before us. We consulted our map and compass. We were not mistaken in our
direction. We wanted to go west. The map laid down only one river,
running south. We had crossed from the east to the west bank; and yet,
going west, we were confronted with another river, running north. What
could it mean? I do not think I was ever so puzzled in my life. We
retraced our steps to make sure we were not mistaken as to the direction
of the first stream. There was no mistake; the river laid down on the
map was the Chattahoochee. We had passed that; still within sixty rods,
was another of about the same size, running north. Simple as was the
solution of the problem, I do not believe any circumstance during the
entire trip caused me more uneasiness for the time being. I began to
distrust map and compass. We soon discovered that the river at this
place merely ran in the shape of an ox bow. Afterwards we had many a
hearty laugh over the matter, but at the time our perplexity was far
from amusing.
It will be observed that our general direction was northwest; yet
actually, for various causes--traveling in the night through a strange
country, divergences when pursued by the dogs, and occasionally losing
our way--the route we actually followed was crooked and erratic. The
distance we traveled was in the neighborhood of three hundred and fifty
miles.
It would be tedious to narrate each day's experience; therefore I will
confine myself to incidents that seem to me to be of special interest.
The provisions furnished by our black friends at the time we crossed the
Savannah, were at length exhausted. We concluded again to recruit them
at the first opportunity, but for some reason this seemed long in
coming. However, early one morning, after crossing Etowah River, and
secreting ourselves in the brush, we heard voices, and soon afterwards
footsteps, which we discovered to belong to two young negroes. We at
once made ourselves known, and asked them to supply our wants. This they
promised to do during the day, and just at dark they appeared with some
provisions, sufficient to fill our empty stomachs, and begged to be
permitted to accompany us. This request we dared not grant, for this
would unquestionably have put the man-hunters again upon our track. If
caught under such circumstances, we would be treated to a speedy
passage to the celestial regions, without calling into practice the
services of judge or jury. Selfish reasoning this, no doubt, but quite
sufficient for three feeble and well-nigh exhausted fugitives.
We were now within some sixty miles of where we supposed our lines to
be, and concluded to divide the distance that night, so as to be able to
reach the army the following night. But after traveling until three
o'clock in the morning, the supper of the evening before had served its
purpose. We were like the nightingale in the fable of the "Nightingale
and the glow-worm," beginning to feel the keen demands of appetite.
During all this time Spencer had saved a few spoonfuls of flour. We
thought we should never need it more than we did just then. My old
kettle was brought into requisition, a small fire kindled, and the flour
converted into gruel. This consumed, we went on.
By the map, we were nearing Jasper, the seat of Pickens County, about
forty miles from Calhoun, the point at which we were aiming to strike
our lines. As we were winding along the side of a hill, at a turn of
the road, there stood within a couple of rods of us a man with a gun in
his hand. It was just in the grey of the morning.
_A Cautious Picket_
A man was the last object we wished to see just then, unless he happened
to be clad in Federal blue, and this fellow was in Confederate grey. If
we could, we would have avoided his acquaintance. In truth, we could not
have encountered a more startling object. Under such circumstances men
think quickly. Avoid him we could not. If we ran, he would shoot, and it
struck me quite forcibly that the gun was a thing to gain control of, so
I jumped for him. To my astonishment, he exclaimed in startled tones:
"Who is you, Mars?"
In appearance he was a white man; his dialect was that of a negro.
"Who are you?" I inquired.
"I'se Mars Jackson's boy."
"You don't pretend you are a slave?"
"Yes, Mars."
"What are you doing with that gun?"
"Mars tole me I might go out coonin'."
I knew negroes, as a rule, were not to be trusted with a gun for such
purposes; this, together with the color of his skin, which was as white
as ours, caused us to distrust his story, and we began to quiz him:
"See here. You don't look like a nigger. You're a white man. What do you
want to deceive us for?"
"I'se not tryin' to deceib you. I'se tole you uns the truf, shore."
"Whose gun is that?"
"Dat gun? Dat--dat's Mars Jackson's gun."
"How long is it since your master trusted you with a gun? That story
won't hold water."
