be partly filled with corn fodder. Concluded it would be a snug place
to spend the day. Inasmuch as it stood alone and out of sight of any
dwelling I thought it would be safe as well as comfortable. Going in,
I at once burrowed under the fodder, and after carefully pulling a
covering of stalks and blades over my shivering body, was soon dozing
away. How long I slept I had no means of knowing when a noise as of
some one approaching aroused me. The dry husks and stalks lay all
around the shed, and the trampling over them could be distinctly
heard. Presently the steps reached the door, and as one fell within it
an impulse to spring out and trust to the knife and circumstances to
get away was allayed only by a hope that I would not be disturbed. How
still and quiet I tried to keep. The effort to avoid making the least
noise made the drawing of my breath, and the consequent rise and fall
of the fodder with my respiration, sound to my ears like claps of
thunder. I could accurately follow the intruder in and back to the
door and hear the fodder dropped on the outside. Out and slowly back
came the evil disturber of my slumbers, and right over me it stopped.
The prison pen, with all its horrors, seemed staring me in the face.
Scratch came the hands diving into the fodder, and as my covering was
taken away I cautiously rose up. To my agreeable surprise I
discovered the intruder was a black woman. She threw the fodder on
the outside and returning, as she stepped into the door, she
discovered me standing, like an apparition, before her. Looking the
very picture of fright and astonishment, she threw up her hands and
exclaimed: "Fo' de Lo'd, massa, wha' you come from?" I held up my hand
in token of silence, and hastily explained who I was and how I got
there. I told her I was very tired, and would like to find a place
where I could rest during the day undisturbed. She said there would be
no one there again that day, and for me to stay there and she would
send uncle somebody out in the evening to see me. Sure enough, just
after dark, that evening, a dusky form came creeping up to the shed. I
was on the lookout, and watched him closely for a while without
allowing him to see me. This to guard against treachery. How
thoughtful it was in him to have a good quantity of hoe-cake with him.
He gave me necessary information as to roads, forest tracks, etc., and
told me how to avoid dangerous points in my pathway.
I wandered on and put in the time as usual plowing through forest and
swamp through the night, and laying up during the day. The next
evening I found myself somewhat at a loss to know what direction to
take in order to get into the proper course. I started out a little
before dark and soon struck a swamp--no unusual thing--but after quite
a walk and no signs of solid ground appearing, but seemingly an
interminable stretch of brush and tangled vines in front and on all
sides, the fear crept over me that I had lost my bearings. The
shadows under the trees were growing blacker and broader and darkness
was gathering fast. At every step I sank almost knee deep into the
wet, oozy earth. I climbed on a log and peering forward could see
nothing but dense masses of underbrush and overhanging boughs.
Wheeling about I made the best possible speed back over my tracks.
With darkness increasing at every step it was difficult to find the
way, and chance, more than sagacity on my part, brought me to firm
ground. I afterwards learned from negroes the swamp covered a large
extent of territory and had I gone farther would in all probability
have become confused and eventually have perished. It was not long
after emerging from the swamp and while I was leaning against a pine
tree, when one of those severe southern rain storms burst through the
clouds and I stood there in the drenching rain while the great pines
moaned a chorus to the music of the storm. Strange as it may seem I
felt glad that it had come. The darkness would hide me from the sight
of man. Even blood hounds would not pursue a trail on such a night.
Cold chilling March rain in North Carolina, and me nearly naked. I
hugged up as close to the tree as possible hoping for shelter. Mercy!
how it does rain down there when it rains. It was long after midnight
when I made my way back from the region of the swamp until I stumbled
on a cart track and taking a position in its neighborhood remained
there until daylight.
