
itself against the exhaustion of the heat.
Harney and I, lying in the scanty shade of the trunk of a tall pine,
and with hearts filled with solicitude as to the outcome of what the
evening would bring us, looked out over the scene as we had done daily
for long months, and remained silent for hours, until the sun, as if
weary with torturing and slaying, began going down in the blazing West.
The groans of the thousands of sick around us, the shrieks of the
rotting ones in the gangrene wards rang incessantly in our ears.
As the sun disappeared, and the heat abated, the suspended activity
was restored. The Master of the Hounds came out with his yelping pack,
and started on his rounds; the Rebel officers aroused themselves from
their siesta and went lazily about their duties; the fifer produced
his cracked fife and piped forth his unvarying “Bonnie Blue Flag,”
as a signal for dress parade, and drums beaten by unskilled hands in
the camps of the different regiments, repeated the signal. In time
Stockade the mass of humanity became full of motion as an ant hill, and
resembled it very much from our point of view, with the boys threading
their way among the burrows, tents and holes.
It was becoming dark quite rapidly. The moments seemed galloping onward
toward the time when we must make the decisive step. We drew from the
dirty rag in which it was wrapped the little piece of corn bread that
we had saved for our supper, carefully divided it into two equal parts,
and each took one and ate it in silence. This done, we held a final
consultation as to our plans, and went over each detail carefully, that
we might fully understand each other under all possible circumstances,
and act in concert. One point we laboriously impressed upon each other,
and that was; that under no circumstances were we to allow ourselves
to be tempted to leave the Creek until we reached its junction with
the Flint River. I then picked up two pine leaves, broke them off to
unequal lengths, rolled them in my hands behind my back for a second,
and presenting them to Harney with their ends sticking out of my closed
hand, said:
“The one that gets the longest one goes first.”
Harney reached forth and drew the longer one.
We made a tour of reconnaissance. Everything seemed as usual, and
wonderfully calm compared with the tumult in our minds. The Hospital
guards were pacing their beats lazily; those on the Stockade were
drawling listlessly the first “call around” of the evening:
“Post numbah foah! Half-past seven o’clock! and a-l-l’s we-l-ll!”
Inside the Stockade was a Babel of sounds, above all of which rose the
melody of religious and patriotic songs, sung in various parts of the
camp. From the headquarters came the shouts and laughter of the Rebel
officers having a little “frolic” in the cool of the evening. The
groans of the sick around us were gradually hushing, as the abatement
of the terrible heat let all but the worst cases sink into a brief
slumber, from which they awoke before midnight to renew their outcries.
But those in the Gangrene wards seemed to be denied even this scanty
blessing. Apparently they never slept, for their shrieks never ceased.
A multitude of whip-poor-wills in the woods around us began their usual
dismal cry, which had never seemed so unearthly and full of dreadful
presages as now.
It was, now quite dark, and we stole noiselessly down to the Creek
and reconnoitered. We listened. The guard was not pacing his beat, as
we could not hear his footsteps. A large, ill-shapen lump against the
trunk of one of the trees on the bank showed that he was leaning there
resting himself. We watched him for several minutes, but he did not
move, and the thought shot into our minds that he might be asleep; but
it seemed impossible: it was too early in the evening.
Now, if ever, was the opportunity. Harney squeezed my hand, stepped
noiselessly into the Creek, laid himself gently down into the filthy
water, and while my heart was beating so that I was certain it could
be heard some distance from me, began making toward the fence. He
passed under easily, and I raised my eyes toward the guard, while on my
strained ear fell the soft plashing made by Harney as he pulled himself
cautiously forward. It seemed as if the sentinel must hear this; he
could not help it, and every second I expected to see the black lump
address itself to motion, and the musket flash out fiendishly. But he
did not; the lump remained motionless; the musket silent.
When I thought that Harney had gained a sufficient distance I followed.
It seemed as if the disgusting water would smother me as I laid myself
down into it, and such was my agitation that it appeared almost
impossible that I should escape making such a noise as would attract
the guard’s notice. Catching hold of the roots and limbs at the side
of the stream, I pulled myself slowly along, and as noiselessly as
possible.
I passed under the fence without difficulty, and was outside, and
within fifteen feet of the guard. I had lain down into the creek upon
my right side, that my face might be toward the guard, and I could
watch him closely all the time.