"Sho' as you lib, Mars, dat's Mars's gun; he tole me to take it an' come
out heah an'--an'--look fer coon."
"Yes, and you found three of them, eh?"
The fellow grinned. At length he asked, "Is you Jordan's men?"
We had heard of Jordan, a Confederate guerrilla said to infest the
country near this point.
"No," I answered. "Are you?"
"No, Mars Jordan don't want no niggas in his band."
"Who do you belong to, then? Come, you might as well tell the truth!"
"I tole you, I'se Mars Jackson's nigga."
It would be tedious to follow out a conversation that occupied the
better portion of an hour. Suffice it, that after a time the man
convinced us that he was in reality a slave. Then we told him truthfully
who we were. At this he seemed filled with terror, and evidently did not
believe us. Finally we sat down and talked with him until we convinced
him of our character. We showed him the compass, but he could comprehend
nothing of its uses; it excited his curiosity, but nothing more. Then we
showed him our map, and explained to him how we used it: showed him our
route from Branchville, and at last, when we came to the place where we
had crossed the river (Etowah), he laughed outright.
"Golly, Mars! De ribber is more'n so fah from heah," marking on his
finger-nail the space indicated on the map.
We explained to him that the map was drawn on a certain scale,
representing certain distances, etc. After a while we told him that just
before we had left Charleston, Spencer had received a letter from his
home in Wisconsin. This letter Spencer read rapidly aloud. The negro,
for such he really was, pondered on this for awhile, and finally said:
"I blieb you couldn't make up dat so fas' as dat."
At last convincing him of our truthfulness, we began to question him as
to the road, the chances of getting provisions, etc., when he said: "Ef
you uns is Yankees, you is all right, foh it's jes a little way to the
camp of de Home Geards."
_The Home Guard_
Supposing that this was of course a Confederate organization, I asked
how we should get past them.
"You doesn't want to git past 'em," he replied. "Go right in dar, and
dey'll gib you somet'ing to eat. Dey's Union men, dey is, an' has got a
camp an' geards, an' all dat. Dey's fightenin' Jordan's men ebery day
mos'."
This information was startling, and it took the sentinel, for such he
proved to be, a long time to convince us he was telling the truth. At
length we agreed to the following conditions for accepting his guidance:
One of us was to carry the gun, the two others were to carry clubs, and
he was to pilot us to the camp of the Home Guards. On the first evidence
of his having deceived us, we were to kill him.
To this he assented, and under his leadership we started forward. Soon
we reached a log house, and he went to the door and knocked. There was
considerable delay about opening the door; so much, that our suspicion
was aroused. At length the door was partly opened, and a woman's face
appeared. She recognized our guard and he briefly informed her who we
were. She hardly trusted him, but after a brief parley we were admitted.
We told her frankly who we were, and she supplied our wants as well as
she could from her own limited resources, at the same time informing us
that her husband was in the house when we arrived, but that he had
hastily taken himself to the brush. We afterwards learned the cause.
We had proceeded but a short distance from the house when we discovered
in the road ahead of us, a mounted picket, dressed in Confederate grey.
To describe our feelings at the sight, is impossible. My first impulse
was to turn and fly. I grasped my club with fierce energy, with the
mental vow that if that negro had betrayed us into the hands of our
enemies I would send him to his long home, if my life paid the forfeit.
Not a word was spoken until the picket challenged, "Who goes there?"
"Friends," replied Spencer.
"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."
"We have no countersign," I replied.
"Who are you?"
My voice trembled as I replied, "Escaped Union prisoners."
"All right. Come in."
"Wait a moment. Are you a Union man?"
"I just am that. I belong to the Home Guard."
"Well, who are the Home Guard?"
"Union men, belonging around here. Come along. We will take care of
you."
"All right," we replied, and under his guidance we moved forward.
We soon reached the camp, more properly the rendezvous, of the command.
We found perhaps a dozen men, all armed, in and around a small but
comfortable log house. The guard reported us to one whom he saluted as
Major, who immediately put us through a thorough questioning. We told
him who we were, and the rank and regiment of each. We showed him our
letters, and, among other things, our compass and map.