I then went in search of information. Getting sight of a black man I
watched him until he entered the timber and then had an interview. I
learned from him that not far away was a turpentine furnace, and black
men were there engaged in making turpentine. I hid in the brush until
night and then struck for the turpentine furnace. I reached it about
the middle of the night. I remained in its vicinity the balance of the
night and following day. I was then within a few miles of the town of
Wilson, which is situated on the Wilmington and Weldon Railroad. I
must pass this town and with the view of saving myself from the
necessity of wandering around two or three nights in order to get
beyond it I secured the services of two young men who were working at
the furnace to go with me and show me the easiest and safest way
around it. It was a rule always observed to turn aside when coming
upon any habitation, whatever, and make a more or less wide circuit in
order to avoid both men and dogs. Accordingly after nightfall, we
started forward cautiously following the road, and reaching a point
near the town we sat down on the roadside to discuss ways and means of
getting to the other side. After fully canvassing the subject we at
last concluded to go straight through the place. Mose, the most
intelligent of the two, said he knew every street and by-way, and felt
certain of his ability to get me through. The knife I always carried
conveniently hanging to my side. Towards the middle of the night we
entered the place, Mose and his friend, by pre-arrangement, some ten
or fifteen paces in advance. They were walking in the middle of the
street. I stumbled along the rough side walk until we got well into
the town and then fell into their tracks in the street. It had been
arranged they would give me warning in case there was any sign of
danger ahead. A train of cars on the Gaston & Wilmington Railroad went
whistling across the street in front of us. The arrival of that train
at that time was, I afterwards felt, a happy circumstance, because I
think it contributed somewhat to helping me out of a difficult
situation before I got out of the town.
Everything proceeded well until we were about to emerge from the town,
perhaps passing the last houses, when two soldiers (Home Guards), with
guns in their hands, put in an appearance, one coming from each side
of the street. They walked rapidly towards my guides and called out:
"Wha' ye all gwine?" Mose tried to give them the explanation which had
been agreed upon in case just such an emergency should happen. He said
he was going to Massa somebody's, to chop wood. The scheme would not
work and they were turned back. When they were halted I stopped just a
moment and revolved in my mind what I would do. It came to me like an
inspiration. A retreat on my part would arouse suspicion. I dare not
go back. I threw my heavy walking stick into my left hand, leaving my
right free for emergencies, and marched straight forward. Meeting my
guides and passing on I found the guards waiting for me to come up.
The same question was put to me: "Wha' you all gwine?" as I walked
stiffly past between them. I told them I was going home and
indignantly denounced them for attempting to stop me. I swore "like a
trooper," called them cowards, accompanying every word with the
necessary adjective to make it as emphatic as possible. I told them I
had a furlough, and gave the impression that I belonged to that
neighborhood. While I was talking I was walking steadily away from
them. I kept up the sulphurous fusilade until I was well out of their
hearing. I have always felt that this was one of the very rare
occasions when profanity was justified. They were completely thrown
off their guard--utterly taken by surprise and confounded. They stood
there without saying a word in reply, and before they recovered I was
beyond sight and hearing. I have always thought they did not report
the incident, fearing their course in allowing a stranger to pass them
would be condemned and punished. It was one of those strange fortunate
accidents that could happen only once in a lifetime.
The course I pursued was undoubtedly the right one. The audacity of
the movement was in its favor, and the passage of the train through
the town as we entered it probably helped me out. After going some
distance, probably a mile or more, I heard a rapid tramp, tramp,
behind me, and quickly dropping into the brush on the roadside, waited
to see what was coming. Soon a form passed, running rapidly. I could
see well enough to feel convinced it was one of my guides. Springing
out into the road behind him I soon overhauled him. It proved to be
Mose. He said when "de ga'ds" turned him back he took off on a side
street and came out on the road outside of the town. His companion he
had lost, and from the way he talked I thought he was glad of it. He
was determined to go on with me and pleaded earnestly to be allowed to
do so. His claim that he was well acquainted with the country and
could take me through in a few nights, induced me to consent. We were
yet fifty miles from the coast. That and the following night we spent
in reaching Greenville, which we did near the middle of the night,
without incident.
