<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>ESCAPE<br/> <small>FROM THE</small><br/> CONFEDERACY</h1>
<p class="ph3 spaced">
<span class="smcap">Overpowering the Guards</span>—<span class="smcap">Midnight Leap From<br/>
a Moving Train</span>—<span class="smcap">Through Swamps<br/>
and Forest</span>—<span class="smcap">Blood Hounds</span>—<br/>
<span class="smcap">Thrilling Events</span>.</p>
<hr />
<p class="ph3">B. F. HASSON,<br/>
Late Lieut. Ringgold Battalion (22d. Pa. Vol. Cav.)</p>
<hr />
<p class="ph4 space-above">Entered according to Act of Congress.</p>
<p class="ph3 handwrit"><em>Sept 26, 1900</em></p>
<hr class="break-before full" />
<div class="blockquot">
<p><em>To the comrades of the Ringgold Cavalry and the
relatives and friends of the boys who suffered
and died at Richmond and Andersonville,
this booklet is dedicated.</em></p>
</div>
<hr class="break-before full" />
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent1">"<em>Across the years, full rounded to many score,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>Since advancing peace, with her olive wand,</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>Returns the sunshine to our desolate land,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>Come thronging back memories of the war.</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>Again the drum's beat and the cannon's roar,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>And patriot fires by every breeze are fanned,</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>And pulses quicken with a purpose grand,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>As manhood's forces swell to larger store.</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>Again the camp, the field, the march, the strife,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>The joy of victory, the bitter pain</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>Of wounds or sore defeat; the anguish rife,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>And tears that fall for the unnumbered slain,</em></div>
<div class="verse"><em>And homes, where darkened is the light of life,</em></div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>All these the echoing bugle brings again.</em>"</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><em>INTRODUCTORY.</em></h2></div>
<p>I have been so often urged by old army comrades,
as well as other friends, to publish the facts contained in
the following pages in a convenient shape for preservation,
that I have concluded to comply with their wishes,
and now present them in this form. Many of the less
important details have been omitted, as well with a view
of preventing the story from becoming tiresome as of
getting it within the limits of space it was intended it
should occupy. While the experience was attended
with trials and suffering, I wish to assure the reader
that it was nothing more than was endured by hundreds
of other boys who saw service in the War of the Great
Rebellion. I would not go through it again for all the
world, and yet I would not like to lose the satisfaction I
enjoy in the knowledge of my success in overcoming so
many seemingly insurmountable difficulties. It is a plain
narration of facts, and is written without any effort to
overdraw or embellish. I hand it over to the friends
and comrades who have been urging me to publish it, in
the hope that it will help to fill up an idle moment.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">B. F. Hasson.</span><br/></p>
<hr class="break-before full" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i008.jpg" width-obs="397" height-obs="600" alt="Frontispiece F. C. ORMSBY WASH. D.C." /></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>War Memories</h2></div>
<p>"Flank out Frank, and go with us to-morrow."</p>
<p>We were squatted on the sandy ground—vermin-ladened
sand—inside the prison stockade on Belle Island,
discussing the probable destination of the prisoners
then being daily removed from that place. Joseph Morton
and Peter Deems of my own regiment and myself
were of the party and the above remark was made by
Morton and addressed to me. It was early in the month
of March, 1864, and just after that famous raid to the
vicinity of Richmond by Gen. Kilpatrick and Col. Ulrich
Dahlgren. The daring troopers had even penetrated the
defences of the city and thoroughly alarmed the Rebel
authorities. Immediately steps were taken to remove
the prisoners from Richmond to Andersonville, Ga., and
other remote points in the South out of the reach of rescue
by Federal raiders.</p>
<p>The prisoners on the Island were divided off into
hundreds. The first hundred was composed of those
first put into the stockade; and then, as new or fresh
prisoners arrived the second and other hundreds were
added. One member of each hundred was chosen to see
to the welfare of the men in securing rations, etc. The
hundreds were subdivided into messes of twenty-five
each, and a man was selected from among them whose<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</SPAN></span>
duty it was to cut up the loaves of corn-bread into
twenty-five equal sized pieces, and see that they were
impartially issued to the men. This was done by placing
a man with his back to the pieces of bread, and the sergeant
pointing to one piece at a time and asking, "Whose
is this?" The answer would be, "That goes to No. 1,"
and so on through the list of twenty-five. The men were
called by number instead of name. This was made necessary
by reason of frequent changes on account of deaths.</p>
<p>This rather full explanation is given here because it
answers questions often asked me. This stockade, or
inclosure, within which prisoners were confined, comprised
several acres on the lower end of the Island,
around which piles were driven, close together, leaving
perhaps four to six feet projecting above ground. A
little below the top of these logs or piles a platform was
erected, and on this platform the guards marched and
countermarched. It is not my intention to enter into a
description of the condition of the prison camps. Their
histories have been written and all are doubtless more or
less familiar with them.</p>
<p>At this time there were about 9500 (ninety-five
hundreds) in the stockade. Up to and including the sixteenth
hundred had already been taken away. Morton
and Deems were in the eighteenth hundred, and I was in
the twenty-second hundred. It was expected that the
next day more would be taken, and fearful that my
squad would not be reached I was asked by Morton to
"flank out" and go along. It was a violation of the
rules to go from one squad to another, but on account<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</SPAN></span>
of the many deaths occurring every night it could be
managed in an emergency like this.</p>
<p>Having been on the Island for six months I was
glad to make a change of residence. A change of any
kind was desirable even if it was not an improvement.
