was a negro. The reader will recollect that we were in the interior of
the enemy's country; that every white man, almost without exception, was
an enemy, who would not only esteem it a duty but a privilege to kill us
at the first opportunity; and we did not then know that the negro could
be trusted. Stories had been industriously circulated among us by
Confederates to persuade us that the negroes would be sure to betray us
if we attempted to escape. So we had started out with the determination
to trust no one, white or black. Notwithstanding this, it was a great
relief to us to find that our new acquaintance was a negro. However, we
pursued the conversation but little further. Cautioning the fellow not
to be caught out again so far from home without a pass, we started on
our way, and he on his. As soon as he was fairly out of sight and
hearing, we left the road and plunged again into the woods.
When we had placed a safe distance between ourselves and the highway, a
halt was called, for the purpose of holding a consultation over our
movements. We had met one negro; and while we had not trusted him any
further than we could help, yet from his manner we were all of the
opinion that he distrusted our being Southerners. Our speech, of itself,
was sufficient to betray us. We had seen enough of negro shrewdness to
realize that if the news of our escape from the train had been
circulated, as we had every reason to believe it had been, he would be
at no loss to guess that we were Yankees.
After discussing the matter, we decided to take the first road running
in our direction, and run the chances of the negro's betraying us. We
resolved, further, that in case we came across another, we would tell
him freely that we were Yankees--this, of course, to depend upon whether
we should have reason to believe the man our friend.
Consulting our maps and compass, and assuring ourselves of the proper
direction, we traveled on through the woods for perhaps five miles. At
length, finding a road running in the direction of our line of march, we
pursued our journey without further adventure, until the near approach
of daylight warned us again to seek the shelter of the friendly woods,
where we could find a thicket sufficiently remote from roads and dense
enough to afford us shelter from observation by any passing wanderer. We
were successful in finding the desired haven, and throwing ourselves
upon the ground were soon sleeping soundly.
So ended our second day's, or rather night's, march. We had traveled
only about fifteen miles that night. Thus far we had been traveling in a
northwesterly direction, through the parishes of Orangeburg and
Lexington, nearly on a line with the railroad running from Keyesville to
Columbia, about ten miles from the railroad.
We had as yet selected no particular point in Sherman's line as our
goal. We were, indeed, at a loss to know what place to select. When we
last heard from our forces, Sherman had taken Atlanta; Hood had
succeeded Johnston in command of the Confederate army, and had commenced
his celebrated movement to flank Sherman out of Atlanta, and in reality
out of Georgia; so we were left to conjecture what the result of the
movement would be.
Atlanta was the nearest point, but we were not by any means sure that
Sherman still occupied that place. We finally concluded to make for the
nearest practicable point on the line held by Sherman between Atlanta
and Chattanooga. On our approach to what was Sherman's lines on the
second of October, we would gather such information as we could from the
negroes, and be governed accordingly.
As nearly as we could calculate, we were about twenty or twenty-five
miles southwest from Columbia. We now concluded to make our course a
little north of west, so as to head off some of the streams running into
the Saluda River, until we should strike the Savannah.
_A Friend in the Dark_
On the approach of darkness we started out on our third night's march.
Nothing unusual occurred until about three o'clock in the morning. We
had traveled on a turnpike road, part of the time through a cultivated
country, and partly through a forest of stunted pines, the second-growth
of timber on abandoned plantations. We had just passed a large
plantation, when we came suddenly upon a pedestrian wending his way in a
direction opposite to our own. Before we saw him we were too close to
avoid his observation, and we therefore boldly approached him. To our
joy he proved to be a negro.
By this time we were both hungry and faint. The last crumbs of our
rations had been eaten hours before. When and how we were to procure
more, was a problem difficult of solution. We had tried several
cornfields, but were unable to find anything except perfectly hard corn.
Gathering some of this, we had determined to boil it and do the best we
could. Naturally, then, when we discovered the race of our new
acquaintance, our first thought was to ascertain from him if there was
any prospect of supplying our larder with something more palatable than
hard corn--always providing he should, upon further acquaintance, prove
to be our friend. Notwithstanding our desperate situation in the matter
of food, and the fact that we had deliberately determined to trust the
first negro that we should meet, our intercourse would, to a looker on,
have seemed strangely cautious on both sides. Our conversation, as my
memory serves me, was substantially as follows:
_Yankee._ Well, boy, where are you traveling so late at night?
