Part 2

Right here something occurred that I can’t forget very soon. The large car doors had been shoved back and here stood the gazing and gaping crowd looking us over and asking all sorts of questions, and many of them were eating melons and apples, and they would throw the peelings and cores in to us. There was one saucy appearing rough who threw a cud of tobacco in the face of a tall looking veteran. He was close to the car door and it went in his eyes. He could not take this insult, and he jumped from the train to resist it and trampled this young rebel nearly to death, but he understood that he would be paid for his rash act with his life, for there were many rebels on each car with loaded guns. Just as soon as any of the prisoners attempted to leave the trains they were shot down without mercy. Oh, how many there were who tried to escape from the train and were shot down by the rebels guarding the train! We were carried from Andersonville to Charleston City, and here they ran us under the fire of our own guns and there were some severe shots fired at the train load of prisoners. There were quite a few shots that hit some of the cars, but soon the firing ceased. I think that it was soon learned that it was not an enemy reinforcement. Here they kept us in some large tobacco houses when it was learned that during the two or three days we had been in the box cars, so many in each car, and so close that there was not sitting room for them all. As I said before, there were seventy-five or eighty in one car. Some one had sawed a hole in the bottom of the car that we were placed in, which let us have more air than we would otherwise have had. It was a sad sight to see from eight to ten poor fellows taken out of each car half suffocated.

After our journey up to the unloading here at Charleston City it was wonderful to see the devastated condition of this place. There were many buildings that were falling from the solid shot that was being thrown into them from our bombarding army.

The next day we were all placed on board of the cars once more and started in the direction of Florence, South Carolina, one hundred miles from this city. Here we were once more unloaded and placed in a ten acre lot, for the stockade was not completed, which was thought would have been completed in about two weeks. Here again we found that our looked for exchange was still another bull pen, or a Southern prison hell and worse. There were all of the same Andersonville bloodhounds and Captain Wirz, the old commander, here to give us chase as soon as any of us should try to escape. We had been here, surrounded by two lines of guards and a line of pickets, for about five days, when the rebels let out a large company between the guard lines, and they broke through the next line and got away, three or four hundred, and many got as far as the Peedee River, some thirty-four miles away. Nearly all were caught and chewed up by the hounds and shot so that there were not more than one-fourth of them ever brought back alive.

Henry Ledierer, an old comrade and bugler of the eighty-third regiment, and of company C, of this regiment, the same one that I belonged to, and who was with me while in Andersonville prison, was with me here at this Florence prison. He was one to get away from here and was one to get as far as the big Peedee River, some thirty-four miles from the prison, and if I remember right was caught and brought back some three days later. He was caught by a southern planter, who had been warned by the rebels of the break that had been made by the prisoners. Henry had brought back some eight or ten pounds of corn hoecake and he and myself concluded that if we could get a chance we would get away just as soon as we could. The day soon came, for it commenced to rain the next day after Henry got back, and when night came we made ready and crawled out through the first guard line, and then we laid in wait for a Northern squad of about a hundred and fifty men who were let out through the first line for water near the bull pen which they had not completed yet, and when these men got outside of the first line of guards, there lay just outside of the next line a lot of the sick on the ground with nothing but the canopy of heaven to cover or shelter them from the storm. We finally fell in with this working squad and passed out through the second line here. Just as soon as we came to where the sick lay it was understood that we would fall out among the sick without being seen by the enemy, and we were successful in doing this. And now came the picket line and if it had not been for their reckless picket fire we never would have succeeded in our escape. We finally got through their picket line and traveled all night until morning began to dawn, when we had to find some place to conceal ourselves. But it had been a bad night for us.

We had got out of the prison, but to tell in what direction to go was the next thing to consider. Well, we were guided by the railroad station lights until we got out of sight of the stations, then as we had nothing to guide us we had to do the best we could. It still continued to rain until we had traveled all night, when we found ourselves in sight of the very prison that we had left early in the evening. This was a surprise, for we had traveled nearly eight hours, and to find ourselves within three miles of the very prison that we were trying to get away from. Surely it made us feel sad enough.