To walk around the stockade another day, over the same
well-beaten path, looking into the same pale, haggard
faces, listening to the groans of the dying and witnessing
the miserable condition of the living, was no longer
tolerable, so that, "rather than suffer the ills we had
we were willing to flee to others we knew not of."</p>
<p>I did flank out that night and the next morning
quietly slipped into the eighteenth hundred with Morton
and Deems, and marched with them out of the inclosure
and over the bridge to the city of Richmond. We were
put into the building called "The Pemberton" and remained
there until the following morning, when we
crowded into freight cars, forty to sixty in a car, and
started southward.</p>
<p>While crossing the bridge on our way from the Island
to the city I was marching by the side of a prisoner
whom I had not met before. He was yet in apparently
vigorous condition—evidently not having been a prisoner
very long. He asked me in a suppressed tone if I intended
to try to escape in case we were taken further
south. I replied that I did, and we there and then entered
into a contract to go together. He was enthusiastic
about the matter and gave me his hand as a pledge
of his sincerity.</p>
<p>Studying means of escape, and efforts to rid them<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</SPAN></span>selves
of the tormenting vermin, were the chief occupations
of prisoners of war while awake. In their fitful
and uneasy slumbers they were dreaming that they were
at home sitting at the most abundantly supplied tables
and enjoying all the comforts which the word home
implies.</p>
<p>Long continued exposure and lack of food had engendered
diseases and reduced the poor creatures to the
most pitiable condition. Of course some were worse off
than others, but all looked miserable enough.</p>
<p>After passing through Petersburg we were satisfied
that a longer term of imprisonment awaited us, for,
had it been the purpose to exchange us, we should have
stopped at Petersburg and from there been taken to
City Point. When the fact was made known there
were loud murmurings. The bronzed and starved faces
were pictures of the most abject wretchedness and
despair. Reaching Gaston, North Carolina, we were
transferred to another train, taking the Gaston and
Raleigh road from that point.</p>
<p>Morton was very sick when we started from Richmond,
and the jolting received in the cars had tended to
increase his trouble. I endeavored to keep as close to
him as possible on the way, so as to render him all the
assistance I could. When changing cars at Gaston he
was quite feeble, and required assistance to get from
one train to the other.</p>
<p>"Do you intend to escape, Lieutenant?" was whispered
in my ear as we were getting off the train. On
looking around I found Peter Deems at my elbow.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"To-night," I as quietly replied.</p>
<p>"All right, I'm with you," said he. Those who
will remember Mr. Deems, (and doubtless many of his
old friends in Pike Run township, and all his surviving
comrades in Co. F will) must be amused, as I was, at
such a proposition coming from him. Although he was
considerably reduced in flesh by his long confinement, he
was yet large and clumsy, and to jump from a running
train would, to my mind, have resulted disastrously.
The whistle of the locomotive notified us that all was
ready, and it was not long until we were speeding southward.
On looking around for Deems I found he had in
some way failed to get into that car. I never saw him
after. His name, together with poor Morton's, appeared
in a list of prisoners who answered the last great roll
call at Andersonville, Georgia. Night came on as we
approached Franklinton station, Franklin County, North
Carolina. Here the train stopped for some time for the
purpose of taking on wood and water, and while doing
this the guards in the car were relieved. That is, those
stationed there during the day were taken away and
other men put in their places. I kept careful watch of
everything going on and all the while keeping in view my
purpose to get out of that car at the very earliest opportunity.
While placing the guards the officer in charge
renewed the instructions for the night. They were emphatically
ordered not to allow a prisoner to get near the
door. As is well known, the doors on a freight car slide
along the side of the car. The door on one side of our
car was securely fastened, while the one on the other<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</SPAN></span>
side was partly open—perhaps two feet—not more than
enough for a man going out in a hurry to clear the sides.
There were two guards in the car, one on each side of
this partly open door. Armed Confederate soldiers were
scattered all along the train—some on top of the cars.
The rear car, an ordinary passenger coach, was occupied
exclusively by them. They were held in readiness to
answer a call from any part of the train in case of
trouble. A lantern was hung up to the ceiling near the
middle of the car.</p>
<p>It was a little after dark when the bell announced
the time for starting. About the time the train was
pulling out I asked the man who had agreed with me
when we were crossing the bridge to make an effort to
escape, what he thought about it. I found he had
changed his mind. The boisterous and violent manner
in which the officer had instructed the guard to shoot any
man who came near the door, the sound of guns fired
off for the purpose, no doubt, of overawing the prisoners,
and the general gloom which night and darkness
threw around the scene, had a depressing effect upon
him. He said we would surely be killed. This was
sufficient to convince me that he could not be relied
upon and I bade him good-night and went in search of
others who might be induced to consider the matter
favorably.</p>
<p>Two stalwart men with guns in their hands, stood
between us and liberty, and a sufficient force to render
their defeat absolutely certain must be brought to bear.
A failure to overpower them at the first attack would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</SPAN></span>
be sure to lead to the instant death of those engaged,
if not others. The car was unspeakably filthy, and
the thoughts of remaining in it would unstring the
strongest nerves.</p>
<p>While leaning against the end of the car and
peering through the dim light made by the candle in the
lantern, and carefully scanning the scene before me, I
discovered four young soldiers sitting on the floor
near the other end, who seemed to be absorbed in the
discussion of some important proposition. I felt so
confident I knew what they were talking about that I
made my way to them by carefully stepping over the
forms of the prisoners as they lay huddled together on
the floor, and getting down among them entered into
conversation with them. It is sufficient to say we soon
had our plans laid and a perfect understanding as to
carrying them out.</p>
<p>There were now five of us. It was arranged that
four should attack the guards. In other words, two of
us to each guard, while the fifth should make his way
to the lantern which hung suspended to the ceiling of
the car, as before mentioned, and at the time offensive
operations were to begin he was to extinguish the light.
The guards were fully armed—guns in their hands and
revolvers in their belts—while we were without
weapons of any kind, and all more or less weakened by
confinement, exposure and lack of sufficient food. We
fully understood the part each was to play in the drama,
or tragedy—whichever it might prove to be.</p>
<p>Before proceeding further I had to go back to the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</SPAN></span>
other end of the car and take leave of Morton. To see
him lying in the corner of the car suffering the tortures
of a lingering starvation was a sad sight indeed, and
served to admonish me that his condition would soon be
mine if I remained with him. Our separation was very
sad and affecting.</p>
<p>The first difficulty to overcome was to get near the
guards without exciting suspicion. I had a finger ring
made of bone which had been given to me by a friend
on the Island. It was thought by careful manoeuvering
I might be able to trade it to the guard for some
crackers, which I noticed he carried in his haversack.
Accordingly, I secured a position as close to him as I
dared, and attracted his attention. I approached him
by edging my way along, my right shoulder against the
side of the car. He ordered me back, and several times
threatened me. It was some time before I could get him
to listen to me, but I handled him carefully, and after
some parleying handed him the ring and told him he
or some of his friends might value it as a memento,
coming from a Yankee soldier. I pleaded for a few
crackers and he eventually gave me two and a part of
a third. By this time I had got sufficiently close to the
door to be able to get an occasional glance outside as
the train rumbled along and tossed me from side to side.
I remember crossing a bridge, which I afterwards
learned spanned Cedar Creek, a tributary of the Tar
River. This bridge was probably eight miles or more
from Franklinton station.</p>
<p>My companions had all gained their positions. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</SPAN></span>
one who was to assist me was standing behind the
shoulder of the guard, far enough away to avoid
attracting attention and yet close enough to reach him.
Two others had cautiously taken positions behind the
other guard.</p>
<p>The crackers were eagerly, ravenously devoured.
