and darkness almost immediately followed the setting of the sun.
Unfortunately, the night was cloudy. The moon and stars, which had been
our guides the night before, were obscured. We could only guess our
course by the direction of the wind, and an occasional glance at the
heavens through a break in the clouds. We were nearly exhausted by
fatigue and want of food.
The enemy's pickets were in our front, and must be passed that night or
never. Watching, crawling, now through quagmire and slime, now over
fallen trees and through creeping vines, our eyes blinded by the stings
of poisonous gnats and mosquitoes, we toiled on.
Hark! What is that? A human voice in our front! It must be the picket
line. No chance to pass it here. The ground is dry, and the snapping of
a twig might betray us. Back--silently, stealthily, and then by the left
flank, to the swamp. Wading out into it, we found a slough. Getting
into the middle of that, we waded down in the direction of the picket
line. If we made an occasional splash, we knew it could do no harm;
alligators were plenty, and the noise might be attributed to them.
Silently, scarcely breathing, we trudged through the water--stagnant and
poisonous with malaria, among the alligators, lizards, frogs and
snakes--and at last, thank God! past the pickets. Then working our way
through a mass of tangled vines, we were again out on a dry ridge, with
the enemy behind us, and Old Ocean and Liberty not far distant.
A few moments of rest and whispered congratulations, and then again on.
On--yes, but in what direction? The wind had ceased to blow, thick
clouds obscured the sky, we had no guide to direct us. A few moments'
reflection convinced us that the attempt to travel farther that night
would result in the useless expenditure of our little remaining
strength. So, crawling into a thicket, we huddled together like swine,
to save a little warmth to our bodies, while as patiently as we could,
we waited for daylight.
Morning at last, and no clouds to obscure the sun. At our feet, all
around us, glittering and sparkling in the dewdrops, kind Providence had
provided us with a breakfast--whortleberries by the handsful. Eagerly
gathering them, we satisfied the cravings of appetite.
Refreshed and invigorated by our breakfast, with our direction secured,
and with renewed energy we again pushed on to the coast. It was past
noon. We knew that we must be within a few miles of the ocean. Hark!
What is that? Away back of us, at regular intervals, came the
long-drawn-out yell of a pack of hounds. For several minutes we looked
in each others' faces, and listened. Were they after us? The sound came
from last night's camp. A short time sufficed to make our fears a
certainty. The hounds were on our trail.
Now again for the bayou! A half-mile would take us to the swamp again.
Can we reach it in time? Now, boys, keep together if you can! Like
greyhounds, away we started. Our intelligence was matched against brute
instinct. Which would succeed?
We had heard that water would baffle the keen scent of the dogs. The
friendly bayou was at last reached, and into it we plunged, now
unmindful of the lazy alligators, quite regardless of the dangerous
moccasin snakes that infested it. We floundered along, now in mud and
mire, now stumbling over logs, for perhaps a mile. Then, fainting and
exhausted, we left this morass and started on our course. Ever and anon,
however, we could hear the baying of the hounds, sometimes farther,
sometimes nearer.
_Prisoners Again_
Would our ruse be successful? Could the beasts follow us through the
water? At intervals we stopped and listened. We could easily tell when
they struck the bayou. For a short time there was a cessation of their
regular bay, and then it broke out again, accompanied by the sound of
horses. Nearer and nearer they came. They were following our trail
through the bayou.
Billings had that courage that never failed. He had been the life of the
party. When it became evident that we must be overtaken, he selected
the feeblest of us, directed them to crawl through a thicket of willows,
one after the other, himself bringing up the rear, leaving but a single
track for the brutes to follow; and then, under his direction, we armed
ourselves with clubs and awaited the attack. Imagine, if you can, the
feelings of that group of officers.
We had all been reared at the North, in a land of schools and churches.
We were men of ordinary intelligence, accustomed to mingling in the
society of our fellows, men who at home or in the army were qualified by
education and character to be called gentlemen, and possessed at least
the ordinary feelings of manhood. Yet there we were, run down and
standing like brutes at bay, to defend ourselves from a pack of hounds.