As I came under the fence he was still leaning motionless against the
tree, but to my heated imagination he appeared to have turned and be
watching me. I hardly breathed; the filthy water rippling past me
seemed to roar to attract the guard’s attention; I reached my hand out
cautiously to grasp a root to pull myself along by, and caught instead
a dry branch, which broke with a loud crack. My heart absolutely stood
still. The guard evidently heard the noise. The black lump separated
itself from the tree, and a straight line which I knew to be his musket
separated itself from the lump. In a brief instant I lived a year of
mortal apprehension. So certain was I that he had discovered me, and
was leveling his piece to fire, that I could scarcely restrain myself
from springing up and dashing away to avoid the shot. Then I heard him
take a step, and to my unutterable surprise and relief, he walked off
farther from the Creek, evidently to speak to the man whose beat joined
his.
I pulled away more swiftly, but still with the greatest caution, until
after half-an-hour’s painful effort I had gotten fully one hundred and
fifty yards away from the Hospital fence, and found Harney crouched on
a cypress knee, close to the water’s edge, watching for me.
We waited there a few minutes, until I could rest, and calm my
perturbed nerves down to something nearer their normal equilibrium, and
then started on. We hoped that if we were as lucky in our next step as
in the first one we would reach the Flint River by daylight, and have a
good long start before the morning roll-call revealed our absence. We
could hear the hounds still baying in the distance, but this sound was
too customary to give us any uneasiness.
But our progress was terribly slow. Every step hurt fearfully. The
Creek bed was full of roots and snags, and briers, and vines trailed
across it. These caught and tore our bare feet and legs, rendered
abnormally tender by the scurvy. It seemed as if every step was marked
with blood. The vines tripped us, and we frequently fell headlong. We
struggled on determinedly for nearly an hour, and were perhaps a mile
from the Hospital.
The moon came up, and its light showed that the creek continued its
course through a dense jungle like that we had been traversing,
while on the high ground to our left were the open pine woods I have
previously described.
We stopped and debated for a few minutes. We recalled our promise to
keep in the Creek, the experience of other boys who had tried to escape
and been caught by the hounds. If we staid in the Creek we were sure
the hounds would not find our trail, but it was equally certain that at
this rate we would be exhausted and starved before we got out of sight
of the prison. It seemed that we had gone far enough to be out of reach
of the packs patrolling immediately around the Stockade, and there
could be but little risk in trying a short walk on the dry ground. We
concluded to take the chances, and, ascending the bank, we walked and
ran as fast as we could for about two miles further.
All at once it struck me that with all our progress the hounds sounded
as near as when we started. I shivered at the thought, and though
nearly ready to drop with fatigue, urged myself and Harney on.
An instant later their baying rang out on the still night air right
behind us, and with fearful distinctness. There was no mistake now;
they had found our trail, and were running us down. The change from
fearful apprehension to the crushing reality stopped us stock-still in
our tracks.
At the next breath the hounds came bursting through the woods in plain
sight, and in full cry. We obeyed our first impulse; rushed back into
the swamp, forced our way for a few yards through the flesh-tearing
impediments, until we gained a large cypress, upon whose great knees
we climbed--thoroughly exhausted--just as the yelping pack reached the
edge of the water, and stopped there and bayed at us. It was a physical
impossibility for us to go another step.
In a moment the low-browed villain who had charge of the hounds came
galloping up on his mule, tooting signals to his dogs as he came, on
the cow-horn slung from his shoulders.
He immediately discovered us, covered us with his revolver, and yelled
out:
“Come ashore, there, quick: you---- ---- ---- ----s!”
There was no help for it. We climbed down off the knees and started
towards the land. As we neared it, the hounds became almost frantic,
and it seemed as if we would be torn to pieces the moment they could
reach us. But the master dismounted and drove them back. He was surly
--even savage--to us, but seemed in too much hurry to get back to waste
any time annoying us with the dogs. He ordered us to get around in
front of the mule, and start back to camp. We moved as rapidly as our
fatigue and our lacerated feet would allow us, and before midnight were
again in the hospital, fatigued, filthy, torn, bruised and wretched
beyond description or conception.
The next morning we were turned back into the Stockade as punishment.