We had consumed the rations issued to us early that
morning, long before the middle of the day. Six
months as a prisoner of war with a continual craving
for food and with but one short ration that morning
made this deal with the guard one of great importance.
Now all were ready. With suppressed breath, swelling
hearts and quickening pulses we anxiously awaited the
momentous moment.</p>
<p>All at once, as if everything were working in
concert with us, the cars slackened their speed. We
were evidently on an ascending grade. On visiting the
point since the war I found this to be true. Of course
the difference was not very great but it was noticeable.
We had agreed upon a signal but this change in the
speed of the train took its place, and that this was the
supreme moment flashed upon all of us at once. I was
on the point of looking around to see if the thought had
struck the other boys when crash went the lantern,
and then—</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">"There rose so wild a yell,</div>
<div class="verse">Within that dark and narrow cell,</div>
<div class="verse">As all the fiends from Heaven that fell,</div>
<div class="verse">Were pealing the battle cry of hell."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>The struggling guards were shouting to each other<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</SPAN></span>,
calling down all sorts of maledictions upon the —— —— ——
Yankees. The light was out and in that car
pandemonium had full swing.</p>
<p>It is not necessary—hard as it is to avoid it—to go
more fully into detail. Suffice it to say there was not a
hitch in the whole proceeding. Our plans were carried
out perfectly, and in less time, perhaps, than it takes
now to write it out. When obstructions were removed
we sprang out into the darkness. The boy who knocked
out the light was the tallest member of the party and
had been selected for that duty because of his ability to
easily reach the lantern. He and his companion (who
belonged to the same regiment) took advantage of the
confusion and dodged out of the car at the outstart,
leaving the three others engaged with the guard. It
was well they did for they clung to the lantern which
proved of great value to us afterward. It was perhaps
about midnight when, full bruisers, we picked ourselves
up out of the sand where we had fallen and in answer to
suppressed whistling came together.</p>
<p>We were free! The reflection brought with it
feelings far different from those which possessed us a
few minutes previous, yet when we contemplated our
situation the thought occurred that expressions of
pleasure at that time might be premature. We were
not yet "out of the woods;" were in the heart of the
enemy's country. To the nearest point of territory held
by the Union forces it was more than a hundred miles.
The future looked gloomy enough. The most difficult
part of the task was yet to be overcome.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The train had not yet stopped, and after congratulating
ourselves, we proceeded to consider the
course to be pursued as to subsequent movements. At
this moment another matter attracted our attention. A
strange clattering noise was heard in the distance, and
as it grew more distinct we crouched upon the ground
and with bated breath awaited results. Presently,
three or four figures passed along the railroad track.
The amount of noise made led us at first to believe there
was quite a large force of troops coming, but it proved
to be four negroes, who, we afterwards learned, were
wearing wooden-soled shoes, which, owing to the scarcity
of leather in the South, were worn almost entirely by this
class of persons. These shoes were made by using rawhide
for the uppers and nailing it to the soles made of
wood, the latter being from one-half to perhaps an inch
thick; at least this is my recollection. After this little
interruption we crossed the railroad and traveled westward
in the direction of Tennessee. After walking
three or four miles and becoming well nigh exhausted
we lay down in the forest and slept till daylight. On
waking up in the morning and finding ourselves too
close to the open country for safety, we moved further
into the woods and selecting what we supposed to be a
secluded spot concluded to stop and recruit our wasted
strength. The pangs of hunger were tormenting us, and
how to get relief must now engage our attention. One
of the party started out on a reconnaisance and in a
couple of hours returned with six ears of corn. We
took the lantern which, as before mentioned, was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span>
thrown out of the car, and which was picked up and
carried along, broke the top off, and used the tin bottom
for parching our corn. We gathered a few sticks of
wood and made a small fire, carefully guarding against
making more smoke than could possibly be helped, we
all fell to work parching and eating. Parched corn
has not much tendency to allay hunger, consequently all
we could get did not check the craving for more.</p>
<p>I have heard a story which frequently occurs to me,
and when it does I am invariably reminded of that
parched corn experience. It is the story of an old
darky who caught a 'possum, killed and dressed him,
put it in the oven to bake, surrounding it with sweet
potatoes, etc., and then the old man laid down to sleep
while his 'possum baked. He was very hungry, and
fondly anticipated a treat when he woke up. About the
time the 'possum was done a mischievous acquaintance
happened along, stole the 'possum and ate it all up.
Then he took the bones, put them down in front of the
old man, greased his lips with 'possum grease, and
rubbed the grease over his fingers. When the old man
woke up he missed his 'possum. He saw the bones
lying in front of him. He saw 'possum grease on his
fingers, and tasted 'possum grease on his lips, and finally
said: "Well; am it possible dat I eat dat 'ar 'possum
while I war asleep? It done look like I must hab eat
him; but, fo' Gawd, dat 'ar 'possum had less effek on
de stomach dan any 'possum dis chile eber eat." That
was the way with the parched corn. It had a mighty
poor effect on the stomach.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>We remained at that place that and the day following,
having nothing to eat but parched corn. The corn
was procured from a slave whose owner lived a short
distance from where we were hiding. Fearing our
getting away might have been made known we kept
very quiet, spending most our time deliberating as to
the best route to the Union lines and the means to be
adopted to gain them, and trying to exterminate the tormenting
vermin which had started colonies upon every
part of our clothing. It was an imperative duty, in
order to keep the upper hand, to wage continual war
upon these pests. On this occasion we had been prevented
for one day from attending to this duty and in
consequence they were in "shoals and nations," and we
found it very difficult to reduce their numbers sufficiently
to allow us any comfort. Having told our black
friend to collect three or four of his most intelligent
acquaintances and bring them to see us, they appeared
in camp on the evening of the second day. Without
their counsel we might have made a fatal mistake at the
outset. The southern negroes are, or were while slavery
was in existence, the most consummate strategists in
the matter of escaping or eluding pursuit. Many of
them had been runaways, and those who had not were
thoroughly schooled in the art by able teachers. Stories
of the most marvelous flights and long continued success
in evading capture by the master and blood hounds, were
told me. One very old woman, whom I afterwards met,
told me she had spent nearly her whole life in the
swamps and cane brakes. In order to throw the blood<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span>
hounds off their tracks they would besmear their feet,
hands and clothing with a mixture composed partly of
brimstone. In crossing fences or going through the
forests they were careful to allow no part of the body
or dress to come in contact with the rails or trees but
that which had been rubbed with the compound. We
were advised to separate for the reason that if we remained
together it would be difficult to find food for so
many, and the chances for being discovered were much
greater. When the pow-wow broke up it was well into
the night, and taking leave of each other, we "folded
our tents, like the Arab, and silently stole away" into
the darkness.</p>
<p>Two of the party resolved to continue westward in
the direction of Tennessee. The distance to the Union
lines was greater but the country to be traveled was
mountainous, and thought to be safer. One chose to
go northward towards Virginia. Another started for
Roanoke River, intending to follow it to the coast. I
started directly eastward, having determined to take
the nearest and most direct route to the Union forces
on the coast of North Carolina, and intending to make
up by caution what I might lose by having the most
dangerous route. After traveling some time I came
suddenly upon a cabin situated in the edge of the forest,
and being almost famished I figured around until I satisfied
myself that it would probably be safe to arouse
the dwellers within. In most cases the cabins stood in
clusters in the vicinity of the residence of the proprietor
of the plantation on which they are situated.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span>
But sometimes you would find one standing in some
isolated spot far removed from any other. I had no
means of knowing what time it was—perhaps about
midnight. An old black man answered my summons,
and when he appeared I asked him if it would be safe
in the house for a Yankee. Without giving him time
to reply I pushed in past him. We closed the door and
I then explained to him who I was and what I wanted.