As I was saying, the day was about at hand and the next thing to do was to find some place in which to conceal ourselves until night should close in, and while we were still looking we soon came to a large stack of corn fodder, and in this we crawled and remained until night again. Late in and during our first night’s travel we found nothing to subsist on, but Henry had a small amount of hoecake that he had brought back with him, but which was now all gone, and there was no water near us. We were so close to the prison we could see the encampment. Oh, what a day of suspense, with these Holland bloodhounds running in almost all directions, hunting the trail that the rain had washed out. For this we had reasons to thank God. When night set in we started again, and the rain that had continued to fall had now let up for a time and the stars came out. It had been very rainy for two days and nights. Now we felt glad to have star light for we had studied out the small clump of stars called the small dipper and also the north star.

Now this night we had before us about thirty miles before we came to the Big Peedee River. This river runs nearly north and south. Well, we traveled as fast as we could, keeping very shy of any inhabitants, for in South Carolina it is very difficult to find a Union man.

We found some sweet potatoes on our way to help us along.

Praise God! How much I think of the little faith we had in God at that time, but I am sure He cared for and protected us.

Well, just before dawn the second night we came in hearing of the roaring of the river, for this river had several large falls in it, and you could hear the sound of them before you came within a mile or so of them. We came to the water’s edge. We had no sooner got on the bank of the river than we discovered that the rebels were in pursuit of us, for we could hear the faint baying of hounds. This almost made our hearts quake, for Henry Ledierer had told me the reason that he did not try to swim the river was because the fellow who was with him could not swim and he himself was a very poor swimmer. Now this was very discouraging, for the river was at least three-quarters of a mile across and overflowed the banks nearly a half mile in two or three feet of water. But we must start, for the hounds came closer and closer each delayed moment. We plunged in. I had it understood that we must swim a western course down stream so that the current would help us in gaining the other side. Now it remained for us to get the hounds between us and the river so that we could get out of the way of pursuit as far as possible, but what was my surprise to find my comrade could not swim against the current of the river. I had got some ten rods ahead, when I found that he was floating down stream with the current. Oh, how sad I felt to think the hounds were almost heaving in sight and that my poor comrade, whom I had decided to stand by in every place possible until death should separate us, struggling in the angry billows. Now it seemed that the time had arrived, for he had already called to me that he could not go any farther, and had sank once below the current, and just as I reached him he went under again. I reached out my cane that somehow I had kept in my left hand. He caught it like any drowning man would, and it was all I could do to keep him from drowning both of us. Well we got ashore just as the rebels came in sight. They had been looking for some of our men ever since the break to pick up if they could any straggling Yankees who had not yet been captured. We were now destined to a few days of severe chasing, if not capture, for there were in pursuit of us four or five mounted rebels and three of the Andersonville bloodhounds. During all of this day and most of the night we had been pursued along this river, and during the day we were compelled to cross the river the third time to keep from being captured. What suffering, without anything to eat! We began to get very hungry and weak, still we kept on late in the night. For three days and a good part of the night we were beset by these hounds, when in the afternoon of the third day the blast of the horns and the baying of the hounds ceased. For some distance we had traveled among the elm timber along the river flats. Finally we came to a road which led off to the left from the river, and we thought we would follow this road. Just at this time there came a sudden blast of a horn, and, looking in the direction of the sound, we saw an old gray-headed negro with a white horse coming in our direction, who was beckoning to us to listen. He went on to tell us that the rebels had given up pursuit of us, and he had been close to them and to us most all day, and that his old master was in hopes that we would not be taken. We did not want to believe him, for we had come to the conclusion that most all South Carolians were bad rebels and we felt rather suspicious of any one who would speak a kind word for a white man. It showed the darkey to be a kind old man and he told me in his old southern way, “Why, massy, for de lobe of de Lord, I would not tell you a lie.” Well I must say that he induced us to stay in the woods concealed in the thicket, and he went away making us a promise that he would be back soon with something for us to eat. I told Henry that I would go over near the road in the direction from whence he would come and stay until he arrived, and would find out whether he meant us any harm or not. Soon I came back again. The poor old man went away singing in a low voice some tune, and I went back to where Henry was. We waited, satisfied that he was a friend in need. At this time it was about nine or ten o’clock in the evening and when the old darkey showed up he had brought two large hoecakes and some nice stewed bacon in one of those small stew kettles, and some of the new sorghum cane syrup. Now if ever we were thankful for anything in this wide world we were for this kindness shown us by this poor old pilgrim, whom I believe was God’s own messenger. Now we sat and ate and talked and told the old man of how we had suffered in rebel prisons and many other things, and this poor old man told us that his master was a good Union man and that he would like to see us. This we did not desire to do, as we did not care to meet any white man. We told the old darkey that we feared to meet with his old master, and all the darkey could say, would not induce us to go to the plantation. So we stayed concealed in the forest for three days, with nothing to protect us from the cold, damp nights except a large amount of leaves that I had gathered up to lay in.