After undergoing a rigid examination, we were successful in convincing
our new-found Union men that we were in very truth Yankees and escaped
prisoners, and we were permitted to go where we pleased, being
cautioned, however, that it was highly dangerous to stray far from camp.
Immediately after our examination was closed, one of the men came up to
us and said, "Did you uns stop at a house back here, this morning?"
"We stopped there, certainly," I replied; "and the woman gave us a good
breakfast. Why do you ask?"
"I only wanted to be sure that you were the ones stopped there. That was
my house. I made tracks out of the back door and took to the brush,
when you went in at the front."
"Why did you do that? Why were you frightened at our approach?"
"Well," said he, "I'll just tell ye. We're mighty scary 'bout strangers
comin' to our houses, jest now. 'Taint more'n a month since one of
Jordan's Band came to the house of my neighbor, not more'n a mile from
heah, an' let on he was a Union man, an' wanted to join the Home Guards,
and his wife sent to the bush an' had her husband come in. But afore he
got clar into the house a dozen of Jordan's men come out'n the bush, an'
they just took an' tied him hand an' foot, mutilated him in the most
horrid manner, an' then, bleeding as he was, they hung him to a tree
right in sight of his own house. I tell ye, stranger, it stan's a man in
hand to look out for himself these times. If I'd knowed who you was, I
wouldn't have run into camp, as I did."
While we were talking, a little group of men gathered around us,
listening to the conversation. Our looks must have expressed
incredulity. In fact it was hard, soldiers as we were, used to scenes
of blood and brutality upon the battlefield, to believe it possible that
such hellish deeds could have been enacted in a Christian land.
"Reck'n that's a pretty tough yarn to believe, now, ain't it?" said a
tall, gaunt specimen of a North Georgia man. "But I tell you it's true,
every word of it. I seed it with my own eyes. I helped to cut him down
and bury him--and he ain't the only one that's been served that way."
_Among the Georgia Unionists_
Looking around, a little later, we saw in the field at a short distance,
three or four men at work digging sweet potatoes--_each man with a
musket strapped to his back_.
I had read in histories of the early settlement of the Eastern States,
and of pioneering in the West, incidents corresponding in some respects
with this. There was, however, one radical difference between the cases
of our pioneers and the Georgia Unionists. The former were compelled to
defend themselves against the North American savages, in a war
prosecuted without regard to the laws governing civilized nations; but
this was in the interior of Georgia, one of the older States, in the
noon-tide of the nineteenth century. These men were not warring with
savages, but with their fellow men of the same race, with their
neighbors, their former friends and acquaintances.
Here were about a hundred men banded together for mutual
protection--Union men, who had voted against secession, who had refused
to join in that fratricidal step, and who were in sympathy with the
North in desiring to maintain and preserve the Union. When conscripted
into the Confederate army they fled to the mountains, and were there
hunted like wild beasts, and when pressed like them, stood at bay. Their
wives and little ones had tilled the soil, and managed to raise enough
corn and sweet potatoes to maintain life, and to send to the hiding
places of their husbands and fathers and brothers, supplies from this
meagre store, as occasion required.
To this class were added those who were so unfortunate as to have been
captured--forced into the Southern service by conscription, and who had
subsequently escaped and returned to their homes. So soon as they were
in sufficient numbers to warrant it, they had left their places of
concealment and formed an organization for mutual protection. They were
armed with muskets, carbines, revolvers, shot-guns--anything that would
shoot.
They had made one or two raids on the planters in the lowlands, known to
be prominent Confederates, and had supplied themselves with provisions.
The exigencies of the Southern cause had compelled that government to
put into the field every available man. The theatre of activity being so
far removed from here, however, had, to a certain extent, protected
these mountaineers from attack by any detachment of the Confederate
army.
There was, however, a guerrilla company, known as Jordan's Band, used by
the Confederates as scouts, whose business it was to give information of
the movements of Sherman's forces, which were located on the railroad.