_Negro._ Been ovah to see my wife, massa.
_Yankee._ Where does your wife live?
_Negro._ Down about a mile from Ninety-six.
_Yankee._ Ninety-six. Let's see! That's on the railroad, isn't it?
_Negro._ Yes, sah, reck'n it is.
_Yankee._ Whose boy are you?
_Negro._ Massa Gen'l Haygood's.
_Yankee._ That's his plantation about a mile down this road, isn't it?
_Negro._ Yes, sah. Dat's Massa's plantation whar de big house is.
_Yankee._ Well, boy, what do you think of the war now going on? Your
master's in the army, I suppose?
_Negro._ Yas, sah. Massa in de ahmy. I do'no jus' what I does tink
'bout it.
_Yankee._ You know that the Yankees are trying to make you blacks all
free, don't you?
_Negro._ Wal, I hab heard dat dey were.
_Yankee._ Would you rather be free or would you rather be as you are--a
slave?
_Negro._ Wal, Massa, I don't zac'ly know. Spects ebery man like to own
hissef.
_Yankee._ Now, supposing you found a man on his road to liberty, that
had been a slave or prisoner, would you help him, or would you betray
him?
_Negro._ Who is you, Massa? Wat for you asks such queer questions?
_Yankee._ Suppose we tell you; suppose we put our lives in your
hands--will you betray us?
_Negro._ No, sah. I reckon not. But who is you?
_Yankee._ We are Yankee officers, and have been in prison. We are now
trying to get through to our lines, and want you to help us.
_Negro._ 'Fore God, Massa! Is dat so?
_Yankee._ Yes, that is so! We've started for the Yankee lines in
Georgia. Now you won't betray us, will you, when you know we're trying
to help you and your people, and to give them their liberty?
_Negro._ 'Fore God, Massa, if you is wat you say you is, I'll do
eberyting for you. Wot ken I do?
_Yankee._ The first thing is something to eat; and next, we want to know
whether you have heard that any Yankees escaped from the train when we
were being taken from Charleston to Columbia.
_Negro._ Yes, sah. I hab heard all about it, an' dey has been hunting de
country all ober for you--an'," taking a tin pan from his head, "my wife
hab made up some biled bacon an' greens for me to take home wid me, an'
you's welcome to dat, if you want it."
We stood upon no ceremony, but seating ourselves upon the ground,
greedily devoured the poor fellow's bacon and greens with a relish that
an epicure might have envied. It was astonishing the rapidity with which
we stored away six quarts of greens and bacon. And yet, truth to tell,
the supply was not equal to the demand.
Had there been another panful, I venture to say it would have followed
the same downward road traveled by its predecessor, without any extra
effort on our part.
Having swallowed the man's dinner and obtained from him all the
information it was in his power to impart, we again started on our way,
with thankful hearts and renewed courage and physical vigor.
_Novel Foot-gear_
But the night was not to pass away without our experiencing a reverse,
almost commensurate with our good fortune. As will be remembered,
Hatcher was, when we left the cars, almost destitute of boots. The old
pair he started with had become almost useless, and the soles were
nearly or quite gone. They were better than none when traveling through
brush; but when on the smooth road he could do better barefoot, and when
we met the negro he was carrying the boots in his hands. Strange to say,
when we again started on our journey, he left them lying beside the
road where we had eaten our nocturnal dinner, and failed to discover his
loss until many miles stretched their weary length between us and the
forgotten property. It was so near daylight when the loss was
discovered, that we did not dare retrace our steps for fear of being
seen. Poor Hatcher was discouraged. To attempt to travel barefooted
across two States, looked like an impossible task. If we had only had
Vliet's long boot-legs, the problem would not have been so difficult of
solution.