One glance at the faces of my comrades revealed more of their feelings
than could printed pages.
With noses to the ground, on came the dogs, at a slow gallop, once in a
while lifting their heads to emit their infernal howls. Behind them were
a few cavalry men. At last the thicket was reached, and one after
another the bloodhounds plunged in. Now could be seen the wisdom of
Billings's plan. The dogs were compelled to follow each other in single
file, for the track we made was but wide enough to admit one at a time.
With our clubs firmly grasped, standing on either side of the path, we
awaited the appearance of the leader. Before his head appeared in sight,
however, we were discovered by the hunters, who comprehended the
situation at a glance. One or two sharp toots of the horn, and the dogs
stopped.
Bringing his carbine to bear on us, the fellow called out: "Well, Yanks,
do you surrender?"
We were unarmed, surrounded. "We can do nothing else," we replied.
"Throw down your clubs, then."
"But how about the dogs? We do not surrender to them. If they attack us
we shall defend ourselves."
"I won't let the dogs bite you," he replied.
With this assurance we threw down our clubs, and were again prisoners.
The dogs paid no further attention to us, except to smell about, acting
very much like other hounds.
"Would those dogs have bitten us, if you had not called them off?" I
asked.
The fellow grinned as he replied: "I reckon they might; right smart,
too. I've seen them hounds eat niggers, and I reckon they wouldn't know
the difference atween them and you uns. You uns wuz green to take to the
bayou," he again remarked.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, if you traveled there for fun, it wuz all right; but if you did
it to throw the dogs off the scent it wuz d----d green, for dogs will
follow the scent in stagnant water as well as on dry land."
"How would it be in a running stream?" I asked.
"Well, ef you are in a running stream, ef you travel up and the dogs are
close on your trail, they kin foller; but ef you travel down, they
can't. But," he added, "ef you go down, and the dogs is throwed off the
scent, then I kin foller, fer then I know you've gone down."
"How about rain?" I asked.
"A rain gits us," he replied. "It kinder washes out all the scent."
"Are you a soldier?" I asked.
"I suppose so," he answered. "I draw pay as a soldier; but my business
has allers been catching niggers, and that wuz the business of my father
before me. Me an' the dogs has done nothin' but hunt niggers, deserters,
an' sich, ever sence the war."
"What pay do you draw?" I asked.
"Oh, just common pay," he said. "Pay don't amount to much anyway; but I
draw a ration for each of them dogs."
"What kind of a ration?"
"Just the same as a soldier's. But I sell the rations and feed the dogs
mostly on alligator meat an' scrapin's. I tell you, stranger," exclaimed
he, waxing enthusiastic, "them dogs has catched more niggers an'
deserters than all the Provost Marshals in South Carolina."
"But," said I, "have you no compunctions about making a business of
hunting down human beings this way?"
"To be honest," said he, "it does go agen the grain to hunt white men,
but I do as I'm ordered."
"Then the Confederate government recognizes the use of hounds for this
purpose as legitimate warfare, does it?"
"Certainly it does, or how could I draw rations for the dogs?"
I looked the brutes over--sixteen four-legged Confederate soldiers,
regularly mustered into the service.
"Well," said I, "you Southerners need not say anything more against the
North employing negroes for soldiers, when you use dogs. I had rather
fight by the side of a negro than a bloodhound."
"That's jest as a feller is raised," said he. "I think niggers is more
ornery than dogs."
A year or two since this negro hunter, Davis, exhibited his pack of
bloodhounds in New York City, and among those who attended the
exhibition was my friend L. G. Billings. I should have supposed his
curiosity would have been gratified in South Carolina. For my own part,
although I am fond of dogs and of hunting, I confess that it makes all
the difference in the world to me, which end of the dog is toward me
when the hunting is being done.
We were taken by the negro hunter back to the camp of the Second South
Carolina Cavalry, which was on outpost duty, and were placed in an
inclosure that had evidently at one time been a hog pen. There a guard
was thrown around us, and we were kept on exhibition until nearly dark.
