Part 6

I immediately halted, and by a low "s-sh!" notified those in the rear of danger ahead. Throwing myself on the ground, I cautiously crawled forward to reconnoiter. I soon discovered an object, apparently a man, cautiously picking his way through the brush towards us. Occasionally he would stop and apparently reconnoiter, and then cautiously advance. It was just opposite the fire in the road, distant from it by perhaps thirty rods. Could it be that there was a picket line here, so far away from the contending forces? At all events, he was so near us that he must have heard our movements. Was he watching to get a shot at us? I could feel the hair rise on my head as I contemplated this probability, for he was not more than a rod away. What was it best to do?

After thinking it all over, I decided upon the desperate plan of suddenly attacking him, and trusting to Providence for the result. Slowly and carefully, I raised to my feet, and with a silent prayer for success, dashed upon--an overgrown hog, peacefully following his legitimate business of gathering acorns. It is difficult to determine whether the relief afforded by the discovery of his hogship was adequate compensation for this sudden letting down from the feeling of desperation to which we were wrought but a moment before. We were too frightened to laugh, too relieved to be angry.

Only a moment was lost in contemplation of our situation. I gave the signal to advance, and started. I heard my companions following. Safely passing the fire that had at first alarmed us, we soon regained the road. I may as well say here, that we never discovered what that fire did mean, or for what purpose it was kindled. We only know that, be the purpose what it may, it resulted disastrously for our little party, as the sequel will show.

_Two of Us Missing_

Upon reaching the highway, it was discovered that two of the party were missing. Vliet and Gough were gone. What could it mean? Had they been intercepted and taken prisoners? Or had they voluntarily cut loose from us, and taken this method of doing it?

There was one circumstance that pointed that way. Early in the evening, Vliet had both compass and map. Just after we discovered the fire, he had returned them to me, with the remark that should we get separated he could get along better without the compass than I could. But, in justice to my companions and myself, let me say that this thought found no lasting place in our minds. We knew both Vliet and Gough too well to believe that they would pursue such a course. If they had, for any reason, concluded to divide the party they would have manfully told us of their plan, and not have deserted us.

It was at once decided to institute a search. We dared not halloo, or make any unusual noise to attract their attention. It was therefore a still hunt. So two of us retraced our steps and searched the bushes and thickets thoroughly, but could discover no trace of our missing comrades.

After spending at least two hours of precious time, we were compelled to abandon the search as hopeless, and returned to our companion in the road. He too had watched closely, but had failed to discover anything, and we were obliged to face the thought that our party was broken, that we were separated. Shall we ever meet again? If we do, will it be under the Stars and Stripes, or within the walls of a prison pen? With saddened hearts, our party of three--Spencer, Hatcher and myself--again started on our lonely journey, but doubly lonely now.

Ruminations upon our unfortunate separation so occupied our minds, that we became less watchful of our own immediate surroundings than had been our custom, or than safety required. The results of this might have proved disastrous, had we not rudely been aroused from our useless regrets by the sudden need to exercise all our faculties for our own protection.

An abrupt angle in the road had concealed from us the approach of a man, until suddenly, without warning, we were standing before him, face to face. He immediately halted. So did we. There was no time for concert of action, and for a moment I was at a loss what to do, when Spencer took the initiative by asking: "Where are you going?"

"Ober to Miss Clemen's plantation," was the reply.

The dialect disclosed what the darkness had concealed, the fact that he was a negro. The reader will recollect that we were in the interior of the enemy's country; that every white man, almost without exception, was an enemy, who would not only esteem it a duty but a privilege to kill us at the first opportunity; and we did not then know that the negro could be trusted. Stories had been industriously circulated among us by Confederates to persuade us that the negroes would be sure to betray us if we attempted to escape. So we had started out with the determination to trust no one, white or black. Notwithstanding this, it was a great relief to us to find that our new acquaintance was a negro. However, we pursued the conversation but little further. Cautioning the fellow not to be caught out again so far from home without a pass, we started on our way, and he on his. As soon as he was fairly out of sight and hearing, we left the road and plunged again into the woods.

When we had placed a safe distance between ourselves and the highway, a halt was called, for the purpose of holding a consultation over our movements. We had met one negro; and while we had not trusted him any further than we could help, yet from his manner we were all of the opinion that he distrusted our being Southerners. Our speech, of itself, was sufficient to betray us. We had seen enough of negro shrewdness to realize that if the news of our escape from the train had been circulated, as we had every reason to believe it had been, he would be at no loss to guess that we were Yankees.

After discussing the matter, we decided to take the first road running in our direction, and run the chances of the negro's betraying us. We resolved, further, that in case we came across another, we would tell him freely that we were Yankees--this, of course, to depend upon whether we should have reason to believe the man our friend.