Hatcher must be supplied with boots, or something to cover his feet. To
attempt to obtain them from the negroes, we knew to be hopeless. A pair
of shoes was among them something to be hoped for, prayed for, and when
obtained, preserved with the greatest care. Even the whites were driven
to extremities for clothing of every description, and shoes were
especially difficult to obtain at any price. What should we do? I say
we, because we had started out with the agreement that we would keep
together, under any and all circumstances. If anyone fell sick, the
others were to remain with him, giving the best care we could under the
circumstances, until he was able to travel, or died. We had also agreed
that we would under no circumstances give ourselves up, or voluntarily
abandon the attempt to escape, so that the misfortune of one was the
misfortune of all.
Something must be done. An inventory of stock was taken. I had a pair of
badly-worn shoes. Spencer had a boot and a shoe. Jointly, we had the
kettle made from the paint keg, and the new linen sack. Here were the
materials from which a pair of shoes were to be constructed, and the
feat was accomplished. An inventory of tools disclosed a needle and a
jack-knife. A close inspection of the sack showed that it was strong,
new, and that the ravelings could easily be converted into stout thread.
There was leather enough in Spencer's one boot leg to furnish the soles,
and material enough in the sack to make the uppers. It was amusing to
see the rapidity with which Hatcher's face shortened up, as one
difficulty after another was met and overcome.
It took the combined mechanical skill of the party to fashion and fit
this novel foot-gear; but before night they were finished. Hatcher now
had by far the best pair of shoes in the party; and if we had only been
better supplied with rations, we should have started out that night in
better condition for a night's march than at any time since we jumped
from the cars.
But the fact was, we were hungry, and after an hour's march found that
we were getting faint. Provisions must be had in some way. Leaving the
road, we struck into a plantation, in hope of finding either corn or
sweet potatoes. We were fortunate enough to secure some hard corn, and a
quantity of a species of bean, which I have never seen in the North.
They are called peas by the natives, but there is nothing about them,
either in growth or appearance, that resembles a pea, and they do not
taste like a bean. Be they what they may, they are nutritious if not
palatable.
Building a fire in a hollow, and then making a screen of our blanket and
coats, to prevent the light from being seen, we proceeded to cook our
corn and beans. We soon discovered, however, that while it is an easy
matter to cook beans in this way, hard corn has a perverse inclination
to remain hard corn, however much it is boiled; so while our supper
served a very useful purpose, it was nothing to boast of as a palatable
meal. We lost at least three hours in finding, cooking, and eating our
supper, and made our jaws ache in our effort to masticate it. Hence,
daylight found us only about eighteen or twenty miles from our shoe shop
of the day before.
We now knew that the people had been notified of our escape, and that in
all probability there were even then parties searching for us. We knew
that they had not as yet been able to get upon our trail. Every
consideration of prudence demanded that we should remain concealed in
the daytime, and we fully intended to observe this caution; but as the
long day slowly dragged to a close we became impatient, and concluded to
risk a start before dark--traveling away from any road, and thus making
up for lost time. We were also anxious to find a negro, if possible, and
procure something more palatable to eat than boiled corn.
Taking our course by the sun, we left the road and hurried into the
woods. After traveling perhaps four or five miles in this way, we were
somewhat shocked at hearing voices not far from us, and hastily
concealed ourselves in a thicket. What was our astonishment to see two
white men pass, not more than a rod from our place of concealment. After
they had passed, we discovered that we had been traveling nearly on a
parallel line with a well-traveled road, and probably had not been out
of sight of it for a mile back. Here was a dilemma. Had they discovered
us and gone on, making no sign, with a view of getting arms and
returning for us, or had we been fortunate enough to escape observation?
It was evident that in case they had discovered us, our only safety lay
in immediate flight. So, taking an entirely new direction, we started
again with beating hearts and greatly accelerated speed. A mile,
perhaps, on our new direction, and we came to an open, cultivated
country. Beyond a field in our front, we could see a wood; we determined
to risk crossing the field, and then change our course again. Skulking
behind the fences and crouching along behind thickets, we at length
succeeded once more in reaching the friendly shelter of the woods.
_Interrupting a Revival_
At the corner of the field, near the woods, was a cross-roads, and
nearby a church. We could see neither the church nor the roads until
reaching the fence, and then it was too late to return. We were in full
view of the church, situated to the left of our line of march.