Some spicy, italicised conversation here took place between the
prisoners and their captors, which finally resulted in our being removed
to a log building used as a medical dispensary. By giving our parole not
to attempt to escape during the night, we were relieved from the
surveillance of a guard, and furnished with a good supper. Next morning,
on extending our parole to our arrival at Charleston, we were escorted
to the cars by the First Lieutenant, in whose charge we had been placed,
and who finally accompanied us to Charleston.
_Confined at Charleston_
Upon our arrival in this latter place, we were confined in the
Charleston jail and yard. The members of our party were placed in the
jail for a few days, as a punishment for attempting to escape, although
our right to do so if possible was not seriously questioned. On our
release from close confinement we found our old companions in misery, in
the jail yard.
This jail was a stone structure, two stories in height, situated very
nearly in the centre of the city. On one side was the workhouse, wherein
were confined a large number of the prisoners; on the other was the
Marine Hospital. The jail yard was in the rear of the building; the
fence surrounding it was about sixteen feet in height, and its top
bristled with iron spikes. Both outside and inside the walls was
stationed a line of sentinels, although for several days after our first
introduction to the interior I did not discover the fact that there was
a guard outside. Inside the walls was a well, a cistern, and a sink. Six
hundred of us were confined here and within the building.
Our situation was not as comfortable as at Macon. The height of the wall
prevented a free circulation of air, which circumstance, together with
the atmosphere generated by the sink, did not precisely furnish us with
the air of Araby the Blest. The water was brackish, and unfit for
anything but washing and culinary purposes. The cistern furnished a
limited supply to quench our thirst. Taking it altogether, it was
neither pleasant nor salubrious.
While a change from the everlasting corn meal, our rations were light,
and not the most palatable to Northern stomachs. They consisted of rice
and lard. Just what use we were expected to make of the lard, we never
found out.
_Another Tunnel_
Here again another tunnel was projected. Our shelter consisted of wall
tents. The one assigned to Lieutenant Brooks and myself was located near
one of the walls. The soil was loose sand, easy to dig. The walk of the
sentry was between the tent and the wall of the yard. An officer whose
name has escaped me, possessed an air bed that could be inflated. We
took him into the scheme, on condition that he would allow the party to
use the bed to float down the river. Our plan was to mine out under the
wall, and make either Cooper or Ashley River, and float out to our
shipping in the harbor. It will be recollected that at this time the
Union forces were in possession of the coast, had erected batteries that
commanded the city, and were engaged in shelling it.
As before, the naval officers were taken into the secret of the mine,
especially my friend Billings and Lieutenant Commodore Austin
Pendergrast. These officers had been captured at the time the "Water
Witch" was surprised and taken by the enemy in Ossabaw Sound, Georgia,
June 3, 1864. Better nor braver men never lived. Billings, in
particular, although strictly a non-combatant, was said by the
Confederates to be the bravest man they ever fell in with. He was one of
the first officers who succeeded in getting on deck when the vessel was
surprised. Twice knocked on the head, and afterward being cut down on
the deck, he refused to surrender until he had emptied his revolver,
killing and wounding several of the enemy. Pendergrast--"the old man,"
as the sailors called him--was a large man, weighing, I should judge,
in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds, and he stipulated with us
to dig the hole large enough for him to crawl through.
The shaft was started in the tent. It was sunk for about six feet, then
deviated until we struck the wall; then it ran almost perpendicularly
beneath the wall, and rose again at an acute angle towards the surface.
According to the best observations we could make from the inside of the
yard, the building situated on the grounds adjoining the prison wall had
the appearance of a private residence, and we did not imagine that the
outside of the wall was guarded. So one night, all things being ready
for our leave-taking, we concluded to set out on our journey.
I went ahead and broke a hole through the surface of the ground, and
stuck my head through to reconnoitre. The first view I obtained was
somewhat limited, for I discovered the muzzle of a musket about two feet
from my face. I did not delay for any further investigations, but made
the very quickest time on record, back through the tunnel under the
wall and into my tent, and from there across the yard to the quarters of
Commodore Pendergrast.
The Commodore was fastidious, and possessed all the hauteur and
exclusiveness of old naval officers. But covered with dirt as I was, I
crawled in beside him.
