Part 8

It was long past midnight before we were fairly upon our road again; yet we felt better able to travel twenty miles before daylight, than we did to travel five before finding friends and a supper. How changed our prospects from a few hours before! We were now buoyant and happy; difficulties that had seemed insurmountable had been met and conquered. We were invigorated with good food, and had enough more provided to last five days.

We were now in the county of Elbert. Shaping our course so as to flank the village of Elberton on the south, we started on in the direction of Carnesville. We had learned from the slave "telegraph line" that Sherman still held his lines between Atlanta and Chattanooga, but that our troops were falling back towards Tennessee. We made up our minds to strike the railroad at the nearest practicable point between Dalton and Atlanta.

A glance at the map will show the reader one of the many difficulties that beset our way. The country through which we were passing is well watered. Numerous small streams rise in the mountains and empty into the Savannah and Appalachicola rivers. Many of these were not bridged. Even when they were, we dared not attempt to use the bridges, for fear they might be guarded. Many of the streams are deep and rapid, and it was by no means pleasant fording them, for the nights were cold and frosty, even for that time of year. So, in shaping our course, we endeavored to keep as close to the heads of the streams as possible, without greatly increasing the distance to be traveled.

We were determined to use the greatest caution, to run no risks of being seen by a white man, and never again to get the hounds on our track, if we could possibly avoid it. We were satisfied that we had successfully baffled them this time, but our escape would be only by the merest chance should they again scent us. We also determined to husband our provisions, and, if possible, make them last us through. In fact, we were in such buoyant spirits over our good fortune in securing them and getting across the big river, that it seemed as though all difficulties were now cleared from our path; as though all we had to do was to march ahead in order to succeed--another evidence of the close affinity existing between the mind and stomach.

The time lost in the society of our black friends necessarily made our journey that night a short one. We had made no more than ten miles, when daylight again compelled us to seek safety in a thicket. The next night we traveled twenty-five miles, as nearly as we could judge, without an incident worthy of mention. The same may be said of the two or three nights that followed. We averaged about twenty-five miles a night, until we reached the vicinity of Gainesville.

On reaching this point, we were in something of a dilemma in regard to crossing the Chattahoochee River. The stream was about eighteen rods in breadth at the point where we desired to cross. We could see that it was rapid, but we had no means of determining its depth. We were anxious to reach the river before daylight, so as to have the advantage of the light in reconnoitering and finding a safe place for fording; but daylight overtook us while still about five miles from the stream.

We were in a very dense forest, with heavy undergrowth. We again concluded to risk traveling to the river by daylight, and, if possible, selecting a crossing place. Pushing forward, we reached the bank of the stream without accident. Here we found several wild-grape vines, loaded with fine fruit, and differing from any other species I ever saw, in that the grapes grew singly instead of in clusters. They were large and luscious, although the skin was thick and tough; otherwise, there was nothing in the appearance or taste to distinguish them from the largest varieties of cultivated grapes. We soon stripped the vines, and converted Confederate grapes into a Yankee dinner.

We felt somewhat discouraged at the prospect facing us. The river was evidently too deep to ford at this point. We could discover no boat on our side of the stream. Opposite, a house was in sight; on our side, near us, a plantation. As far as the eye could reach, up and down the river, the country was under cultivation. We tried to find driftwood with which to construct a raft, but were unable to do so.

At night, we were no nearer accomplishing our purpose than we were in the morning. We concluded, however, to push on up stream, in the hope of finding either a boat or a landing place; so, following the bank, we came at length to a place where a road led into the river, suggesting a ford, and made up our minds to attempt a crossing. Taking off our clothing, we started in.

Whew! But the water was cold! If the place was in reality ever used as a ford, I must say that the people who used it were not very particular about having a bottom for a good portion of the way; and where there was bottom, it was shockingly rough. The water averaged five feet in depth, varying from one foot to eight. Taking it in the night, with no knowledge of the river, was not only very unpleasant, but highly dangerous.

We hoped to save our clothes from getting wet, but in this most signally failed. In fact, each of the party, at different times, was under water, struggling for life; but we crossed at last. Wringing the water from our clothing as best we could, we dressed ourselves, and started on.

We had proceeded but a few rods, when lo! here was another river right before us. We consulted our map and compass. We were not mistaken in our direction. We wanted to go west. The map laid down only one river, running south. We had crossed from the east to the west bank; and yet, going west, we were confronted with another river, running north. What could it mean? I do not think I was ever so puzzled in my life. We retraced our steps to make sure we were not mistaken as to the direction of the first stream. There was no mistake; the river laid down on the map was the Chattahoochee. We had passed that; still within sixty rods, was another of about the same size, running north. Simple as was the solution of the problem, I do not believe any circumstance during the entire trip caused me more uneasiness for the time being. I began to distrust map and compass. We soon discovered that the river at this place merely ran in the shape of an ox bow. Afterwards we had many a hearty laugh over the matter, but at the time our perplexity was far from amusing.