Notwithstanding that by our reckoning it was not Sunday, it was filled
with people, and some kind of religious services were being held.
Only a few rods farther and we should be out of sight, but we were not
fortunate enough to escape observation. We could see fingers pointed at
us. As soon as we were out of sight, our careless, measured walk changed
to a brisk run. Leaving the road, we struck into the woods again, and as
good fortune would have it happened to discover a negro cutting brush,
and immediately told him who we were and of our dilemma.
"You git in de brush ober dar," said he. "Dere is a big meetin' goin'
on, an' lots ob white folks on de roads. Mighty dang'rous runnin' 'way
to-day."
"But suppose they come after us now, won't they find us?" I asked.
"Golly, Massa, I reckon I ken fool dem if dey do--ef dey don't go after
de dogs, an' dey aint no nigger dogs less dan eight mile, an' it's mos'
night now. Reckon you uns mus' be hungry, aint ye? Looks as t'ough you
didn't have nuffin to eat for a week--S-st! Mars, git in dat brush
quick! Dere's white folks comin'!"
The warning came not a moment too soon. In the road, not more than a
dozen rods from us, we could see persons moving. Throwing ourselves on
the ground, we crawled into a thicket and awaited the denouement. The
negro caught up his axe and commenced cutting brush industriously. Soon
gathering an armful of it, he started towards his cabin, situated on the
road, in sight of our retreat in the thicket. He had so timed himself as
to reach his cabin about the time the parties on the road passed it. We
could see them in conversation, and soon after we saw them pass on, and
the negro go into his hut.
It was now nearly dark. Our suspense can be imagined, during the time
we were waiting for his return. Would he be true to the interests of
three unknown men, simply upon the statement that they were Yankees?
Would not the education of a lifetime of slavery teach him to side with
the strong against the weak, as a matter of policy? Were he to deliver
up to the whites three Yankee officers who had escaped from prison, he
would win a local notoriety for fidelity to his master and his master's
interests, that would make him the hero of the neighborhood, at least
among the whites, and probably insure a reward that to him might be
riches. Or would he be faithful to his race, by succoring their
recognized friends? For it is a fact that none of his people were so
ignorant that they did not know that the result of the war was to be to
them either freedom or perpetual slavery.
The action taken by the black man was to us a question not of capture
and imprisonment, but of life. We had fully determined that we would not
be recaptured. If necessary we would die; but be recaptured while we had
life or reason--never! Little was said by either of us, but our
thoughts were pictured on our faces.
About an hour after dark we heard footsteps stealthily approaching our
hiding-place. How anxiously we listened! Was there more than one
person's step? Yes, there were two of them. We could hear voices. What
should we do? Run now, while we had a chance, or wait and fight? If they
were after us, they would of course be armed. Now they were coming
again. We could hear them breathe.
"Say, Joe! I tell you dey was just de patroles foolin' ye, boy. Dey
warn't no Yankees--dey's just tryin' to see wot you'd do ef dey was
Yankees, an' dey'll gib you de debbil."
"I know bett'n dat. Didn't I talk wid dem, an' didn't dey talk Yankee?
'Sides, two ob dem had on blue coats. Tell ye I know dey was Yankees,
an' I'se goin' to find dem an' gib dem someting to eat."
Our fears were gone, our unjust suspicions removed. We would have been
ashamed to have that faithful fellow know how unjustly we had dealt with
him in our thoughts. We left our lair and joined them at once. A hearty
clasp of the hand and fervent thanks from all of us in turn, soon
convinced them that we were indeed Yankees.
A generous loaf of corn bread and some sweet potatoes, nicely baked, in
quantities to suit the demand, soon filled our empty stomachs. Say what
we may, there is a very close affinity between one's stomach and that
state of mind we call courage. Poorly fed and overworked troops will not
and cannot fight with the courage of fresh troops with well-filled
stomachs.