It was too near daylight to attempt to get through or around
Greenville that night so we "laid very close to the ground" during the
day and anxiously awaited for the coming of another night. When it
came Mose proposed to hunt up a black man who would be willing to
"pilot" us around the town. Traveling around through the brush and
across fields we ran against a cabin and after considerable
manoeuvering found the occupants were the right color. Mose got the
man out some distance from the house and asked him if he would take us
to a point on the road beyond the town. He surprised us by asking pay
for the service. It was the first instance of the kind I had met with.
As he and Mose were making the negotiations I attributed the
speculation part to the fact that the man was dealing with one of his
own color. We had no money but I had an extra coat uncle Ben had
procured for me while I was lying about Louisburg. The coat was made
of cotton material and was considerably threadbare, but in the
darkness Mose was able to make the fellow believe it was quite
valuable. He consented to take it instead of the money, and he and
his son agreed to go. They placed themselves a few rods in advance and
led us a long journey around Greenville. They had reached the road
leading from Greenville to Washington and Newburn, N. C, and Mose and
I were coming up behind slowly and carefully picking our steps when in
the suddenness of a moment the guides came rushing back, and passing
us, without saying a word, fled with the speed of Tam O'Shanter's mare
when she was trying to make the keystone of the bridge. We turned and
followed of course. Mose overtook them and demanded an explanation.
They said when they looked up the road they saw a man on horseback
riding directly towards them. Instead of lying quiet they ran away
from the supposed danger. I noticed it was their way always to at once
take to flight on the occasion of any alarm. It was my rule at such
times to drop to the ground and get into shelter of the brush as
quietly as possible. We dismissed them and started forward again
keeping off the road and going eastwardly on a line which we supposed
was parallel with it. We were now about twenty-five miles from
Washington, a town near the mouth of the Pamlico River, North
Carolina, which was occupied by the Union forces.
We found it necessary from this time forward to use great caution. We
kept in the brush and slowly felt our way. After another night's
travel we found ourselves at daylight fixing a nest under the trunk of
a fallen tree. It had been blown down and was held up off the ground
by its roots. Here we expected to spend the day. We were probably
twelve or fifteen miles from Greenville and ten or twelve miles from
Washington, N. C., where we hoped our pilgrimage would end. At this
point I lost Mose. We crawled under the trunk of the tree and drew
leaves and branches up on either side, completely hiding us from view.
Near evening a noise was heard, and, peering out, we saw a white man
and woman coming directly toward us. They were evidently absorbed in
conversation. They could not see us. Our best plan was to lay still.
But the sight of a white face was too much for Mose. He slipped out on
the opposite side of the log, giving no heed to my warning to lie
still, and, dodging from tree to tree, he was soon lost to sight and
hearing. The old people passed close by the root of the tree. Giving
them time to get away, I crawled out and went in search of Mose. I
shouted as loud as I dared, and whistled around the neighborhood until
near dark. I have never seen him since. His fear of falling into the
hands of his master probably induced him to run and keep running. I
gave up the search with great reluctance, because we were so near
friends and I had a great desire to get the faithful fellow through.
He was about as successful in leading his charge within view of the
promised land as one of the same name aforetime, and failed as utterly
to enter it himself, at least, so far as I know.
I struck out in the direction the old folks had taken and soon came to
an open field, across which, perhaps half a mile away, stood a house.