It will be observed that our general direction was northwest; yet actually, for various causes--traveling in the night through a strange country, divergences when pursued by the dogs, and occasionally losing our way--the route we actually followed was crooked and erratic. The distance we traveled was in the neighborhood of three hundred and fifty miles.

It would be tedious to narrate each day's experience; therefore I will confine myself to incidents that seem to me to be of special interest.

The provisions furnished by our black friends at the time we crossed the Savannah, were at length exhausted. We concluded again to recruit them at the first opportunity, but for some reason this seemed long in coming. However, early one morning, after crossing Etowah River, and secreting ourselves in the brush, we heard voices, and soon afterwards footsteps, which we discovered to belong to two young negroes. We at once made ourselves known, and asked them to supply our wants. This they promised to do during the day, and just at dark they appeared with some provisions, sufficient to fill our empty stomachs, and begged to be permitted to accompany us. This request we dared not grant, for this would unquestionably have put the man-hunters again upon our track. If caught under such circumstances, we would be treated to a speedy passage to the celestial regions, without calling into practice the services of judge or jury. Selfish reasoning this, no doubt, but quite sufficient for three feeble and well-nigh exhausted fugitives.

We were now within some sixty miles of where we supposed our lines to be, and concluded to divide the distance that night, so as to be able to reach the army the following night. But after traveling until three o'clock in the morning, the supper of the evening before had served its purpose. We were like the nightingale in the fable of the "Nightingale and the glow-worm," beginning to feel the keen demands of appetite.

During all this time Spencer had saved a few spoonfuls of flour. We thought we should never need it more than we did just then. My old kettle was brought into requisition, a small fire kindled, and the flour converted into gruel. This consumed, we went on.

By the map, we were nearing Jasper, the seat of Pickens County, about forty miles from Calhoun, the point at which we were aiming to strike our lines. As we were winding along the side of a hill, at a turn of the road, there stood within a couple of rods of us a man with a gun in his hand. It was just in the grey of the morning.

_A Cautious Picket_

A man was the last object we wished to see just then, unless he happened to be clad in Federal blue, and this fellow was in Confederate grey. If we could, we would have avoided his acquaintance. In truth, we could not have encountered a more startling object. Under such circumstances men think quickly. Avoid him we could not. If we ran, he would shoot, and it struck me quite forcibly that the gun was a thing to gain control of, so I jumped for him. To my astonishment, he exclaimed in startled tones: "Who is you, Mars?"

In appearance he was a white man; his dialect was that of a negro.

"Who are you?" I inquired.

"I'se Mars Jackson's boy."

"You don't pretend you are a slave?"

"Yes, Mars."

"What are you doing with that gun?"

"Mars tole me I might go out coonin'."

I knew negroes, as a rule, were not to be trusted with a gun for such purposes; this, together with the color of his skin, which was as white as ours, caused us to distrust his story, and we began to quiz him:

"See here. You don't look like a nigger. You're a white man. What do you want to deceive us for?"

"I'se not tryin' to deceib you. I'se tole you uns the truf, shore."

"Whose gun is that?"

"Dat gun? Dat--dat's Mars Jackson's gun."

"How long is it since your master trusted you with a gun? That story won't hold water."

"Sho' as you lib, Mars, dat's Mars's gun; he tole me to take it an' come out heah an'--an'--look fer coon."

"Yes, and you found three of them, eh?"

The fellow grinned. At length he asked, "Is you Jordan's men?"

We had heard of Jordan, a Confederate guerrilla said to infest the country near this point.

"No," I answered. "Are you?"

"No, Mars Jordan don't want no niggas in his band."

"Who do you belong to, then? Come, you might as well tell the truth!"

"I tole you, I'se Mars Jackson's nigga."

It would be tedious to follow out a conversation that occupied the better portion of an hour. Suffice it, that after a time the man convinced us that he was in reality a slave. Then we told him truthfully who we were. At this he seemed filled with terror, and evidently did not believe us. Finally we sat down and talked with him until we convinced him of our character. We showed him the compass, but he could comprehend nothing of its uses; it excited his curiosity, but nothing more. Then we showed him our map, and explained to him how we used it: showed him our route from Branchville, and at last, when we came to the place where we had crossed the river (Etowah), he laughed outright.

"Golly, Mars! De ribber is more'n so fah from heah," marking on his finger-nail the space indicated on the map.