I found myself in a room containing some crude
articles of furniture and perhaps half a dozen little
children lying promiscuously on the floor. The fireplace
was the most conspicuous thing in view. It occupied
nearly the whole of one side of the cabin. The
man aroused his wife and told her to get up and see a
Yankee. She had evidently never seen a Union soldier
and, like all others of her class, entertained strange
ideas of his appearance. From the stories they had
been told of the crimes committed by the Yankees and
the punishment inflicted upon the black people who fell
into their hands, their fancies had painted some horrible
looking creature which would more resemble
"old Nick" than anything else.</p>
<p>After looking at me closely from head to foot, she
exclaimed, "Is you a Yankee?" "Yes," I replied, "I'm
a Union soldier and belong to the northern army."
"The Lor' bress me," she said, turning to her husband;
"Dey told us dey had horns, but he looks just like our
folks," and she went on talking, sometimes addressing
me, sometimes her husband, until I was compelled to
interrupt her. I asked her if she could spare me a bite<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span>
of bread. "Lor' yes, honey, ye look sta'ved," and she
secured some meal, kneaded it into a ball as large as
the fist, laid it on the hearth and covered it up with hot
ashes. This is the way they make what is called an ash
cake.</p>
<p>While this was going on I felt somewhat anxious.
During our hasty talk the old man said the Home
Guards often visited the cabins of the black people in
the night, in search of runaways and conscripts. These
Home Guards were composed of those who were either
too old or too young to go into service at the front. It
seemed that all classes in the south had military duty of
some kind to perform. As a precaution against discovery
I went out some distance from the house and waited
until the cake was brought out. In a short time my old
friend came out with the cake. What a treat it was no
one can form an idea.</p>
<p>Striking out again, I followed the directions given
me by the old man as near as I could in the darkness,
and daylight the next morning found me close to a town
wearily trudging along, nibbling at the ash cake which I
carried in my pocket. This town proved to be Franklinton,
and, it will be remembered, was the same at
which our train stopped, and where the guard was
changed. Turning out of the road I went in search of
a place to hide during the day. I soon ran into the
brush, or timber, and in a little while came across a
number of stacks of newly made rails and railroad ties.
I crept under one of these and sat down on the leaves,
shivering with cold. It was in March. The nights were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span>
extremely cold. I was thinly clad, and sometimes
thought I would perish.</p>
<p>It was not long until I heard persons approaching,
and looking out between the rails, saw six or eight black
men carrying axes. They had come to begin the day's
work. We were soon engaged in conversation. They
said some one might be there during the day, and to
guard against my presence becoming known to them,
and in order to make me as comfortable as possible, they
gathered together more leaves and leaned more rails
against the stack. They lingered at work until after
dark, and then put me on the road to Louisburg, a town
on the Tar River, about ten or twelve miles from
Franklinton, one of them going some distance with
me. Louisburg was the town I started for the night
before, but, losing my way, had reached Franklinton,
having made very little progress in the proper direction.
I reached a point within a short distance of Louisburg
about daylight. During the night I often felt very sick,
and sometimes thought I could go no further.</p>
<p>Now, as the day began to dawn, I was utterly
prostrated, and with great difficulty reached some corn
fodder stacks standing in a field. Lying down between
the stacks. I remained there throughout the day, suffering
intensely. About dark I got up and staggered to a
cabin which I noticed during the day, standing some
distance away. Fortunately I found it occupied by
black people. Giving them a brief account of myself, I
asked for some hot tea of some kind. The woman went
hastily to work to get it. I retired a short distance from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>
the house, as a precaution, and waited until it was
brought out. It was made of herbs of some kind, and
revived me very much. Louisburg is situated on the
north bank of the Tar River. I was at this time two or
three miles south of the river. Getting what information
I could here, I started straight down the south side
of the river, leaving Louisburg to my left. I succeeded
in making a point some five or six miles below, and east
of the town, that night. The river runs eastward and
empties into the Pamlico river at Greenville.</p>
<p>Almost perishing from cold and exhaustion, I
anxiously awaited for daylight. It was my rule to look
for a black man—in case I needed to see one—between
dark and bed-time or about daylight in the morning.
When daylight appeared I fortunately found one without
much trouble, and it happened he was one of more
than the average intelligence. Explaining my situation,
I told him it was necessary that I should conceal myself
for several days until I could gain strength. Realizing
that an over-indulgence in food of any kind was
dangerous on account of the debilitated condition of my
stomach, I was very careful, but with all my caution, I
had taken too much of the ash cake, and it came near
killing me. We were not far from the river, and the
man thought it advisable for us to cross to the north
side, as he thought he knew of a place over there which
would be safe from intrusion. So we hurried to the
river bank, got into a "dug-out" which he pulled from
among the bushes, and paddled across. The river banks
were lined with timber and thick underbrush, and often<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span>
swampy ground. We pushed into the brush and soon
came to the spot which he had fixed upon for my
abode. The river was only a few rods wide, and in
many places very difficult to approach on account of the
heavy growth of brush of different kinds. The black
people, however, knew every inch of the ground, and
had secreted in many places all sorts of small boats—everything
of the kind that would float and carry one
across. A couple of small logs tied together would be
sufficient, and even these, I afterwards learned, could
be found in many places. The man, fearing his absence
might be noticed, hurried away, telling me to remain
there until night. That night he re-appeared, accompanied
by another man. This second man proved to be
my guardian angel, as I shall show further along. They
had with them some herb tea and a part of a bed quilt,
both of which were of great value at that time. For
some days I was in the greatest distress.</p>
<p>During the stay at this place I would have more
or less black people to see me every night. Curiosity to
see a Northern man and a desire to render aid in any
way, was the motive which brought them. While there
were a few free negroes among the visitors, the greater
number were slaves. The latter would give accounts of
their troubles, and many woeful stories of cruelty were
rehearsed.</p>
<p>At this place a black man gave me a dirk knife with
a double-edged blade, for the purpose, he said, of protecting
myself against dogs or other enemies. He had
made it by grinding down a file, and had produced a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span>
very formidable weapon. I have always remembered
these people with the greatest interest. There was that
one before spoken of who won my fullest gratitude.