Consulting our maps and compass, and assuring ourselves of the proper direction, we traveled on through the woods for perhaps five miles. At length, finding a road running in the direction of our line of march, we pursued our journey without further adventure, until the near approach of daylight warned us again to seek the shelter of the friendly woods, where we could find a thicket sufficiently remote from roads and dense enough to afford us shelter from observation by any passing wanderer. We were successful in finding the desired haven, and throwing ourselves upon the ground were soon sleeping soundly.

So ended our second day's, or rather night's, march. We had traveled only about fifteen miles that night. Thus far we had been traveling in a northwesterly direction, through the parishes of Orangeburg and Lexington, nearly on a line with the railroad running from Keyesville to Columbia, about ten miles from the railroad.

We had as yet selected no particular point in Sherman's line as our goal. We were, indeed, at a loss to know what place to select. When we last heard from our forces, Sherman had taken Atlanta; Hood had succeeded Johnston in command of the Confederate army, and had commenced his celebrated movement to flank Sherman out of Atlanta, and in reality out of Georgia; so we were left to conjecture what the result of the movement would be.

Atlanta was the nearest point, but we were not by any means sure that Sherman still occupied that place. We finally concluded to make for the nearest practicable point on the line held by Sherman between Atlanta and Chattanooga. On our approach to what was Sherman's lines on the second of October, we would gather such information as we could from the negroes, and be governed accordingly.

As nearly as we could calculate, we were about twenty or twenty-five miles southwest from Columbia. We now concluded to make our course a little north of west, so as to head off some of the streams running into the Saluda River, until we should strike the Savannah.

_A Friend in the Dark_

On the approach of darkness we started out on our third night's march. Nothing unusual occurred until about three o'clock in the morning. We had traveled on a turnpike road, part of the time through a cultivated country, and partly through a forest of stunted pines, the second-growth of timber on abandoned plantations. We had just passed a large plantation, when we came suddenly upon a pedestrian wending his way in a direction opposite to our own. Before we saw him we were too close to avoid his observation, and we therefore boldly approached him. To our joy he proved to be a negro.

By this time we were both hungry and faint. The last crumbs of our rations had been eaten hours before. When and how we were to procure more, was a problem difficult of solution. We had tried several cornfields, but were unable to find anything except perfectly hard corn. Gathering some of this, we had determined to boil it and do the best we could. Naturally, then, when we discovered the race of our new acquaintance, our first thought was to ascertain from him if there was any prospect of supplying our larder with something more palatable than hard corn--always providing he should, upon further acquaintance, prove to be our friend. Notwithstanding our desperate situation in the matter of food, and the fact that we had deliberately determined to trust the first negro that we should meet, our intercourse would, to a looker on, have seemed strangely cautious on both sides. Our conversation, as my memory serves me, was substantially as follows:

_Yankee._ Well, boy, where are you traveling so late at night?

_Negro._ Been ovah to see my wife, massa.

_Yankee._ Where does your wife live?

_Negro._ Down about a mile from Ninety-six.

_Yankee._ Ninety-six. Let's see! That's on the railroad, isn't it?

_Negro._ Yes, sah, reck'n it is.

_Yankee._ Whose boy are you?

_Negro._ Massa Gen'l Haygood's.

_Yankee._ That's his plantation about a mile down this road, isn't it?

_Negro._ Yes, sah. Dat's Massa's plantation whar de big house is.

_Yankee._ Well, boy, what do you think of the war now going on? Your master's in the army, I suppose?

_Negro._ Yas, sah. Massa in de ahmy. I do'no jus' what I does tink 'bout it.

_Yankee._ You know that the Yankees are trying to make you blacks all free, don't you?

_Negro._ Wal, I hab heard dat dey were.

_Yankee._ Would you rather be free or would you rather be as you are--a slave?

_Negro._ Wal, Massa, I don't zac'ly know. Spects ebery man like to own hissef.

_Yankee._ Now, supposing you found a man on his road to liberty, that had been a slave or prisoner, would you help him, or would you betray him?

_Negro._ Who is you, Massa? Wat for you asks such queer questions?

_Yankee._ Suppose we tell you; suppose we put our lives in your hands--will you betray us?

_Negro._ No, sah. I reckon not. But who is you?

_Yankee._ We are Yankee officers, and have been in prison. We are now trying to get through to our lines, and want you to help us.

_Negro._ 'Fore God, Massa! Is dat so?

_Yankee._ Yes, that is so! We've started for the Yankee lines in Georgia. Now you won't betray us, will you, when you know we're trying to help you and your people, and to give them their liberty?

_Negro._ 'Fore God, Massa, if you is wat you say you is, I'll do eberyting for you. Wot ken I do?

_Yankee._ The first thing is something to eat; and next, we want to know whether you have heard that any Yankees escaped from the train when we were being taken from Charleston to Columbia.