We explained to him that the map was drawn on a certain scale, representing certain distances, etc. After a while we told him that just before we had left Charleston, Spencer had received a letter from his home in Wisconsin. This letter Spencer read rapidly aloud. The negro, for such he really was, pondered on this for awhile, and finally said: "I blieb you couldn't make up dat so fas' as dat."

At last convincing him of our truthfulness, we began to question him as to the road, the chances of getting provisions, etc., when he said: "Ef you uns is Yankees, you is all right, foh it's jes a little way to the camp of de Home Geards."

_The Home Guard_

Supposing that this was of course a Confederate organization, I asked how we should get past them.

"You doesn't want to git past 'em," he replied. "Go right in dar, and dey'll gib you somet'ing to eat. Dey's Union men, dey is, an' has got a camp an' geards, an' all dat. Dey's fightenin' Jordan's men ebery day mos'."

This information was startling, and it took the sentinel, for such he proved to be, a long time to convince us he was telling the truth. At length we agreed to the following conditions for accepting his guidance: One of us was to carry the gun, the two others were to carry clubs, and he was to pilot us to the camp of the Home Guards. On the first evidence of his having deceived us, we were to kill him.

To this he assented, and under his leadership we started forward. Soon we reached a log house, and he went to the door and knocked. There was considerable delay about opening the door; so much, that our suspicion was aroused. At length the door was partly opened, and a woman's face appeared. She recognized our guard and he briefly informed her who we were. She hardly trusted him, but after a brief parley we were admitted. We told her frankly who we were, and she supplied our wants as well as she could from her own limited resources, at the same time informing us that her husband was in the house when we arrived, but that he had hastily taken himself to the brush. We afterwards learned the cause.

We had proceeded but a short distance from the house when we discovered in the road ahead of us, a mounted picket, dressed in Confederate grey.

To describe our feelings at the sight, is impossible. My first impulse was to turn and fly. I grasped my club with fierce energy, with the mental vow that if that negro had betrayed us into the hands of our enemies I would send him to his long home, if my life paid the forfeit. Not a word was spoken until the picket challenged, "Who goes there?"

"Friends," replied Spencer.

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."

"We have no countersign," I replied.

"Who are you?"

My voice trembled as I replied, "Escaped Union prisoners."

"All right. Come in."

"Wait a moment. Are you a Union man?"

"I just am that. I belong to the Home Guard."

"Well, who are the Home Guard?"

"Union men, belonging around here. Come along. We will take care of you."

"All right," we replied, and under his guidance we moved forward.

We soon reached the camp, more properly the rendezvous, of the command. We found perhaps a dozen men, all armed, in and around a small but comfortable log house. The guard reported us to one whom he saluted as Major, who immediately put us through a thorough questioning. We told him who we were, and the rank and regiment of each. We showed him our letters, and, among other things, our compass and map.

After undergoing a rigid examination, we were successful in convincing our new-found Union men that we were in very truth Yankees and escaped prisoners, and we were permitted to go where we pleased, being cautioned, however, that it was highly dangerous to stray far from camp. Immediately after our examination was closed, one of the men came up to us and said, "Did you uns stop at a house back here, this morning?"

"We stopped there, certainly," I replied; "and the woman gave us a good breakfast. Why do you ask?"

"I only wanted to be sure that you were the ones stopped there. That was my house. I made tracks out of the back door and took to the brush, when you went in at the front."

"Why did you do that? Why were you frightened at our approach?"

"Well," said he, "I'll just tell ye. We're mighty scary 'bout strangers comin' to our houses, jest now. 'Taint more'n a month since one of Jordan's Band came to the house of my neighbor, not more'n a mile from heah, an' let on he was a Union man, an' wanted to join the Home Guards, and his wife sent to the bush an' had her husband come in. But afore he got clar into the house a dozen of Jordan's men come out'n the bush, an' they just took an' tied him hand an' foot, mutilated him in the most horrid manner, an' then, bleeding as he was, they hung him to a tree right in sight of his own house. I tell ye, stranger, it stan's a man in hand to look out for himself these times. If I'd knowed who you was, I wouldn't have run into camp, as I did."

While we were talking, a little group of men gathered around us, listening to the conversation. Our looks must have expressed incredulity. In fact it was hard, soldiers as we were, used to scenes of blood and brutality upon the battlefield, to believe it possible that such hellish deeds could have been enacted in a Christian land.

"Reck'n that's a pretty tough yarn to believe, now, ain't it?" said a tall, gaunt specimen of a North Georgia man. "But I tell you it's true, every word of it. I seed it with my own eyes. I helped to cut him down and bury him--and he ain't the only one that's been served that way."

_Among the Georgia Unionists_

Looking around, a little later, we saw in the field at a short distance, three or four men at work digging sweet potatoes--_each man with a musket strapped to his back_.

