ONE INSTANCE OF A SUCCESSFUL ESCAPE--THE ADVENTURES OF SERGEANT WALTER
HARTSOUGH, OF COMPANY K, SIXTEENTH ILLINOIS CAVALRY--HE GETS AWAY FROM
THE REBELS AT THOMASVILLE, AND AFTER A TOILSOME AND DANGEROUS JOURNEY
OF SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES, REACHES OUR LINES IN FLORIDA.
While I was at Savannah I got hold of a primary geography in possession
of one of the prisoners, and securing a fragment of a lead pencil from
one comrade, and a sheet of note paper from another, I made a copy of
the South Carolina and Georgia sea coast, for the use of Andrews and
myself in attempting to escape. The reader remembers the ill success of
all our efforts in that direction. When we were at Blackshear we still
had the map, and intended to make another effort, “as soon as the sign
got right.” One day while we were waiting for this, Walter Hartsough, a
Sergeant of Company g, of our battalion, came to me and said:
“Mc., I wish you’d lend me your map a little while. I want to make a
copy.”
I handed it over to him, and never saw him more, as almost immediately
after we were taken out “on parole” and sent to Florence. I heard from
other comrades of the battalion that he had succeeded in getting past
the guard line and into the Woods, which was the last they ever heard
of him. Whether starved to death in some swamp, whether torn to pieces
by dogs, or killed by the rifles of his pursuers, they knew not. The
reader can judge of my astonishment as well as pleasure, at receiving
among the dozens of letters which came to me every day while this
account was appearing in the BLADE, one signed “Walter Hartsough, late
of Co. K, Sixteenth Illinois Cavalry.” It was like one returned from
the grave, and the next mail took a letter to him, inquiring eagerly
of his adventures after we separated. I take pleasure in presenting
the reader with his reply, which was only intended as a private
communication to myself. The first part of the letter I omit, as it
contains only gossip about our old comrades, which, however interesting
to myself, would hardly be so to the general reader.
GENOA, WAYNE COUNTY, IA.,
May 27, 1879.
Dear Comrade Mc.:
.....................
I have been living in this town for ten years, running a general
store, under the firm name of Hartsough & Martin, and have been more
successful than I anticipated.
I made my escape from Thomasville, Ga., Dec. 7, 1864, by running the
guards, in company with Frank Hommat, of Company M, and a man by the
name of Clipson, of the Twenty-First Illinois Infantry. I had heard
the officers in charge of us say that they intended to march us across
to the other road, and take us back to Andersonville. We concluded
we would take a heavy risk on our lives rather than return there. By
stinting ourselves we had got a little meal ahead, which we thought we
would bake up for the journey, but our appetites got the better of us,
and we ate it all up before starting. We were camped in the woods then,
with no Stockade--only a line of guards around us. We thought that by
a little strategy and boldness we could pass these. We determined to
try. Clipson was to go to the right, Hommat in the center, and myself
to the left. We all slipped through, without a shot. Our rendezvous was
to be the center of a small swamp, through which flowed a small stream
that supplied the prisoners with water. Hommat and I got together soon
after passing the guard lines, and we began signaling for Clipson. We
laid down by a large log that lay across the stream, and submerged
our limbs and part of our bodies in the water, the better to screen
ourselves from observation. Pretty soon a Johnny came along with a
bunch of turnip tops, that he was taking up to the camp to trade to the
prisoners. As he passed over the log I could have caught him by the
leg, which I intended to do if he saw us, but he passed along, heedless
of those concealed under his very feet, which saved him a ducking at
least, for we were resolved to drown him if he discovered us. Waiting
here a little longer we left our lurking place and made a circuit of
the edge of the swamp, still signaling for Clipson. But we could find
nothing of him, and at last had to give him up.