"Cover me up quick!" I cried.
"Ugh! D---- it! You are all sand!" he protested.
"Never mind the sand. Keep still! They are after me," I answered.
Just then there was a commotion in the yard. The reserve guard was
called in, and the tents were inspected. Of course our tent was vacant,
and the hole in plain sight, but both occupants had completely vanished.
Brooks had concealed himself somewhere, and I was under the protection
of Commodore Pendergrast, for by this time the "old man" had taken in
the situation and had taken pains to turn upon his side, telling me to
snuggle up to him as close as I could.
Soon the searchers entered the tent and commenced.
"Hello there!"
"Who in hell are you?" responded the "old man."
"Beg pardon, Commodore, but there has been an attempt to escape here,
and we want the parties."
"Well, what do you want here? Do you think I can fly?"
"No. But this attempt was by mining under the wall."
"Well, do you suppose I am a woodchuck? It is bad enough to sleep here
on the ground, without being disturbed in my first sleep. Get out of
this!"
And with a grunt the "old man" settled himself again as if for sleep.
"See here," said the inquisitive official, "this won't do; we must
search the tent for form's sake, if for nothing more."
"Search away, then," said Prendergrast; "but be quick about it."
"All right, Com.," said the man. "We'll not disturb you more than we can
help."
Entering the tent he looked it carefully over. I was on the opposite
side from the searching party, and if ever a man shrank into small
compass, I did then. I crept as close as I could to the huge mountain of
flesh that overshadowed me. Even then I shook with laughter, for the
Commodore fairly shuddered at feeling me, covered with dirt as I was, in
close contact with his spotless undress uniform.
At last, with an apology, the Confederate left the tent. Nothing was
said for about an hour, but Pendergrast was actually suffering. At last
he whispered:
"Say!"
"Umph?" I responded.
"I've stood this as long as I can. I'm grit from head to foot."
"Never mind, Commodore. I dug that hole large for your especial
benefit."
"Yes, I suppose so. But what has become of it?"
"I left it right there, and a fellow looking into it with a musket. Am
glad it was crooked," I said reflectively.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because if it had been straight, he might have sent a bullet after me,"
I replied. And then I told him all about it.
As soon as daylight made its appearance, I decamped. The old fellow
generously divided his blankets with me, however. But I was homeless,
for neither Brooks nor myself dared to claim the tent for several days,
and then we applied for it on the score that the tent where we were
located was overcrowded. Our request was granted, but we were ever after
regarded with suspicion. It may be asked how we concealed the dirt and
obtained tools to dig with. The dirt we dumped into the sink, or packed
on the bottom of the tent. We dug with clam shells, the soil being soft
sand. The most serious mistake we made was in taking the Marine Hospital
for a private residence; for, unknown to us, it was crowded with
prisoners at the time, and more closely guarded than the jail yard, and
I had broken ground almost under the feet of a sentinel. If he had
realized the truth, no doubt he would have put an effective stop to all
further mining operations as far as I was concerned; but very likely
his surprise at seeing the ground yawn at his feet and a queer looking
animal show its head, saved me.
Some few days after this occurrence, when the yard had resumed its
tiresome monotony, our captors proposed to us that if we would give our
parole not to attempt to escape while we were held in the city of
Charleston, they would provide us with comfortable quarters in the city.
This offer caused a good deal of discussion among us. At first many were
disposed to reject it. But we reflected upon the almost utter
hopelessness of the task of attempting to escape from Charleston. It is
a city built upon a point of land lying between the Cooper and Ashley
rivers; the land side was securely guarded, and the only chance for
escape was by the sea, with not more than one chance in a hundred of
getting past the picket boats constantly patrolling the harbor. Added to
this was our miserable condition, and our longing for restoration to a
more civilized manner of living; so the offer was a greater temptation
than the most of us could withstand. All but two of the prisoners
accepted the proposition--Colonel La Grange of the First Wisconsin
Cavalry, and the Colonel of a Pennsylvania regiment, whose name I have
forgotten. These gentlemen refused the offer, not so much because they
thought there was a chance to escape, as because they believed it their
duty to hold themselves in readiness to do so if an opportunity
occurred. We appreciated their motives, although we felt that they were
mistaken in their ideas of duty.