I had read in histories of the early settlement of the Eastern States, and of pioneering in the West, incidents corresponding in some respects with this. There was, however, one radical difference between the cases of our pioneers and the Georgia Unionists. The former were compelled to defend themselves against the North American savages, in a war prosecuted without regard to the laws governing civilized nations; but this was in the interior of Georgia, one of the older States, in the noon-tide of the nineteenth century. These men were not warring with savages, but with their fellow men of the same race, with their neighbors, their former friends and acquaintances.

Here were about a hundred men banded together for mutual protection--Union men, who had voted against secession, who had refused to join in that fratricidal step, and who were in sympathy with the North in desiring to maintain and preserve the Union. When conscripted into the Confederate army they fled to the mountains, and were there hunted like wild beasts, and when pressed like them, stood at bay. Their wives and little ones had tilled the soil, and managed to raise enough corn and sweet potatoes to maintain life, and to send to the hiding places of their husbands and fathers and brothers, supplies from this meagre store, as occasion required.

To this class were added those who were so unfortunate as to have been captured--forced into the Southern service by conscription, and who had subsequently escaped and returned to their homes. So soon as they were in sufficient numbers to warrant it, they had left their places of concealment and formed an organization for mutual protection. They were armed with muskets, carbines, revolvers, shot-guns--anything that would shoot.

They had made one or two raids on the planters in the lowlands, known to be prominent Confederates, and had supplied themselves with provisions. The exigencies of the Southern cause had compelled that government to put into the field every available man. The theatre of activity being so far removed from here, however, had, to a certain extent, protected these mountaineers from attack by any detachment of the Confederate army.

There was, however, a guerrilla company, known as Jordan's Band, used by the Confederates as scouts, whose business it was to give information of the movements of Sherman's forces, which were located on the railroad. They waylaid foraging parties, bushwhacked pickets, etc. Well armed and mounted, they outnumbered the Home Guards nearly two to one. With this band the Home Guards were constantly fighting. It was a war of extermination between them. No prisoners were taken by either side. When we arrived in camp they were momentarily expecting an attack. The men were stationed where they could overlook the different roads, with orders, if attacked, to fall back slowly to camp, sending in information to the commander, Major McCreary, so that he might put his men in the best possible position to receive the enemy.

The Home Guards were outside any regular military organization, but were most desirous of entering the United States service. They were not so anxious for the pay they would then be entitled to draw, as they were to procure good arms and clothing, and to be entitled to the protection of the government, as regularly-organized soldiers. They begged of us to represent their case to our government, and see if this could not be accomplished. I may as well state right here, that information concerning their case was promptly filed in the War Department, but I could never learn that it was acted upon.

With few exceptions, these were rough, unlettered men, without even the rudiments of an education. But they were generous, hospitable, brave, and Union men to the core; men who would suffer privations, and death itself, rather than array themselves in strife against the Stars and Stripes, the emblem of the country they loved. All the power of the Confederate government could not compel them to fight against it. Uneducated though they were, under their homespun jackets beat hearts pure as gold, and stout as oak.

These were the men to whom Providence had directed our steps. We were invited into the house, and after eating a good dinner and enjoying the luxury of a bath--more strictly speaking, a good, thorough wash from head to foot--we were provided with good beds. What a treat! Soft, clean beds, for men who for six months had thought a blanket a luxury, and who for the last twenty days had turned day into night and slept in the woods, with no kindly covering but the sky--depending upon the rays of the sun for warmth; all the time with a sense of danger hovering over us that would only permit brief and troubled rest, liable to be broken should a leaf fall, or a twig snap. Throwing ourselves into bed, we were soon lost in quiet, refreshing sleep, from which we did not awaken until long after daylight the next morning. We now felt like new men, and after a hearty breakfast were eager to take the road as soon as circumstances should permit, certainly by the time darkness should again make it prudent.

Our new friends would not for a moment listen to this proposition. We must stay and rest, they said, and when fit to travel some of them would accompany us to Sherman's lines. The roads were scouted during the night by Jordan's men, and the chances were two to one in favor of our being recaptured. They could not go with us that night, and perhaps not the next, because they were expecting an attack. So soon as the emergency had passed, and it was safe to proceed, they promised to take us on our way.

It was hard to act upon this prudent advice. Our patience was sorely tried. Only forty miles separated us from our lines, and from telegraphic communication with wife and home. One night or two at most, would finish the journey. It was hard to wait, but discretion and the urgent advice of friends prevailed. We consented to remain, provided they would furnish us with any kind of arms, and permit us temporarily to volunteer in the Home Guards, and in case of a fight to participate in it. To this proposition they gave a cordial assent. I was furnished with a revolver, and Spencer and Hatcher with other weapons.