His name was Ben—Ben Foster. Foster, of course,
was the name of the man who owned him. When I was
weakest this man would carry me from place to place,
when he thought there was danger of discovery by
remaining too long in one place.</p>
<p>I went in search of him a few years after the war,
and found him not far from the scene of our first
acquaintance. The incident of meeting this man a few
years after the war was one of the most pleasant
experiences I ever met with. He, of course, did not
know me when I first approached, but to witness the
looks of surprise and hear his expressions of happiness
at seeing me again, alive and well, was worth to me a
great deal more than it cost to go South and hunt him
up. I was accompanied on the trip by M. L. A.
McCracken, Esq., an eminent attorney, of Washington,
Pa., and he was both interested and amused at the scene
when we met.</p>
<p>Many of these slaves were shrewd and observing
and fairly intelligent, and in conversation about matters
connected with the war gave evidence of a pretty good
understanding of the condition of things. They knew
they were a prominent factor in the issue. And what
wonderful faith they had in the guiding hand of an
over-ruling Providence—faith in God and Massa
Lincoln. Their simplicity and earnestness in religious
matters and their superstitions were prominent char<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span>acteristics.
An old aunty told me to look out for the
owls. If one hooted in front of me it meant bad luck;
if one to the right or left or rear, it meant something—good,
bad or worse; I forget just how they had it
arranged. A man named Dick, an interesting character,
who had more than once, he told me, attempted to
get away from bondage, but was as often overtaken and
returned to his master, came often to see me. He was a
laughing, rollicking sort of a fellow, and was usually
engaged in humming a melody or dancing—always
full of merriment and music. He told me one night he
would go and get a fishing line, and next morning
would go to the river and get us some fish. I fully
endorsed the proposition, because it promised to secure
a kind of food I was very much in need of. The corn
bread had sickened me; my stomach revolted against
accepting it, but it was very difficult to get anything
else, and I was compelled to use it. Before daybreak
the following morning I was startled from an uneasy
slumber by hearing Dick's familiar voice breaking the
stillness of the season by humming, in a tone somewhat
suppressed:</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">"Cold, frosty mo'nin', niggah very good,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Wid his axe on his shouldah, slippin' fro' de wood,</div>
<div class="verse">Old rusty hoe cake, not a bit of fat,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">White folks grumble if you eat too much o' dat."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>He was armed with fishing tackle, and we proceeded
to the river bank, but a short distance away. He took a
position in the branches of a fallen tree lying close to
the water's edge, while I fell back into the brush to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span>
await results. It was not long until Dick called,
excitedly, "Fo' de Lawd, massa, come quick." I
hastened to where he was and found he had caught an
eel. It was with some difficulty we got the thing off
the hook, as everybody who has had the experience of
taking an eel off a fishing hook will believe. We
eventually secured it, and Dick slipped away to have it
cooked. In due course of time he returned with it,
nicely fried. My stomach, as before remarked, was out
of shape, but I will remember that eel to my dying day
as the sweetest morsel that ever went into my mouth.</p>
<p>Time passed with me making a most miserable
existence in the brush. One night I was suffering all
that I could suffer and live, when uncle Ben reached
me, and, seeming to realize the extent of my affliction,
laid out some plans of his own as to what should be
done. A mile or more away, standing alone in the
solitude of the forest, was an old cabin occupied by a
free negro family named Jones. While there was some
risk in the proposition, Ben determined I should be
under shelter from the cold and damp, for a time, at
least; so he picked me up and "toted" me to this cabin,
and arranged with the occupant, Mr. Jones, to take me
back into the brush before daylight. This was repeated
several nights. Soon after it was thought best to
change my location to some point as distant from the
present one as it was possible to get to in one night.
Across the river and south of Louisburg, probably three
or four miles, was a house belonging to the owner of a
large plantation. It was located on a main road leading<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span>
southward from the bridge spanning the river at
Louisburg. The house had been abandoned by the
owner at the outbreak of the war, and the plantation,
house, and household furniture had been left in the care
of the slaves. Such a house had always been exempt
from search by the Home Guards. The overseer on this
plantation was a slave. It is a fact that slaves were
sometimes chosen as overseers on plantations, and it is
also said to be a fact that the lash was not spared when
used by one of these overseers on the body of a fellow
slave.</p>
<p>It was determined by uncle Ben and one or two of
his faithful friends that I should be taken to the house
spoken of and kept within it for a few days and nights.
This was for the double purpose of getting me away
from the old neighborhood and of getting me under
shelter. In going there we must either re-cross the
river east of the town and make a long, circuitous
journey, or go directly through it and cross the bridge.
The latter route was chosen, and one night uncle Ben
and a friend, and myself a few yards in the rear, entered
the place. We had reached a point near the bridge, and
I was waiting in the shadow of an old building standing
in an alley for them to reconnoiter around the bridge
and its approaches. They soon returned, showing considerable
excitement and fright. They had discovered
some one on the bridge, and, of course, fancied it was
an enemy. We fell back in some disorder, it is true, but
without meeting with any mishap. Not far from the
town there lived a free negro family. The cabin stood<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span>
in an obscure spot, and to this cabin we directed our
steps. We laid our case before them and secured their
friendship and co-operation. I was permitted to pass
the night and the following day in the loft of their
house. It is my recollection that that day was Sunday;
at any rate, quite a number of young black girls and
boys gathered under the shade of some trees surrounding
the house and spent the greater part of the day in
innocent amusement—singing and dancing. None but
members of the household knew a Yankee was peeping
under the eaves, looking at the performances. The scene
was the most amusing and enjoyable of the kind I ever
witnessed. The antics of the actors were "to the manor
born," while the flirtations of the sable beaus and belles
showed that at least some of the customs of the white
folks had crept into plantation society. When the party
broke up in the evening, they went off, making the
country resound with the music of native songs.</p>
<p>On that night we again started to make our way
through the town and across the bridge. We reached
the borders of the town, and cautiously joining the procession
of people going to church, we mingled with them
until we got in the neighborhood of the bridge. I
might occupy a page or two describing our manoeuvers
while getting to and over the bridge. It is sufficient to
say that we successfully passed over, and some time
after the middle of the night reached our destination,
the mansion on the plantation above spoken of. The
black overseer was not permitted to know of my
presence. Uncle Ben was afraid to trust him. But his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span>
wife unlocked the gate of the fence which surrounded
the house, and took me into the house and directed me
to remain there until she called. A very ferocious dog
was running loose within the enclosure surrounding the
house, and it was with great difficulty the woman could
keep him from springing on me while going from the
gate to the house. This dog being there was probably
one of the reasons why it was thought I would be free
from discovery and could remain in the house undisturbed.