_In the Line of Union Fire_
Shortly after this compact was entered into, we were removed from the
pestilential atmosphere of the jail to comfortable quarters in the Roper
Hospital buildings and grounds, and relieved from the immediate
surveillance of the guard. Because now, at every turn, we failed to meet
the watchful eye of a grey-coated sentinel, we were none the less
prisoners. We were bound by invisible bonds, stronger than the combined
forces of Lee and Johnson--a breath of air; a mere sound that ceased to
vibrate almost as soon as spoken: We had pledged our honor that during
the time we were confined in Charleston we would not attempt to escape,
and that we would not pass certain defined limits. That pledge stood
instead of bolts and bars. Our honor stood guard over us, and from its
requirements we could only be relieved by ourselves; a part of the
stipulation being that the parole might be dissolved at any time, by
giving reasonable notice to that effect.
The reader will recollect that the avowed object of the Confederate
government in removing us from Macon to Charleston, was to place us
under the fire of our own forces, which were bombarding the city, and
thus force a cessation of the siege. The jail was situated in a portion
of the city not yet visited by any messages from the "Swamp Angel," as
the heavy advance battery located about five miles from the city was
called. We discovered, however, that our new quarters, while more
healthfully located so far as air, water, and agreeable surroundings
were concerned, were unpleasantly near that portion of the city
occasionally visited by Union shells. We were uncharitable enough to
ascribe motives not altogether disinterested, in this assignment.
We had no more than got quietly settled, when a cry arose of, "Look
out, boys, there she comes!"
On looking up, we saw a small white cloud suddenly make its appearance
over our heads, followed by a dull, reverberating sound, and a piece of
exploded shell came screaming over us. Strange as it may seem, the sound
of that missile was inspiring. We realized that we were within shot of
friends; that five minutes before, that piece of iron had been handled
by "boys in blue," under the protecting folds of the stars and stripes.
Such expressions as these, were heard from all parts of the house and
yard: "Good for you, old fellows! Hurrah! Hurrah! Uncle Sam is feeling
for us. Give us another!" As another burst in an adjoining street,
scattering big pieces of iron in every direction, it was greeted with
hearty cheers from the prisoners.
It must not be inferred from this that we were so foolhardy as to court
danger, or that we really enjoyed being under fire; but we were under
the influence of excitement, and zealous to impress upon the
Confederates around us, that we should not aid them by making any
request to our government to suspend operations on our account. We also
took into consideration the fact that a city was a large thing to shoot
at, and the chances of being hit or injured not alarming. We took the
precaution, however, of establishing a watch for shells, and I have no
doubt that every man had his place of refuge picked out, in case of
actual danger.
From our point of view, the sight of the bombardment at night was
exceedingly fine. A dull, heavy report would be heard, and almost
simultaneously something that looked like a shooting star would be seen
moving with great rapidity toward the zenith, until it reached its
greatest altitude, when it would fall to the earth almost
perpendicularly, usually bursting in the air at an elevation of from
fifty to a hundred feet, scattering fragments in every direction.
Only once, during our stay of nearly a month, were we in real danger.
One day, about noon, when the most of us were in the building, a
fragment of shell came crashing through the roof and two floors, on its
way down passing through a table surrounded by a party eating dinner.
Fortunately, only one man was hurt, and he but slightly. From the
jocular manner in which the strange visitor was greeted, one might have
supposed it was a mere piece of pleasantry, arranged for our special
benefit.
_Daily Experiences_
Our rations in this prison were good in quality, varied, and plentiful.
Daily we drew corn meal, flour, salt, fresh meat, rice, sugar, molasses,
and beans. Besides this, those having money were permitted to purchase
milk, sweet potatoes, shrimps, and other luxuries from the hunters, who
were principally negroes. In short, we were now treated humanely, as we
were entitled to be by the laws of nations and the customs of civilized
governments. This change in our treatment, we were informed, was due to
the humanity of General Sam Jones, who commanded the department.