We were now between Thomasville and the camp, and as Thomasville
was the end of the railroad, the woods were full of Rebels waiting
transportation, and we approached the road carefully, supposing that it
was guarded to keep their own men from going to town. We crawled up to
the road, but seeing no one, started across it. At that moment a guard
about thirty yards to our left, who evidently supposed that we were
Rebels, sang out:
“Whar ye gwine to thar boys?”
I answered:
“Jest a-gwine out here a little ways.”
Frank whispered me to run, but I said, “No; wait till he halts us,
and then run.” He walked up to where we had crossed his beat--looked
after us a few minutes, and then, to our great relief, walked back to
his post. After much trouble we succeeded in getting through all the
troops, and started fairly on our way. We tried to shape our course
toward Florida. The country was very swampy, the night rainy and dark,
no stars were out to guide us, and we made such poor progress that
when daylight came we were only eight miles from our starting place,
and close to a road leading from Thomasville to Monticello. Finding a
large turnip patch, we filled our pockets, and then hunted a place to
lie concealed in during the day. We selected a thicket in the center
of a large pasture. We crawled into this and laid down. Some negros
passed close to us, going to their work in an adjoining field. They had
a bucket of victuals with them for dinner, which they hung on the fence
in such a way that we could have easily stolen it without detection.
The temptation to hungry men was very great, but we concluded that it
was best and safest to let it alone.
As the negros returned from work in the evening they separated, one
old man passing on the opposite side of the thicket from the rest. We
halted him and told him that we were Rebs, who had taken a French leave
of Thomasville; that we were tired of guarding Yanks, and were going
home; and further, that we were hungry, and wanted something to eat.
He told us that he was the boss on the plantation. His master lived in
Thomasville. He, himself, did not have much to eat, but he would show
us where to stay, and when the folks went to bed he would bring us some
food. Passing up close to the negro quarters we got over the fence and
lay down behind it, to wait for our supper.
We had been there but a short time when a young negro came out, and
passing close by us, went into a fence corner a few panels distant
and, kneeling down, began praying aloud, and very, earnestly, and
stranger still, the burden of his supplication was for the success of
our armies. I thought it the best prayer I ever listened to. Finishing
his devotions he returned to the house, and shortly after the old man
came with a good supper of corn bread, molasses and milk. He said that
he had no meat, and that he had done the best he could for us. After
we had eaten, he said that as the young people had gone to bed, we had
better come into his cabin and rest awhile, which we did.
Hommat had a full suit of Rebel clothes, and I had stolen sacks enough
at Andersonville, when they were issuing rations, to make me a shirt
and pantaloons, which a sailor fabricated for me. I wore these over
what was left of my blue clothes. The old negro lady treated us very
coolly. In a few minutes a young negro came in, whom the old gentleman
introduced as his son, and whom I immediately recognized as our friend
of the prayerful proclivities. He said that he had been a body servant
to his young master, who was an officer in the Rebel army.
“Golly!” says he, “if you ’uns had stood a little longer at Stone
River, our men would have run.”
I turned to him sharply with the question of what he meant by calling
us “You ’uns,” and asked him if he believed we were Yankees. He
surveyed us carefully for a few seconds, and then said:
“Yes; I bleav you is Yankees.”
He paused a second, and added:
“Yes, I know you is.”
I asked him how he knew it, and he said that we neither looked nor
talked like their men. I then acknowledged that we were Yankee
prisoners, trying to make our escape to our lines. This announcement
put new life into the old lady, and, after satisfying herself that we
were really Yankees, she got up from her seat, shook hands with us,
and declared we must have a better supper than we had had. She set
immediately about preparing it for us. Taking up a plank in the floor,
she pulled out a nice flitch of bacon, from which she cut as much as
we could eat, and gave us some to carry with us. She got up a real
substantial supper, to which we did full justice, in spite of the meal
we had already eaten.