They waylaid foraging parties, bushwhacked pickets, etc. Well armed and
mounted, they outnumbered the Home Guards nearly two to one. With this
band the Home Guards were constantly fighting. It was a war of
extermination between them. No prisoners were taken by either side. When
we arrived in camp they were momentarily expecting an attack. The men
were stationed where they could overlook the different roads, with
orders, if attacked, to fall back slowly to camp, sending in information
to the commander, Major McCreary, so that he might put his men in the
best possible position to receive the enemy.
The Home Guards were outside any regular military organization, but were
most desirous of entering the United States service. They were not so
anxious for the pay they would then be entitled to draw, as they were to
procure good arms and clothing, and to be entitled to the protection of
the government, as regularly-organized soldiers. They begged of us to
represent their case to our government, and see if this could not be
accomplished. I may as well state right here, that information
concerning their case was promptly filed in the War Department, but I
could never learn that it was acted upon.
With few exceptions, these were rough, unlettered men, without even the
rudiments of an education. But they were generous, hospitable, brave,
and Union men to the core; men who would suffer privations, and death
itself, rather than array themselves in strife against the Stars and
Stripes, the emblem of the country they loved. All the power of the
Confederate government could not compel them to fight against it.
Uneducated though they were, under their homespun jackets beat hearts
pure as gold, and stout as oak.
These were the men to whom Providence had directed our steps. We were
invited into the house, and after eating a good dinner and enjoying the
luxury of a bath--more strictly speaking, a good, thorough wash from
head to foot--we were provided with good beds. What a treat! Soft, clean
beds, for men who for six months had thought a blanket a luxury, and who
for the last twenty days had turned day into night and slept in the
woods, with no kindly covering but the sky--depending upon the rays of
the sun for warmth; all the time with a sense of danger hovering over us
that would only permit brief and troubled rest, liable to be broken
should a leaf fall, or a twig snap. Throwing ourselves into bed, we
were soon lost in quiet, refreshing sleep, from which we did not awaken
until long after daylight the next morning. We now felt like new men,
and after a hearty breakfast were eager to take the road as soon as
circumstances should permit, certainly by the time darkness should again
make it prudent.
Our new friends would not for a moment listen to this proposition. We
must stay and rest, they said, and when fit to travel some of them would
accompany us to Sherman's lines. The roads were scouted during the night
by Jordan's men, and the chances were two to one in favor of our being
recaptured. They could not go with us that night, and perhaps not the
next, because they were expecting an attack. So soon as the emergency
had passed, and it was safe to proceed, they promised to take us on our
way.
It was hard to act upon this prudent advice. Our patience was sorely
tried. Only forty miles separated us from our lines, and from
telegraphic communication with wife and home. One night or two at most,
would finish the journey. It was hard to wait, but discretion and the
urgent advice of friends prevailed. We consented to remain, provided
they would furnish us with any kind of arms, and permit us temporarily
to volunteer in the Home Guards, and in case of a fight to participate
in it. To this proposition they gave a cordial assent. I was furnished
with a revolver, and Spencer and Hatcher with other weapons.
That night, word was brought in that some of Jordan's men had been on a
certain road, and the probabilities were that we should be attacked
before morning. The Major immediately took the necessary steps to put
his force in the best possible position for defense. His plan was to
ambush the enemy. Two mounted scouts were sent out, with orders to
ascertain the Confederate strength, and then, after showing themselves,
to fall back and if possible to draw them into our trap. We waited
patiently for several hours, and at length the scouts returned. They
reported having seen the enemy, who prudently refused to follow them in.
It being apparent that no attack would be made that night, the usual
precaution of posting pickets was taken, and all returned to camp.
The next morning, one of the men asked to see "that little thing" I
showed the Major when I came into camp. It was some time before I could
make out what he meant. I finally asked him if it was the compass; and
he reck'ned it was. I took it out of my pocket and showed it to him.
Finding him ignorant of its uses, I explained them as well as I was
able, saying among other things that the needle always pointed to the
north, unless attracted by some more powerful magnet. I took a piece of
iron, and caused the needle to traverse by attraction. Some of the
questions he asked, would have puzzled old Doctor Benjamin Franklin to
answer. It is hard to believe that at this age of the world, in a
civilized country, a man could be found so utterly ignorant of the uses
of a compass.