Now this reminds me that I did not give the date of my capture and of my getting away. It must have been about the first of August. I was taken in the fall of 1864. Henry was taken about the time of the Battle of the Wilderness. Now, the time of our escape was about the middle of November, and I tell you it was at this time getting to be very cold nights. Well, once a day, up to the third night, the old man continued to come and bring something for us to eat, and the third night he came he urged so hard to go to the plantation that we concluded to go with him. When we got to the plantation barn we found two other men there. One of them was an Irishman and the other a Frenchman. Both of them had been concealed here for over a week. They were both from the same prison, but we found out very soon that we did not want anything to do with them for the old darkey brought four large hoecakes to be divided, each to have one a piece, but the Irishman broke one in two and gave Henry and I half of one a piece, and he and the Frenchman took the other three. This we told the old darkey and he brought enough to make it all right the next morning, and I and Henry concluded that we never would travel a mile with them if we could help it. So we found out the next morning that the old planter had looked in on us when the darkey brought us our food for the last night of our stay at this plantation, for it was understood that the next day was Sunday, the first Sunday that we had known for a long time, and the old planter was going to church. Our old friend, the darkey, was going to ferry us across the river again for another start for our lines. The next day dawned very beautiful and our sleep in the planter’s barn was very good and undisturbed.

Just as soon as the old planter had gone to church the old colored man took us all to the river, where the little and big Peedee Rivers join, and here he ferried us across. Now this boat in which we were carried was one that the old man stood up in and used his paddle in the stern end, and as soon as we got across the river we concluded to separate from the other two fellows and travel alone. It was our intention not to travel any at all by day, if we could only avoid it, and to get away from the two fellows who had taken our hoecake was our desire.

We had traveled but a short distance when we came to a public road. There were about ten or fifteen negroes on this road. The Irishman wanted apple jack, and it seemed that to get a hold of this apple brandy was the most he desired. So he and the Frenchman went to the road, and, calling to the darkies, told them what their desire was, and from the chuckling of the darkies we came to the conclusion from what we heard that it would not be long before they would get something that they were not looking for, for at the time of the break at the Florence prison the country was aroused and armed, and they told the negroes that the Yankee man was so powerful that he would eat up a black man. The people were all armed for miles around and as soon as they would tree any of our men they would shoot them out of the trees as fast as they would come to them. Now this superstition had spread all over the country, and it was nothing but the most intelligent class who would be ready to help capture and kill these flying fugitives. They would kill them for pastime and amusement.