_Negro._ Yes, sah. I hab heard all about it, an' dey has been hunting de country all ober for you--an'," taking a tin pan from his head, "my wife hab made up some biled bacon an' greens for me to take home wid me, an' you's welcome to dat, if you want it."

We stood upon no ceremony, but seating ourselves upon the ground, greedily devoured the poor fellow's bacon and greens with a relish that an epicure might have envied. It was astonishing the rapidity with which we stored away six quarts of greens and bacon. And yet, truth to tell, the supply was not equal to the demand.

Had there been another panful, I venture to say it would have followed the same downward road traveled by its predecessor, without any extra effort on our part.

Having swallowed the man's dinner and obtained from him all the information it was in his power to impart, we again started on our way, with thankful hearts and renewed courage and physical vigor.

_Novel Foot-gear_

But the night was not to pass away without our experiencing a reverse, almost commensurate with our good fortune. As will be remembered, Hatcher was, when we left the cars, almost destitute of boots. The old pair he started with had become almost useless, and the soles were nearly or quite gone. They were better than none when traveling through brush; but when on the smooth road he could do better barefoot, and when we met the negro he was carrying the boots in his hands. Strange to say, when we again started on our journey, he left them lying beside the road where we had eaten our nocturnal dinner, and failed to discover his loss until many miles stretched their weary length between us and the forgotten property. It was so near daylight when the loss was discovered, that we did not dare retrace our steps for fear of being seen. Poor Hatcher was discouraged. To attempt to travel barefooted across two States, looked like an impossible task. If we had only had Vliet's long boot-legs, the problem would not have been so difficult of solution.

Hatcher must be supplied with boots, or something to cover his feet. To attempt to obtain them from the negroes, we knew to be hopeless. A pair of shoes was among them something to be hoped for, prayed for, and when obtained, preserved with the greatest care. Even the whites were driven to extremities for clothing of every description, and shoes were especially difficult to obtain at any price. What should we do? I say we, because we had started out with the agreement that we would keep together, under any and all circumstances. If anyone fell sick, the others were to remain with him, giving the best care we could under the circumstances, until he was able to travel, or died. We had also agreed that we would under no circumstances give ourselves up, or voluntarily abandon the attempt to escape, so that the misfortune of one was the misfortune of all.

Something must be done. An inventory of stock was taken. I had a pair of badly-worn shoes. Spencer had a boot and a shoe. Jointly, we had the kettle made from the paint keg, and the new linen sack. Here were the materials from which a pair of shoes were to be constructed, and the feat was accomplished. An inventory of tools disclosed a needle and a jack-knife. A close inspection of the sack showed that it was strong, new, and that the ravelings could easily be converted into stout thread. There was leather enough in Spencer's one boot leg to furnish the soles, and material enough in the sack to make the uppers. It was amusing to see the rapidity with which Hatcher's face shortened up, as one difficulty after another was met and overcome.

It took the combined mechanical skill of the party to fashion and fit this novel foot-gear; but before night they were finished. Hatcher now had by far the best pair of shoes in the party; and if we had only been better supplied with rations, we should have started out that night in better condition for a night's march than at any time since we jumped from the cars.

But the fact was, we were hungry, and after an hour's march found that we were getting faint. Provisions must be had in some way. Leaving the road, we struck into a plantation, in hope of finding either corn or sweet potatoes. We were fortunate enough to secure some hard corn, and a quantity of a species of bean, which I have never seen in the North. They are called peas by the natives, but there is nothing about them, either in growth or appearance, that resembles a pea, and they do not taste like a bean. Be they what they may, they are nutritious if not palatable.

Building a fire in a hollow, and then making a screen of our blanket and coats, to prevent the light from being seen, we proceeded to cook our corn and beans. We soon discovered, however, that while it is an easy matter to cook beans in this way, hard corn has a perverse inclination to remain hard corn, however much it is boiled; so while our supper served a very useful purpose, it was nothing to boast of as a palatable meal. We lost at least three hours in finding, cooking, and eating our supper, and made our jaws ache in our effort to masticate it. Hence, daylight found us only about eighteen or twenty miles from our shoe shop of the day before.

We now knew that the people had been notified of our escape, and that in all probability there were even then parties searching for us. We knew that they had not as yet been able to get upon our trail. Every consideration of prudence demanded that we should remain concealed in the daytime, and we fully intended to observe this caution; but as the long day slowly dragged to a close we became impatient, and concluded to risk a start before dark--traveling away from any road, and thus making up for lost time. We were also anxious to find a negro, if possible, and procure something more palatable to eat than boiled corn.