I was kept in this house three days and
nights, and being for that long sheltered from the cold
and damp night atmosphere, my health was much
benefitted. Fearing too long a stay there might prove
disastrous, we again worked our way back to a point
over the river a few miles east of Louisburg, and not
very far from my former place of abode in the forest.
At the expiration of a few days more, it being
probably eighteen or twenty since first striking the district,
I was called upon to get out in a hurry.</p>
<p>During my stay in this neighborhood, I learned there
was a northern man living at Louisburg, who had located
there before the war, and who was anxious to communicate
with me. He had remained true to the Union, and,
through some disability, had escaped being conscripted
into the southern army. He sent a letter directed to some
friends in the north, and asked that I should carry it
through for him. In a note accompanying the letter, he
said he would be glad to have an interview, but realizing
the danger connected with an attempt to visit me,
he concluded to waive the desire. He held a position as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span>
a teacher in an educational institution of that place. I
was compelled to destroy the letter some days later,
when there was danger of my again falling into the
hands of the rebels. Rumors which reached me that
the people had learned there was a Yankee in the
country, and that search with blood hounds might be
made, had a tendency to hasten the start.</p>
<p>Blood hounds! All who have a knowledge of the
character of this savage brute will be able to form
some idea of the horror which the very mention of them
would create in the mind. To explain more fully, I
will say that the night before I started, an old aunty,
probably sixty years of age, came to my dwelling place
and said that the day before she had been tied to a post
and lashed on the bare back. For proof she insisted on
my examining her shoulders. I found them cruelly
bruised and lacerated. Having heard of my presence,
she concluded to visit me, with the hope that I might
suggest some means by which she would be relieved of
such torture in the future. I was persuaded, partly by
her pleading, and partly by a sincere desire to aid her,
to write her a pass. I signed her master's name to it.
She secured the materials for the purpose. Everybody
in the South in those days had to have a pass. She
evidently left her home early the following morning.
Armed with her pass, she concluded she would be safe
under its protection. She was arrested during the day
while loitering around Louisburg; and in the investigation
which followed the pass was proven fraudulent.
I had friends who were watching the proceedings, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span>
the news came to me with the speed of the wind. It was
feared she might be compelled to betray me. At any
rate, it was considered the part of wisdom for me to
strike out, although I was yet quite feeble, at the earliest
convenient moment. In order to prevent the possibility
of being overtaken by blood hounds, we proceeded to the
river bank as soon as darkness appeared, and, with as
much haste as possible, constructed a rude boat from
material found in the bushes, and which had doubtless
been used for the same purpose before.</p>
<p>Three of my faithful friends were there—Ben, and
Dick and Ed. Dick wanted to go along with me and we
had some difficulty to dissuade him. I knew if he went
along and I was caught with him in my company I
would in all probability be shot and he would be flogged
severely. At last—probably near midnight—we were
ready. I picked up the pole which we had secured for
the purpose of managing my boat, and with their "God
bless you, massa, wish you good luck," ringing in my
ears, I pushed out into the stream. I spent the greater
part of the balance of the night on the water. Having
worked to the opposite shore I shoved my frail and
sometimes unruly craft along until near morning, when
I abandoned it and took to the brush. I have no idea I
made a very great distance by water, and yet, for reasons
above stated, it was a wise thing to do.</p>
<p>It must be understood that I would always hunt a
hiding place as soon as daylight appeared. As evening
twilight came on I would sally forth, and if needing information,
would first hunt up a black man. I never<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span>
attempted to travel by day. The cabins of the black
people were built of logs, having but a single room on
the ground floor, and sometimes there was a loft made,
boards being thrown over the ceiling joists, covering
half the room, more or less. This upper apartment was
used for the purpose of storing away articles which
could not well be kept below. It was usually reached
by a ladder.</p>
<p>On this day I sat around, passing the time taking
short naps, and in the interval nibbling at the corn bread
which had been supplied by uncle Ben. I was beginning
to feel strong again, and was thrilled by thoughts
that I would now soon be at home among friends, and
then back with the boys at the camp-fire, participating
in their amusements and sharing in their triumphs.</p>
<p>That night, soon after starting out, I ran into the
vicinity of a cluster of cabins, and loitered about watching
for an opportunity to see what kind of people occupied
them. In the course of time a man came out, and
I was near enough to see by the moonlight that it was a
black man. After some figuring I hailed him, and making
myself known was invited into the house. I was in
there but a moment when a noise was heard on the outside.
The man pointed to the ladder, and I sprang onto
it. I struck the rung heavily; it broke, and in a moment
Yankee and ladder were tangled up on the floor. While
in this situation, with the occupants of the house looking
in consternation at the picture before them, the door
opened, and in stepped a man and woman. Fortunately
they were friends of the family, who came as visitors.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</SPAN></span>
To say that I was mortified at the awkward predicament,
but poorly expresses it. Explanation made everything
right, and I soon shook the dust of that cabin
from my feet, and never again repeated the mistake of
going into one. The tramp that night was uneventful.