_Negro Sympathizers_
Our prospects, which a few moments before looked so dark, were now
rose-colored. It was not altogether because we had satisfied the
cravings of hunger and thereby invigorated our physical powers, that we
felt renewed courage to endure the hardships before us; we now had
evidence of the fidelity of the negroes to us as representatives of the
great element of Freedom, then in combat with Slavery. We were now
persuaded that we could trust the negroes as a class--not because of
any sympathy they had for us personally, but because they appreciated
the vital interests of their race in the struggle. The difficulties of
the long and dangerous road before us seemed vastly lessened and to a
great extent shorn of their terrors, for the majority of the inhabitants
along our route were friends--ignorant, it is true; prisoners at large,
so to speak--but nevertheless our friends, who would shield us so far as
lay in their power, and, to the best of their ability, aid us on our
journey.
These faithful friends also told us how our first friend had contrived
to mislead the persons whom our unfortunate appearance at the church had
put on our track. He managed to meet them on the road with his load of
brush, and upon their inquiring if he had seen any strangers pass along,
replied that he had, and that they had crossed the field and gone off in
a direction opposite to our place of concealment. Believing his
statement, they had followed the direction indicated by him.
We were warned, however, that they would probably get the dogs and put
them on our track, and this did not serve to make us feel over secure;
we therefore determined to make the greatest possible efforts in the way
of traveling that night. Securing the remnants of our supper, and an old
coverlid furnished by the negroes, we again started on.
As ill luck would have it, early in the evening we again incurred the
risk of capture, by reason of what seemed to us the extraordinary
religious excitement prevailing among the inhabitants of this region. We
were traveling along the road, using, as we thought, all due care, when
suddenly we came upon a private house, situated near the road, where
there was another religious gathering. The door was open, and several
persons were gathered around the outside. We passed along the road
without attracting any particular notice, as we then thought; but we
felt that our appearance then, coupled with our presence near the church
the day before, might serve to put the hounds on our track. We pushed
on, with beating hearts and accelerated speed. As we were passing the
house, I heard for the first time the plantation hymn,
"Dere's nobody knows de trouble I see."
sung in melodious negro voices. There certainly never was a musical
number more appropriate to the occasion.
We made a good night's march, of at least twenty miles. At daylight we
again sought the cover of a thicket and were soon asleep. It would seem,
that after our experience of the day before, we ought to have been
satisfied to remain quiet that day; and probably we should have been,
had it not been that about noon we heard the baying of hounds. Were they
after us? We listened. They certainly were trending in the direction of
our trail. What should we do? Remain and test the question as to whether
the dogs were after us or other game; or should we risk traveling by
daylight, and, if they were indeed after us, give them a long race. We
decided on the latter course, and, taking our direction from the
compass, we started on through the forest, running where the ground
would admit of it, and again plunging through the most impenetrable
thickets, to delay horsemen should they attempt to follow us.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, we came into the open, cultivated
country. Here the greatest caution was needful. We were beside a fence,
with a cornfield on one side and on the other an open, uncultivated
space. Skulking, so as to keep our heads below the top of the fence, we
were passing it.
We had nearly reached the end of the field, when on our right, in the
cornfield, in a hollow that had concealed them from our sight, we came
upon about twenty negroes of both sexes, two white men and one white
woman, engaged in husking corn. They saw us about the same time we saw
them; so, straightening ourselves up, we walked by them, trying to look
as unconcerned as possible.
_Hunted with Hounds_
We passed the field and on into the woods beyond. At the first
opportunity we halted, and one of our number skulked back to see what
effect our sudden appearance had had upon the people in the cornfield.
It took but a moment to satisfy ourselves on that score. They had
scattered like a covey of quails at the approach of the hunter; all were
running, some in one direction, some in another. It was very plain that
the whole country would be aroused, and we should have the hunters upon
our trail, if they were not already following us.
Now then, for it, boys! We must gain on them all we can. A short run
brought us to a stream of water, and into it we went without a moment's
hesitation. Turning our heads down stream, we floundered along--now over
huge boulders, then into holes up to our chins, now through shallow
rapids, and again through deep, still water. We were profiting by the
lesson taught us by the South Carolina man-hunter in the swamps. The
stream was rapid most of the way, and would carry our scent down with
its turbulent waters.