Taking our course by the sun, we left the road and hurried into the woods. After traveling perhaps four or five miles in this way, we were somewhat shocked at hearing voices not far from us, and hastily concealed ourselves in a thicket. What was our astonishment to see two white men pass, not more than a rod from our place of concealment. After they had passed, we discovered that we had been traveling nearly on a parallel line with a well-traveled road, and probably had not been out of sight of it for a mile back. Here was a dilemma. Had they discovered us and gone on, making no sign, with a view of getting arms and returning for us, or had we been fortunate enough to escape observation?

It was evident that in case they had discovered us, our only safety lay in immediate flight. So, taking an entirely new direction, we started again with beating hearts and greatly accelerated speed. A mile, perhaps, on our new direction, and we came to an open, cultivated country. Beyond a field in our front, we could see a wood; we determined to risk crossing the field, and then change our course again. Skulking behind the fences and crouching along behind thickets, we at length succeeded once more in reaching the friendly shelter of the woods.

_Interrupting a Revival_

At the corner of the field, near the woods, was a cross-roads, and nearby a church. We could see neither the church nor the roads until reaching the fence, and then it was too late to return. We were in full view of the church, situated to the left of our line of march. Notwithstanding that by our reckoning it was not Sunday, it was filled with people, and some kind of religious services were being held.

Only a few rods farther and we should be out of sight, but we were not fortunate enough to escape observation. We could see fingers pointed at us. As soon as we were out of sight, our careless, measured walk changed to a brisk run. Leaving the road, we struck into the woods again, and as good fortune would have it happened to discover a negro cutting brush, and immediately told him who we were and of our dilemma.

"You git in de brush ober dar," said he. "Dere is a big meetin' goin' on, an' lots ob white folks on de roads. Mighty dang'rous runnin' 'way to-day."

"But suppose they come after us now, won't they find us?" I asked.

"Golly, Massa, I reckon I ken fool dem if dey do--ef dey don't go after de dogs, an' dey aint no nigger dogs less dan eight mile, an' it's mos' night now. Reckon you uns mus' be hungry, aint ye? Looks as t'ough you didn't have nuffin to eat for a week--S-st! Mars, git in dat brush quick! Dere's white folks comin'!"

The warning came not a moment too soon. In the road, not more than a dozen rods from us, we could see persons moving. Throwing ourselves on the ground, we crawled into a thicket and awaited the denouement. The negro caught up his axe and commenced cutting brush industriously. Soon gathering an armful of it, he started towards his cabin, situated on the road, in sight of our retreat in the thicket. He had so timed himself as to reach his cabin about the time the parties on the road passed it. We could see them in conversation, and soon after we saw them pass on, and the negro go into his hut.

It was now nearly dark. Our suspense can be imagined, during the time we were waiting for his return. Would he be true to the interests of three unknown men, simply upon the statement that they were Yankees? Would not the education of a lifetime of slavery teach him to side with the strong against the weak, as a matter of policy? Were he to deliver up to the whites three Yankee officers who had escaped from prison, he would win a local notoriety for fidelity to his master and his master's interests, that would make him the hero of the neighborhood, at least among the whites, and probably insure a reward that to him might be riches. Or would he be faithful to his race, by succoring their recognized friends? For it is a fact that none of his people were so ignorant that they did not know that the result of the war was to be to them either freedom or perpetual slavery.

The action taken by the black man was to us a question not of capture and imprisonment, but of life. We had fully determined that we would not be recaptured. If necessary we would die; but be recaptured while we had life or reason--never! Little was said by either of us, but our thoughts were pictured on our faces.

About an hour after dark we heard footsteps stealthily approaching our hiding-place. How anxiously we listened! Was there more than one person's step? Yes, there were two of them. We could hear voices. What should we do? Run now, while we had a chance, or wait and fight? If they were after us, they would of course be armed. Now they were coming again. We could hear them breathe.

"Say, Joe! I tell you dey was just de patroles foolin' ye, boy. Dey warn't no Yankees--dey's just tryin' to see wot you'd do ef dey was Yankees, an' dey'll gib you de debbil."

"I know bett'n dat. Didn't I talk wid dem, an' didn't dey talk Yankee? 'Sides, two ob dem had on blue coats. Tell ye I know dey was Yankees, an' I'se goin' to find dem an' gib dem someting to eat."

Our fears were gone, our unjust suspicions removed. We would have been ashamed to have that faithful fellow know how unjustly we had dealt with him in our thoughts. We left our lair and joined them at once. A hearty clasp of the hand and fervent thanks from all of us in turn, soon convinced them that we were indeed Yankees.

A generous loaf of corn bread and some sweet potatoes, nicely baked, in quantities to suit the demand, soon filled our empty stomachs. Say what we may, there is a very close affinity between one's stomach and that state of mind we call courage. Poorly fed and overworked troops will not and cannot fight with the courage of fresh troops with well-filled stomachs.

_Negro Sympathizers_