Here could be seen the difference between educated freedom at the North,
and uneducated slavery in the South. Without any system of free schools,
the poor whites were unable to procure the means to educate their
children. It was not to the interests of the slaveholders, the
aristocracy of the South, to educate the masses. Slavery naturally
created an aristocracy, to maintain which it was necessary to keep both
negroes and poor whites in ignorance. There were no common interests
between the rich and the poor whites, to induce the former to tax
themselves to educate their neighbors' children. The result was, that
while the children of the aristocrats were, generally, educated above
the common standard at the North, the masses were left in deplorable
ignorance.
By this time we were becoming impatient to resume our journey, and urged
our friends, with all the eloquence of which we were possessed, to make
the attempt to reach our lines that night. But the Major, although
plainly desirous of accommodating us, was firmly convinced that the
attempt could not be made with safety, and wisely, no doubt, overruled
us. Much against our inclination, we abided by his decision, and
concluded to remain another night. During the course of the day, we
received an invitation to attend a wedding.
_A Mountain Wedding_
One of the members of the Home Guards was a reckless young fellow, a
deserter from an Ohio regiment. Wild, yet generous-hearted, he had, he
said, been grossly abused by his Captain, and had therefore left his
command and joined the Home Guards. In less than a month, he had
succeeded in captivating one of Jasper's fairest maidens, and we were
invited to witness the ceremony that should make the twain one flesh.
We more than suspected that the desire to witness this ceremony had
influenced, if not the Major, at least a large proportion of his men, to
delay our journey. We put the best face on the matter, however, and
inasmuch as we were compelled to wait, decided to attend.
Just before the time arrived for the invited guests to assemble, Major
McCreary made a detail of a sufficient number of his command to secure
us from surprise, and posted them upon all the approaches to the place;
the balance attended the wedding in a body, taking with them their arms
and equipments.
Like a majority of the homes of Georgia mountaineers, the house in which
the ceremony was to be performed was about sixteen feet square, and
constructed of logs. A large fireplace, extending nearly across one end
of the building, was piled with wood that crackled and roared as the
ruddy blaze encircled and devoured it. It sent back into the room a
delightful glow, lighting up the dusky nooks and corners of the old
cabin, now flickering up to the ceiling and again dying away, leaving
the inmates in the dancing shadows. A bed occupied the opposite side of
the room. Opposite the only entrance was one small window. The other
furniture consisted solely of a rough pine table and a few chairs.
The assembled company composed a group that if faithfully drawn would
insure to any artist the reputation of a first-class caricaturist. The
guests, numbering between thirty and forty persons of both sexes, filled
the room to overflowing. Immediately in front of the fireplace stood the
bride and groom, hand in hand.
The costume of the bride was not such as Paris would have prescribed for
such an occasion. Durability and comfort rather than a desire for
artistic effect, had evidently been the ruling considerations in its
selection. The material was calico, bright colors predominating, and it
was made up without any of the furbelows and jimcracks called
"trimmings." No unsightly hoops (then everywhere in vogue) concealed the
outlines of the girl's well-developed form. Upon her feet were worn
good, substantial leather shoes and woolen stockings. Her "waterfall"
was made up of her own luxurious hair, held in place by a horn comb. No
ornament of any kind or description, not even a sprig or flower, was
permitted to relieve the chaste simplicity of her costume. Standing
there by the side of her chosen husband, she looked substantial and
durable, rather than beautiful.
The groom, resplendent in all the glories of a white shirt and clean
homespun jacket and trousers, seemed to be as happy as is often
permitted to mortals.
Grouped around the room, in various grotesque attitudes, were the
members of the Home Guards. Some were standing, resting their chins upon
hands folded across the muzzles of their muskets; others were standing
in the position of a soldier at ordered arms; others were squatted on
the floor, with their guns lying across their laps. Sitting on the bed
and on the few chairs, were some of the women, while others mingled
with the soldiers, quite regardless of appearances.
Everything being in readiness, the clergyman took his place, and in a
few words pronounced the marriage ceremony--which, whether performed in
palace or hovel, is so fraught with good or ill, to both the parties
concerned.