As usual, when time arrived to put up for the day I
went around looking for a proper place to locate and go
to bed.</p>
<p>I soon struck the wet, oozy earth, which proved to
be the beginning of a swamp. Swamps were numerous
in that country, and I was glad they were. They afforded
the best hiding places. I penetrated this one
some distance and perched myself on a fallen tree trunk
to doze and sleep away the day. The tree had been
blown down, and large roots extending out in all directions,
held it up out of the water. I was lying stretched
out on this tree when, about the middle of the afternoon
or later, the distant bay of hounds reached my ears. It,
of course, occurred to me they were blood hounds, and
were on my trail. It was two days since leaving the
river bank below Louisburg, and I had begun to feel
that the danger I had run into there had passed. But
with the stories of the negroes regarding the hounds
still well remembered, it was natural for me to conclude
that it could not be otherwise than that these were the
dreaded brutes, and they were after me. One thing is
certain, the noise greatly alarmed me, and as it grew
continually louder and nearer I grasped the limb of a
tree within reach and swung myself into a position on
it some eight or ten feet from the root of the fallen tree<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</SPAN></span>
I had been sitting on. My position was surrounded by
water from one to two feet deep for one to three hundred
yards, and a dense forest. Taking my knife in
my hand I waited results. I have heard it denied that
a man's hair would "stand up" in case of fright, but if
my head didn't resemble the "fretful porcupine" about
now, I have ever since been laboring under a delusion.</p>
<p>Nearer and still nearer sounded the cry of the dogs.
They presently reached the water at the point about
where I entered it, as I thought. What a thrilling moment!
Instead of plunging in, however, they turned
aside and ran around in a circle, as I understood blood
hounds did when they lost a trail. I occasionally got a
glimpse of one in the distance as a chance view is caught
between the trees. The hoarse, foreboding howl created
a terror hard to explain, and filled me with a dreadful
apprehension that they might the next moment come
rushing through the brush. How long this continued I
could not know. It was certainly not long, although it
seemed an age to me. At length a change in the situation
seemed to take place. They were apparently going
off. The cries were sounding further away. They became
more prolonged, more mournful, as they gradually grew
less distinct, and as I sat there and listened to the
chorus dying away in the distance my heart quit its
thumping, my nerves relaxed, and a feeling of relief,
such as is seldom felt by man, came over me. For a
while, however, things looked bad to "a man up a tree,"
I assure you. If they were blood hounds, as I thought
they were, there was no one with them to direct them<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</SPAN></span>
into the water, which they will not enter without being
urged. When darkness came on I cautiously crept out
and hurried away.</p>
<p>The next morning I reached a shed standing in a
field, which proved to 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 discov<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</SPAN></span>ered
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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>I then went in search of information. Getting sight
of a black man I watched him until he entered the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</SPAN></span>
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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</SPAN></span>
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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</SPAN></span>
instrumental in making the journey a success, I felt the
extremest sensations of joy.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Washington was evacuated that same day, our
forces falling back to Newbern. If I had been one day
later—well, we need not speculate upon what might
have been the result. I was forwarded under guard to
Newbern, going around the Sound on the same vessel
which carried the commanding officer. I was kept
under guard by our own forces until I was identified.
This was in accordance with military usage. At Newbern
I was taken to the barracks, or building used for
confining prisoners of war taken by our own forces.
The commanding officer was a colonel of a Massachusetts
regiment. I have lost his name. His wife was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</SPAN></span>
with him and they were living in the adjoining building.
The good woman, happening to discover me as I was
taken into the door, and being attracted by the clothes
I wore, and my "lean and hungry look," asked her
husband to bring me into the house. In response to her
inquiries, I gave her a brief account of my adventures.
She kindly directed that I should be supplied with
soap and water and an opportunity to use them and also
secured from the Government stores a new suit of clothing—all
except a coat. The gray Confederate jacket I
was wearing was "scalded out" and thoroughly cleaned.
That jacket is now in the museum or relic room of the
Court House at Washington, Pa., the only memento in
existence—except myself—of that memorable trip. She
also assigned me to a room and luxurious bed in her
house while I remained at that place.</p>
<p>What a pleasing change! From the immediate
presence "of most disastrous chances; of moving accidents
by flood and field," to this shelter and delightful
rest.</p>
<p>Two days after coming into Newbern I went
around by ocean transport to Fort Monroe, and there I
found Capt. W. H. Meyers, formerly from my own
county in Pennsylvania, who was acting provost marshal
at that point, who identified me and took me from under
the charge of the guard. I can so well remember how
the captain's big heart rejoiced when he discovered me
and found he could render me so great a service.</p>
<p>Remaining over night with the captain, I was
furnished transportation by him, and the following day,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</SPAN></span>
being May 1, 1864, proceeded to Pleasant Valley, near
Harper's Ferry, where I found a part of my regiment,
under command of Colonel A. J. Greenfield. The
colonel kindly detailed a man to nurse me to health, and
thanks to a rugged constitution it was not long until I
was again on duty. Remained in active service with
my regiment till the close of the war. With this
exception I never spent a day in hospital or failed to
answer daily roll call during my whole service in the
army, which was three years and three months.</p>
<p>I have earnestly endeavored to learn the fate of the
boys who left the car with me, but have failed. Two
of them claimed to belong to the Harris Light Cavalry,
a New York regiment. I have been down through
North Carolina, over the tracks I made on that memorable
march, and have advertised in all papers likely to
reach the ex-soldiers. I have not much hope now,
although stranger things have happened. The chances
for getting through were perhaps one in a hundred, on
account of the vigilance of the citizens of the so-called
Confederacy. They were always on the lookout for
deserters, conscripts and runaway slaves. The south
was literally an armed camp. Every man, old and
young, and, I might say, woman and child, was in the
service in some capacity. So when a stranger was
discovered they raised the alarm, and with shotgun in
hand and blood hound on the trail, gave chase. A man
had little chance against such odds.</p>
<p>As I approached the block house between the
picket post and the bridge I got a glimpse of the starry<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</SPAN></span>
emblem. It was attached to a staff on the top of the
fort, and it appeared to me to embody everything that
was beautiful and good. It could have been no more
welcome to a luckless mariner afloat on a boundless
sea without a compass than it was to me. As the mists
lifted it came into view amidst all the splendor of a
southern sunrise, and as its spotless colors rolled in
merry and playful billows across the sky my heart
swelled with joy unspeakable.</p>
<p>Now peace hovers over the land.</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">"No more are hostile standards reared,</div>
<div class="verse">Nor bugle note nor trump is heard—</div>
<div class="verse indent8">The war drums cease:</div>
<div class="verse">The blue-coats scatter through the land;</div>
<div class="verse">The erewhile soldiers, plough in hand,</div>
<div class="verse">Of their own hard won fields demand</div>
<div class="verse indent8">The earth's increase;</div>
<div class="verse">Or ply their skill with sharper zest,</div>
<div class="verse">Where shafts nor wheels nor halt nor rest;</div>
<div class="verse">O'er North and South and East and West</div>
<div class="verse indent8">Broods White-winged Peace."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>And it is the earnest wish of us all that it may be
perpetual.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>APPENDIX</h2></div>
<p class="ph3">HOW AND WHERE I WAS CAPTURED.</p>
<p>In September, 1863, Major Stevens, of the 1st W. Va.
