Part 3

Well, as I was saying, this woman told us that there was a poor old colored man down in a valley south of the house where she lived, about three-fourths of a mile away. We had not yet left her house, south of the road, when we heard the clatter of hoofs and of galloping steeds. At least two hundred of these home guards, or cut throats, as they were more commonly called, came rapidly up to this poor woman’s house and halted for a few moments. We kept concealed to see what might turn up, and as soon as they went on we went down the valley until we came to the place that we had been directed to—the old colored man’s hut. This was about eight o’clock in the evening and we saw to our amazement a little hut in the side of the west bank of this valley bluff. In front of this hut stood the poor old pilgrim, singing a beautiful hymn. We had found again one of God’s true servants. He seemed to be about eighty years old. He had been in some way taught to read, and had a good idea of his Divine Creator. Well we had a good meeting with the old man, but all we found to eat, that the poor old man made us welcome to, was a small piece of mutton chops and about a pint of beans. After a long talk, he told us there was a good old Quaker whom he knew would befriend us if we would go with him. After he had declared the Quaker to be a truly good man we finally concluded to trust the old man, but we decided to keep our eyes on him while we went with him. He also told us that this man had a large sugar plantation, which he worked very late nights. Now our fare of chops and beans was becoming very slim, and we began to get very hungry. I tell you it is hard to relate what a hungry man wouldn’t do before he would allow himself to starve to death. This I have had the sad experience of witnessing, and I pray to God it will never occur again. Well, this Quaker’s place was about one and one-half miles from the old darkey’s place. We started at about 9:30 o’clock, and after we arrived at the plantation the house we found was a large brick structure. Just beyond we could hear the sound of mills grinding cane and the noise of the factory. We went just a little ways from the old planter’s house and here Mr. Ledierer and myself waited, while the old darkey went on to get the old planter, or to see him in our behalf. Now, for fear the old man was working some scheme to betray us, I went on ahead of where Henry was to hear what the conversation might be. As soon as the planter had heard the old darkey’s story, he discharged all of his hands and came to where we were. I was about ten yards in advance of Henry when they came along, and just as soon as I heard their talk I was convinced that we had fallen into the hands of a Godly man and a true christian pilgrim Quaker. Just as soon as he met us he took us by the hand, called on God to bless us, and whatever lay in store for us. Thank God, dear reader, for these apostles of Christ!

We went to the old planter’s house and he had a boy stationed near the corners of the road to keep watch for anyone who might be coming, for the home guards would go by at most all hours of the day and night. Well, soon the kind old Quaker let us know that our midnight repast awaited us and he invited us to come and sit down to their table where his loving wife was seated. Here was a table spread with clean linen and napkins, and we poor, starved, walking skeletons without anything but rags to cover our feet from the snow and wet! Our drawers and shirts were made up of all of our attire, and oh, imagine our feelings, to be seated at such a repast that awaited us! And as we sat down to the table of our hostess and folded our arms as he returned thanks to his Supreme Maker the tears flowed from my eyes as I thought of home and my dear old mother. That table and its clean spread put me in mind of her. My dear comrade, though as brave as any man I believe I have ever met sat by my side, and as we sat there thinking of the embarrassed situation we were in, we were like two weak children. The hostess sympathized with us in our distress. Well, we soon took hold of the repast, for we had not eaten but a very few meals to a table in over two and a half years. They were very anxious for us to tell what we had suffered in prison and seemed delighted to hear of our experiences. We would sit up evenings and tell of these incidents. We had stayed with this good old Quaker four days, and the fourth day we had it understood that we would start again on our journey. So when the time came for us to go it seemed like parting with the best of friends, leaving them never to meet again. I have often thought and truly believe that God will reward these good people for their many kindnesses to us. Now when all things were in readiness they furnished us with a large sack of stewed chicken and a mess of cakes, the best they could furnish, and with good advice we parted. The name of this man I have forgotten in this narrative. I wish to mention the excellent concealment that this good man had for us in his barn during our stay with him. He had a very nice barn which was on the south side of the road. It seems that the road runs east and west, and on the west side of the barn there was a large hay mow, and in the further end from the door he pulled out a large bundle of hay tied up in good shape which revealed a passage clear around the back of the mow and to the ether end. There was a good bed that we slept on during our stay there, and through the day our food would be brought to us, and nearly every day, through a knot hole we could see guerillas going by, and sometimes stopping and looking around the place. Now I come back again to where we parted. The kind old man had given us the direction where we could meet another man on our way who was friendly to Union soldiers. We tried to find his place on this shallow road which was about thirty-five or forty miles distant from this Quaker’s plantation. He told us to be sure and remember that his name was John Coltraines. He also told us about this man’s having a brother about a mile further along on the same road by the name of “Bill” Coltraines. One of these brothers was a Union man and the other a rebel. John, the kind old Quaker told us, was engaged in piloting Union men, as well as rebels, through our lines. The first night, not getting started as early as we ought, we only got about eight or ten miles on our way when we stopped and concealed ourselves. We had been living rather sumptuously and sleeping nights instead of laying still by day and traveling by night. We laid by this night. Henry and I lay concealed the best part of the next day, planning what we intended to do when we arrived home. We talked of either going to his parents’ place or to my folks’ home.