They gave us a quantity of victuals to take with us, and instructed us
as well as possible as to our road. They warned us to keep away from
the young negros, but trust the old ones implicitly. Thanking them
over and over for their exceeding kindness, we bade them good-by, and
started again on our journey. Our supplies lasted two days, during
which time we made good progress, keeping away from the roads, and
flanking the towns, which were few and insignificant. We occasionally
came across negros, of whom we cautiously inquired as to the route
and towns, and by the assistance of our map and the stars, got along
very well indeed, until we came to the Suwanee River. We had intended
to cross this at Columbus or Alligator. When within six miles of the
river we stopped at some negro huts to get some food. The lady who
owned the negros was a widow, who was born and raised in Massachusetts.
Her husband had died before the war began. An old negro woman told her
mistress that we were at the quarters, and she sent for us to come to
the house. She was a very nice-looking lady, about thirty-five years
of age, and treated us with great kindness. Hommat being barefooted,
she pulled off her own shoes and stockings and gave them to him, saying
that she would go to Town the next day and get herself another pair.
She told us not to try to cross the river near Columbus, as their
troops had been deserting in great numbers, and the river was closely
picketed to catch the runaways. She gave us directions how to go so
as to cross the river about fifty miles below Columbus. We struck the
river again the next night, and I wanted to swim it, but Hommat was
afraid of alligators, and I could not induce him to venture into the
water.
We traveled down the river until we came to Moseley’s Ferry, where we
stole an old boat about a third full of water, and paddled across.
There was quite a little town at that place, but we walked right down
the main street without meeting any one. Six miles from the river we
saw an old negro woman roasting sweet potatos in the back yard of a
house. We were very hungry, and thought we would risk something to get
food. Hommat went around near her, and asked her for something to eat.
She told him to go and ask the white folks. This was the answer she
made to every question. He wound up by asking her how far it was to
Mossley’s Ferry, saying that he wanted to go there, and get something
to eat. She at last ran into the house, and we ran away as fast as
we could. We had gone but a short distance when we heard a horn, and
soon-the-cursed hounds began bellowing. We did our best running, but
the hounds circled around the house a few times and then took our
trail. For a little while it seemed all up with us, as the sound of the
baying came closer and closer. But our inquiry about the distance to
Moseley’s Ferry seems to have saved us. They soon called the hounds in,
and started them on the track we had come, instead of that upon which
we were going. The baying shortly died away in the distance. We did not
waste any time congratulating ourselves over our marvelous escape, but
paced on as fast as we could for about eight miles farther. On the way
we passed over the battle ground of Oolustee, or Ocean Pond.
Coming near to Lake City we fell in with some negros who had been
brought from Maryland. We stopped over one day with them, to rest, and
two of them concluded to go with us. We were furnished with a lot of
cooked provisions, and starting one night made forty-two miles before
morning. We kept the negros in advance. I told Hommat that it was a
poor command that could not afford an advance guard. After traveling
two nights with the negros, we came near Baldwin. Here I was very much
afraid of recapture, and I did not want the negros with us, if we were,
lest we should be shot for slave-stealing. About daylight of the second
morning we gave them the slip.
We had to skirt Baldwin closely, to head the St. Mary’s River, or cross
it where that was easiest. After crossing the river we came to a very
large swamp, in the edge of which we lay all day. Before nightfall we
started to go through it, as there was no fear of detection in these
swamps. We got through before it was very dark, and as we emerged
from it we discovered a dense cloud of smoke to our right and quite
close. We decided this was a camp, and while we were talking the band
began to play. This made us think that probably our forces had come
out from Fernandina, and taken the place. I proposed to Hommat that
we go forward and reconnoiter. He refused, and leaving him alone, I
started forward. I had gone but a short distance when a soldier came
out from the camp with a bucket. He began singing, and the song he
sang convinced me that he was a Rebel. Rejoining Hommat, we held a
consultation and decided to stay where we were until it became darker,
before trying to get out. It was the night of the 22d of December, and
very cold for that country. The camp guard had small fires built, which
we could see quite plainly. After starting we saw that the pickets also
had fires, and that we were between the two lines. This discovery saved
us from capture, and keeping about an equal distance between the two,
we undertook to work our way out.