Now as soon as it was understood by the Irishman and his chum that they would soon be supplied with apple jack, they waited until the return of the darkies, and it was not longer than half or three-quarters of an hour before we heard the sound of hounds and the blast of horns. We knew well enough what this all meant, and just as soon as these fellows met the darkies we started in the direction of the river again and made as fast progress as we could until we came to a swamp. We went into this morass as far as we could—through the mire and water to avoid pursuit of the hounds. We could hear the bay of the hounds and the blast of horns. We did feel bad to think that these poor simple fellows would run right into danger as they had done! It might have been about an hour before we heard the discharge of fire arms and all was still again and so ended. I have no doubt but that two more lives of fleeing prisoners were sacrificed. They had escaped from what was more than death—a Southern hell—as these prison pens were called, only to be shot to death.

Now we lay here in this quagmire marsh until night set in and then we started again, never intending to travel after night unless compelled to do so. The way that we intended to travel lay in a northwesterly direction, and oh, such suspense and fear as a man will have in traveling in the cold part of the year in the enemy’s country, surrounded on every side by a gaping mob and howling hounds, and many a time while we were traveling near any road have we come upon a large company of rebels, almost on us before we would know it. We would lay down wherever we could, sometimes not over fifty feet away, and lay there until it seemed as though every eye was turned on us.

There are many incidents that happened that I never will be able to relate here in this tale of my escape. As I was saying, when night again set in it found us on our way to complete our travel. We had come a good, long journey without anything occurring of any note for several nights or days, until we got within sixty or seventy miles of the North Carolina line. We had not had anything to eat for several days, except hard corn and once in a while some raw sweet potatoes that we had gathered along the way. We had at this time camped, or stopped, as I should say, in a secluded place in the forest, near a nice ravine, and in the forest quite a distance from any inhabitants. We had been traveling, as we had concluded to do, nights, and to sleep by day, and at this place we had got up just before night on Saturday. We thought we would move on a short distance, when we spied about fifty wild turkeys, and we tried hard to kill some of these, but we could not get near them, so we traveled on for some little distance, when we came to an old grist mill, some ways from any settlement. All around this mill there was corn growing, and it was loose and dry in the husk, so we gathered about a bushel of this corn and shelled it and tried our hands at milling. This mill we found was an old overshot wheel and it had but one run of stone. It seemed it had just been shut down, so we took the corn we had shelled and put it in the hopper. This did surely seem like a great undertaking, but we let it run, raising the gate and letting on a full force. Our small grist ran through the mill very fast, and just as soon as we could we scooped up the damp and smoking meal, and not any too soon either, for just about three-fourths of a mile away came two or three Johnnies on the run to see what had happened. We ran into the woods west of the mill, leaving it running full blast. We ought to have shut down the waste gate to the old mill, but we had no time to lose, as we thought, if we got away. We found some old sacks that we carried our meal in. Now we did not know what use we could make of this meal, but still we thought we might come across some darkey who would make some hoecake out of it.

Well, we traveled along in this timber for some little time, for fear that these rebels would pursue us, and just as night was closing in we came to where there was a woman chopping wood in these woods, and we lay concealed and watched her chop until she got ready to go home. Then we made ourselves known to her. She seemed to be very much frightened all the way home, and when she arrived at her house she told us that she had a husband in the army—I think in the Union army—at Knoxville, Tenn., and she told us how she was left with one boy and two girls. Her boy, just a few days before we arrived there, had been caught in the house, right on the hearth in the log cabin, where we now were, and had been shot down at his own mother’s feet. He had been conscripted some months before and had been a wanderer in the forest, pursued by home guards, as they were called, but they were nothing but bands of guerillas, scattered all over the states, and this poor woman told Henry and I that her husband had been a good Union man before and since the war. It did seem strange that this poor woman should be compelled to cut this four-foot coal wood with which to make charcoal, and this was also used in making powder to shoot our Union boys.

Oh, yes, after she had related this sad story to us, she urged us to leave her house just as soon as we could, for she declared that there would soon be a band of rebel home guards along, and that they would kill us as soon as captured. We let her have the corn meal. I think that we had done the first milling in the southern country in the manufacture of corn meal. I have often heard the rumble of that old mill in my imagination since we left it running away. Oh, such speed, and such smoking from the fast heating stones!