Vol. Infantry, was occupying a position near Moorefield, Va.,
having six companies of his own regiment, two pieces of
artillery, and Capt. A. J. Barr's company of cavalry (afterwards
Company F, 22d Pa. Vol. Cav.). The Major had received
information that a force of the enemy was approaching his
post, and in order to secure as full intelligence as possible of
location, number, etc., scouting squads were sent out on the
different roads. Early on the morning of the 4th I was directed
to take command of a squad and go out on a road which wound
its way for several miles along the south fork of the Potomac
river and which led to and through Brock's Gap. My party
consisted of William Jenkins, John W. Manning, Abel Moore,
John Penny, Corporal Samuel P. Hallam, myself (at this time
a sergeant) in command. Just as daylight was breaking we
reached a ford on the river, and on the opposite bank discovered
a mounted sentinel or picket belonging to the enemy's force.
Corporal Hallam was immediately sent back to camp, to report
the fact to the Major, and in the hope that we could capture
this man on the outpost, or some of the reserve, which must be
near at hand, we dashed across the river, and paying no heed
to the shot he fired at us spurred forward in hot pursuit as he
withdrew. The shooting warned his friends at the reserve post,
and when we came upon their position they were mounted and
in full retreat. They greeted us with a volley as they abandoned
their post, but we kept up the pursuit until we drove them into
camp. Here we found their whole force, having been alarmed
at the firing, falling into line and in much confusion. We
wheeled about and got back across the river, and then feeling
pretty secure leisurely retired. A force of the enemy soon
appeared at the ford, but as they did not rush us we fell back
in good order. Just as we were beginning to feel that we would
soon be near or in our own camp we met a company of Confederate
cavalry coming from that direction. This proved to be
McNeill's company of rangers under command of Lieut. Jesse
McNeill. Now, being caught between this force in front and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</SPAN></span>
the one pursuing there was no possibility of escape. They closed
up on us from both directions, and in the midst of such a
demonstration as only such conditions could bring about they
soon had the little squad unhorsed. Two horses shot and
Jenkins and Moore wounded were the only casualties. This
incident was one of the strange freaks of the fortunes of war.
Instead of capturing one or two of the rebels, as we hoped,
we, ourselves, fell into their hands. We were taken to Richmond,
Va., and put into Libby Prison, where we remained for
two or three weeks, then placed on Belle Island. In a stockade
on this bare island we remained during that cold winter of
1863-64, scantily clothed and without other shelter from the
chilling winds which swept over the island. Three of this party
lived to get back to the North—Hallam, who got through with
his message in the morning, but was captured later the same day;
John W. Manning, who was fortunate enough to be included
with a few hundred that were exchanged in April, 1864, and
myself, escaped in March, 1864. Hallam had a long and terrible
experience in different prison pens in the South. He was
longest at Andersonville, and strange to relate, lived through
more than a year of privation and suffering at that place. He
was released by Gen. Sherman's army at the close of the war.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>ADDENDA.</h2></div>
<p>A most remarkable coincidence connected with this sketch
happened since it was first published. While I was engaged in
the Civil Service of the Government, in 1901, at Washington,
D. C., I was rooming at the house of Mrs. Kiel, No. 12 Sixth
St., N. E, and there met Capt. T. T. Westcott, a Confederate
soldier, who held a position in the National Capital by the favor
of Senator Daniel, of Virginia. Mr. Westcott lives in Accomac
County, Va. While talking over our experiences in the
war, it was discovered that he was the officer in command of
the very train of cars from which I escaped. He well remembered
the incident of the departure of myself and friends on
the night of March 6, 1864, which he discovered the next morning
when his train pulled into Raleigh, N. C. He said he continued
on with his load of human freight to Andersonville, Ga.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><em>LIST OF CAPTURED.</em></h2></div>
<p>The following is a list of the members of the regiment
captured during the war:</p>
<p><em>Company A.</em>—Sample S. Bane, died in Andersonville, Ga.,
April 1, 1864; James Gray, died at Salisbury prison, N. C.;
C. L. Kinder, exchanged; W. Laferty, died at Andersonville
June 9, 1864; Joseph Morton, died at Andersonville March 20,
1864; J. K. Robinson, exchanged; A. M. Nicely, died at Salisbury,
N. C., December 23, 1864; *Jas. Crouch; Wm. H. White,
killed in Manassas Gap by Moseby's guerillas.</p>
<p><em>Company B.</em>—Hardman Gantz, died in Annapolis, Md.,
soon after exchange; Raymond Gouse, died at Andersonville
October 27, 1864; *And. K. Reed; Andrew Smith, died at
Andersonville October 17, 1864; *J. S. Lindley, *L. K. Burncrots,
*W. C. Wheeler.</p>
<p><em>Company C.</em>—Milton L. Davis, died at Andersonville July
5, 1864; Jas. C. Smith, died at Andersonville October 1, 1864.</p>
<p><em>Company D.</em>—*E. H. Miller; W. H. Hickman, exchanged.</p>
<p><em>Company E.</em>—J. G. Byers, died in Andersonville.</p>
<p><em>Company F.</em>—H. H. Eller, died on Belle Island December
16, 1864; William Vankirk, died at Andersonville September
21, 1864; James Bradley, died at Richmond; David Campbell,
died at Andersonville April 6, 1864; Peter Deems, died at
Andersonville April 26, 1864; And. Elliott, died at Richmond;
W. P. Haynor, died at Richmond; Wm. Jenkins, died at Richmond;
N. B. Marsh, died at Richmond; M. G. Moore, died at
Andersonville July 29, 1864; Abel Moore, died at Richmond;
A. J. Scott, died at Andersonville; H. C. Slusher, exchanged;
John Manning, exchanged; John Fulton, exchanged; John
Flowers, exchanged; B. F. Hasson, escaped.</p>
<p><em>Company G.</em>—David Beatty, died at Andersonville, June 16,
1864; A. J. Stottlemyer, exchanged; James Amous, died at
Andersonville May 5, 1865; Thos. Bee, died at Andersonville
June 14, 1864; J. Hardin, exchanged; *George W. Johnson;
*G. Marcy; C. Phillips, died at Annapolis, Md.; O. P. States,
exchanged; John Stiner, died at Andersonville August 9, 1864.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—The fate of those marked with a star (*) is
unknown to me.</p>
<div class='tnote'>
<h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>
<p>Obvious printing errors repaired</p>
<p>Alternate and idiosyncratic spellings
retained</p>
<p>'Sept 26, 1900' on title page was handwritten in original. Left as
found, since there was no date actually printed.</p>
</div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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