We first crossed a line of breastworks, then in succession the
Fernandina Railroad, the Jacksonville Railroad, and pike, moving all
the time nearly parallel with the picket line. Here we had to halt.
Hommat was suffering greatly with his feet. The shoes that had been
given him by the widow lady were worn out, and his feet were much torn
and cut by the terribly rough road we had traveled through swamps, etc.
We sat down on a log, and I, pulling off the remains of my army shirt,
tore it into pieces, and Hommat wrapped his feet up in them. A part I
reserved and tore into strips, to tie up the rents in our pantaloons.
Going through the swamps and briers had torn them into tatters, from
waistband to hem, leaving our skins bare to be served in the same way.
We started again, moving slowly and bearing towards the picket fires,
which we could see for a distance on our left. After traveling some
little time the lights on our left ended, which puzzled us for a while,
until we came to a fearful big swamp, that explained it all, as this,
considered impassable, protected the right of the camp. We had an awful
time in getting through. In many places we had to lie down and crawl
long distances through the paths made in the brakes by hogs and other
animals. As we at length came out, Hommat turned to me and whispered
that in the morning we would have some Lincoln coffee. He seemed to
think this must certainly end our troubles.
We were now between the Jacksonville Railroad and the St. John’s River.
We kept about four miles from the railroad, for fear of running into
the Rebel outposts. We had traveled but a few miles when Hommat said he
could go no farther, as his feet and legs were so swelled and numb that
he could not tell when he set them upon the ground. I had some matches
that a negro had given me, and gathering together a few pine knots
we made a fire--the first that we had lighted on the trip--and laid
down with it between us. We had slept but a few minutes when I awoke
and found Hommat’s clothes on fire. Rousing him we put out the flames
before he was badly burned, but the thing had excited him so as to give
him new life, and be proposed to start on again.
By sunrise we were within eight miles of our lines, and concluding that
it would be safe to travel in the daytime, we went ahead, walking along
the railroad. The excitement being over, Hommat began to move very
slowly again. His feet and legs were so swollen that he could scarcely
walk, and it took us a long while to pass over those eight miles.
At last we came in sight of our pickets. They were negros. They halted
us, and Hommat went forward to speak to them. They called for the
Officer of the Guard, who came, passed us inside, and shook hands
cordially with us. His first inquiry was if we knew Charley Marseilles,
whom you remember ran that little bakery at Andersonville.
We were treated very kindly at Jacksonville. General Scammon was in
command of the post, and had only been released but a short time from
prison, so he knew how it was himself. I never expect to enjoy as happy
a moment on earth as I did when I again got under the protection of the
old flag. Hommat went to the hospital a few days, and was then sent
around to New York by sea.
Oh, it was a fearful trip through those Florida swamps. We would very
often have to try a swamp in three or four different places before
we could get through. Some nights we could not travel on account
of its being cloudy and raining. There is not money enough in the
United States to induce me to undertake the trip again under the same
circumstances. Our friend Clipson, that made his escape when we did,
got very nearly through to our lines, but was taken sick, and had to
give himself up. He was taken back to Andersonville and kept until the
next Spring, when he came through all right. There were sixty-one of
Company K captured at Jonesville, and I think there was only seventeen
lived through those horrible prisons.
You have given the best description of prison life that I have ever
seen written. The only trouble is that it cannot be portrayed so that
persons can realize the suffering and abuse that our soldiers endured
in those prison hells. Your statements are all correct in regard to
the treatment that we received, and all those scenes you have depicted
are as vivid in my mind today as if they had only occurred yesterday.
Please let me hear from you again. Wishing you success in all your
undertakings, I remain your friend,
WALTER, HARTSOUGH,
Late of K Company, Sixteenth Illinois Volunteer of Infantry.