It was getting toward dark and I concluded to pass near the house in
the hope of getting near the road and locating myself. I crossed a
field and was climbing a fence. I was about to jump to the ground when
my eyes fell upon a man standing at a fence corner but a few steps
away. We discovered each other about the same time and were both
equally surprised at the meeting. It was the same old gentleman who
had passed our hiding place in the forest. He was looking at some hogs
which were running around in the field. I went toward him and extended
my hand. He took it and greeted me in a cordial way. After passing
some casual remarks I told him I belonged to the 25th North Carolina
Regiment, and was on my return to rejoin the command after visiting my
home, which I told him was in Franklin County. This was the county in
which I had left the train. It will be here appropriate to mention
that the Confederate forces, under General Hoke, was at that time
investing Washington, situated at the mouth of the Pamlico River,
North Carolina, the place I was aiming to reach. His troops had taken
Plymouth and had moved on Washington a few days ahead of me. This fact
aided me to deceive the old gentleman, but it unfortunately increased
the difficulties which I had to encounter in my progress forward. He
said the Confederate soldiers had been around for a day or two. Some
of them had been at his house, the last ones but a few hours previous.
I accepted his kind invitation to the house, but purposely loitered
along and delayed reaching it until about dark. Here I met the old
lady, the other member of the party which gave Mose the fright. I
refused to go into the house on their kind invitation, and we stood
talking on the outside near the door--my object being to take a
position which would give me the best chance to get away in case an
enemy should appear. During our talk the old lady denounced the war
and its authors, including among the latter both Lincoln and Jeff
Davis. I thought she was more severe on Davis. Three sons--all the
children she had--had been compelled to go into the Confederate army.
One had already been killed and one was wounded. This fact probably
had a tendency to move her to direct her denunciations against Davis.
However, as I endorsed her words and expressed sympathy, she leaned
more and more toward Union sentiments. The old gentleman went some
distance with me. We entered the forest and took a seat on a log. Here
we remained talking until it was quite late. I was tempted to tell him
the truth about myself, but realizing that it might embarrass him and
would be of no service to myself I refrained. I got valuable
information from him as to the location and sentiments of the people
living on the way.
As I neared Washington extreme care had to be observed, and it was
necessary on account of the swamps which abounded here on all sides,
to keep pretty close to the road. My feet and legs were always wet
from wading in the swamps, and I had become so tired and weary of
clambering through the brush and water, that I sometimes felt like
running the risk and keeping the road. This I tried on one occasion,
but was soon driven off by the approach of a force of Confederate
troops. The town of Washington lay on the north side of the river. I
was traveling down the south side. The main force of the enemy was on
the north side, yet a sufficient force was on the south side to make
demonstration against the Union troops guarding the approaches to the
bridge. These forces I was obliged to pass, and it took fine figuring
and careful manoeuvering indeed. But slow progress was made from this
time forward. Groping along, peering ahead through the darkness,
dodging off when anything in the shape of a soldier appeared in
front--and nearly every object would assume such a shape in my excited
imagination. Put to flight occasionally by a pesky stump, which in the
darkness would suddenly grow into a giant sentinel armed cap-a-pie, I
made slow headway.
Finally, without dwelling upon details, I reached the house of a Mr.
Caldwell, about the middle of the night, and knocked at his back door.
I had learned from the gentleman above mentioned that this Mr.
Caldwell was a Union man, and at his house I first struck an
underground road which extended far up into the country, and was used
for conveying information and necessaries to Union families living in
the interior, and also for guiding refugees into the Union lines. Mr.
Caldwell, being, no doubt, suspicious, and naturally fearful of
falling into a trap set for him by the enemy, was exasperatingly
cautious. He said the soldiers (meaning Confederates) had occupied his
premises the night before and were all around there during the day. He
also said he had been told they had taken possession of Washington.
This alarmed me, because if they had, I was liable to fall into their
hands unless I steered clear of the place. He, however, gave me
directions how to reach the house of Mr. Archie Hill. From Mr. Hill's
on to the residence of a Mr. Kennerly, which was not far from where
the pickets usually stood. Mr. Kennerly was a Union man, and I have
learned since that he was a Presbyterian clergyman. He lived at the
forks of the roads which came from Newbern and Greenville, and forming
a junction, ran on into Washington.
It was just breaking day when I reached the back door of Mr.