We would conceal ourselves until everybody had gone and then we would take possession and have everything to ourselves, and have everything to eat that we could think of. Being starved as we had been seemed to weaken our minds. Well, dear reader, if you could have seen the plight we were in and some of the nests of leaves that we gathered up for many a night to cuddle up in to snatch a few hours’ rest and to inspect the tattered drawers and shirt that covered our starved skeletons, your sympathy would have been aroused. Soon the day dawned again and we lay concealed, sleeping and eating until toward night. Our stopping with the Quaker planter seemed to get us more in the notion of eating and of having some regular time in which to eat, but we could not let the sack of food alone which we allowed would last us four or five days. It surprised us how soon it was gone, for before night of Saturday we had eaten about all we had started with.

We started again about eight o’clock to make more progress than we had the night before, hoping to find our friend, John Coltraines, of whom the good old Quaker had told us. We had to go very slow on the start, for this was a main thoroughfare and a state road, along which there was a good deal of travel. We were liable to run into rebels at most any time, but after about ten o’clock we had less danger of meeting with any travelers on the way. There were squads of rebels traveling along this road at all hours of the night, so we concluded to travel and make all the headway possible. We had traveled most of the night, which was far spent, and I had been stopping all along the way asking for something to eat, but had not been able to get anything. Once or twice I had been driven from the door with double-barreled shot guns.

We did not get clear through to our friend John’s, but stopped after traveling about twenty-five miles or so. There were mile posts along this road, so that we could tell how far we were traveling in a day or night. After the second day had passed it found us again on the third night eating hard corn from the cob, as we had often done before, when it was not good for us to let ourselves be known along the way. We made up our minds to get to where John Coltraines lived this night if we could, for our old friend who had given us the direction of his abode, told us if we could only find him he would help us through to our lines without any trouble. We started with the full determination of getting through to our lines this night if the Lord was willing, and until midnight had past we had got out of the way and let squads of rebels pass and repass along the way and still we had made some headway. After about the midnight hour I had stopped several times to make some inquiries as to where John Coltraines lived, without apparently any success. I had also asked for hoecake, and in return I had a double-barreled gun pointed through the door at me. This kind of fare we had been receiving all along the way. Never on our whole journey did fate seem to be so much against us as it did at this place, for we had not obtained a bite to eat for most three days, except the first. I had began to get quite jealous of my dear friend Henry, for I had been stopping to enquire the way and he had not stopped, running the chances of being shot at, and I began to find fault, as every jealous person will, with my very best friend and comrade that I believe I ever met in this wide world. I do believe if I should meet him and he had but five dollars he would divide with me, and when Henry heard me talk to him about his being a little cowardly he felt very bad, and told me through his tears that he was no coward if I did think he was. This sad talk, and with such feeling, broke me up, and I caught my grieved old comrade by the hand and wanted him to forgive me for this unkind talk, which I promised would never again happen, and I wish to thank God that it never did. Henry was determined that he would show me that he was no coward and he told me that he meant to stop at the very next house. Now we had been told by our guide that we must not stop at William Coltraines’, or “Bill,” as he was commonly called, for he was captain of the rebel home guards, or of a band of guerillas. We had gotten very close to where John Coltraines lived, and it was best that we should go slow, as we had been told about the barn which was a very large one, on the west side of the road, and the big wood colored house on the other side located on a raised lawn. Several steps of square blocks led up to the house. We came to this place, and Henry, not heeding my warning, at once started up these steps. I continued to call to him to stop, but he would not. He went to the large piazza and knocked on the door. I still called to him, but he did not heed, so determined was he that he would demonstrate to me that he was no coward. I could see very plainly that this was the very house we had been warned not to stop at, yet Henry continued to knock. There was a gruff voice heard, which I will never forget until my dying day, asking who was there. Henry told him that it was a friend. He was not satisfied, but still insisted on knowing who it was. Then Henry inquired where John, his own brother, lived. The old captain told him he would soon let him know where he lived, so he came to the door and shoved out a double-barreled shot gun, and before poor Henry had time to dodge, shoved my poor comrade and friend to the ground. I thought when he struck the ground that he had been killed, but soon he rose to his feet and pleaded for the rebel to spare his life. Just at this moment I rushed up to the top of the lawn, or stone steps, when he caught sight of me, and just as he was about to level his gun on me I dropped backward and struck on all fours at the bottom of the steps. Just as I did so Henry took advantage of the situation and hurried behind the house. He ran clear around and down through a cane field in the direction we had been going, and as soon as I could gain my feet I started down the road as fast as my legs could carry me. The rebel by this time was also at the road side and sent another shot after me. The first shot came very close. Just as I fell to the ground the rebel turned his fire on my comrade just as he turned the corner of the house. Now as soon as the second shot was fired at me he hastened to the barn, no doubt to get some steed with which to pursue us. Just then there seemed to be a great stir at that plantation house. My desire was to again get with Henry, and stopping, I placed my fingers to my mouth and whistled the third brigade call. At the time of Henry’s capture he was despatch carrier for our brigade and also the bugler of our regiment. Now I had learned to give the call on my fingers. This is the call in words: “Dan, Dan Butterfield! Butterfield, get up you poor devil as quick as you can, and when you get tired I will rest you again.” This repeated in the first words on a horn or whistle is very interesting to anyone who has ever heard the call. Now to whistle this call right in the face of an enemy seemed a hard task, but it had to be done. Soon there came an answer, and within five minutes we were again on our way, but the thought of ever meeting with John Coltraines was now abandoned.