Kennerly's house. My summons was soon answered by the gentleman
himself. I was anxious to make an end of my wanderings that morning. I
inquired the way to the picket post. He looked at me suspiciously, and
said I could follow the road. I told him I did not want to be seen;
that I hoped the Union forces still occupied the town. At this he
glanced me over and seemed to get a revelation. He took me by the arm
and drew me inside the door and exclaimed: "Oh! you are a refugee.
Come in. How in the world did you get through? They have been fighting
around here for several days. We have not been in bed for three
nights. Did you come through underground?" And so on, excitedly plying
me with questions--sometimes answering himself, without allowing me
opportunity to explain. By refugee is meant a native of the country
who might be fleeing from home and endeavoring to get into the Union
lines. After getting into the room in presence of his wife, she joined
him in expressions of wonder at my success in evading the enemy and
expressed sympathy for my distressed condition. The table, on which
were some cold meat and a plate of biscuit, was standing in the middle
of the room. I refused their kind invitation to sit down and contented
myself by accepting a couple of biscuits which I pocketed and hurried
away. He told me where the pickets would probably be found, and
pointed out how I could get to the road near them by following a
by-path through the forest, and cautioned me to be very careful
because they had been fighting over on the other side for several days
and it was possible the Confederates might have taken the town. If
they had of course their pickets would be at the post.
I did not get a chance to explain to him who I was and left him in the
belief that I was a North Carolina refugee. It was perhaps not more
than a mile from his house to where the pickets ought to be found.
Hurrying along the path through the brush as he directed I struck a
fence which I had been told if followed would lead me to a point on
the road not far from the outpost, and I would there be able to take
observations and probably learn whether Union or Confederate soldiers
were holding the post. Keeping close to the fence--cautiously creeping
along, all the while closely examining the territory in front of me I
came to the road. It was not full daylight and the fog and mists
obstructed the view. Dodging around fence corners and getting a
position so that I could look down the road, I discovered a couple of
hundred yards away, a blue-coated sentinel pacing back and forth
across the road. Keeping trees and fence in range between us I
stealthily crept nearer. Was that sentinel a Yankee was the first
thing to be settled satisfactorily? I looked intently. His coat, his
cap, his every movement was carefully noted. Yes, surely. The guards
at the reserve post began to move about. They were back perhaps a
couple of hundred yards beyond the picket or outpost. As it grew
lighter a fair view of them was caught. The glorious blue. There can
be no mistake. With difficulty I kept from shouting for the Union and
the old flag.
Stepping out into the road I threw up my hands in token of surrender
and marched towards the sentinel. When I arrived within a few steps of
him he brought down his gun and commanded me to halt. I took the knife
from my belt and threw it at his feet and told him I was otherwise
unarmed and would be glad to come in. He called for the sergeant of
the guard. When that officer came forward I was admitted within the
lines. Of course an explanation was given. That I had been "through
the mill" as well as the swamps, my external appearance bore
testimony. Pantaloons in ribbons below the knees, partly barefooted,
the little flesh left on my limbs scratched, poisoned and swollen from
having been compelled so often to wade through water, I was a picture
of the direst distress. But the haven was reached at last. The
imagination must be left to picture my feelings. Any attempt to
describe them would result in utter failure to do the subject justice.
With gratitude to God and those kind and faithful people who were
instrumental in making the journey a success, I felt the extremest
sensations of joy.
The boys were making coffee, and I got a good share of it. I had not
had any coffee for about seven months, and of course relished it now.
From this picket post to the bridge it was perhaps two miles, more or
less. Throughout this distance the ground was covered by water and a
corduroy road was constructed. This is made by piling logs one upon
another until they reach above the water. Midway between the post and
the bridge there was a block house or fort. It was occupied by a
detachment of a hundred men. I was taken over this road, past the
block house, on over the bridge into Washington, and presented to
General Palmer, who was in command of the forces on the North Carolina
coast at the time. Two soldiers were detailed at the picket post to
escort me to the headquarters of the commanding officer.