We had to change our course and leave this road, never to travel it again. We struck out to the west of this road, the road, as I have stated, running north and south. We made as good time as we could in order to reach a forest that seemed to lay off to the west. By this time it was now well on toward two o’clock in the morning. We succeeded in getting into a thick swampy region which we had every reason to believe saved our lives, for from the sounds we heard we came to the conclusion that we were being looked after in this swamp, and that it was no desirable place to be in. It was a very bad quagmire swamp, with moss hanging from the trees, and a bad place to stop in at night, let alone the day. For the next few days and nights, without a smell of meat or hoecake, or any such thing, except hard corn, we had nothing more to eat, and our company day and night was moccasin snakes and other rattling and hissing reptiles. Still we traveled, not fearing the wild animals as much as we did the rebels with their horns and hounds. Well, I must say that, young as I was at that time, it was one of the worst and most dreary times in the lines of life’s pages. To even contemplate it now seems almost like a dream.

Well, after sleeping and traveling almost night and day continually—cloudy weather some of the time and lost some of the time—we finally came out where there was a large plantation on this Shelterford road some sixty miles from where I had been shot at and to which I had been directed by hearing the dancing of two small negroes and the patting and singing of a large negro in one of the negro huts. Here we stopped and ate the last meal together and the last night that we ever traveled together in this southern country. Oh, how sad it makes me feel when I think back of the lonely nights that we both spent, traveling the balance of our journey! Well, as I was speaking of our last meal together: It was at the supper of two rebel bushwhackers, and these two rebels who were staying at this rebel plantation were men who would shoot down a poor fleeing prisoner on sight, and this made us uneasy to get away. This darkey had placed in the fire, in an old-fashioned fire place, a mess of large sweet potatoes for us to carry along with us, as he told us, but this he did intending to keep us until the two rebel guerillas came in on us. We had told this negro how well the old Quaker had used us during our stay with him, and I think that this darkey took advantage of this to fool us in telling us that one of these men staying here was a Quaker and he did not know what the other was. He seemed to be so uneasy that it aroused us, and we had just arose to go when the gate opened in front of the hut and the two little black darkies slipped out unbeknown to us. They had taken with them a ham that Henry carried along with him. Just at this time we did not know what to do, for an instant, but I had learned that my dear comrade was no coward, for here he showed the bravest thing that I had witnessed in a long time. I told the darkey that if he told of our whereabouts as we crawled under the bed, that we would kill him if it was the last thing we ever did. What my dear comrade did and which was his last brave act was to tell me to crawl under the bed and leave all to him. He thought he could get us out of the trouble all right. The two little darkies had already told the rebels of our eating up their supper, and one of these rebels, it seemed, went to the old planter’s house for a double-barreled shot gun and the other rebel came into the negro cabin. Now this cabin was like all other plantation huts. It had one door and one window on the east side, in the former of which a rebel stood, and a fire place in the north end, made of stone and sticks and daubed with red clay, and in the corner at the foot of the bed was a ladder. Between this ladder, close to the straw cot, lay my comrade, and just as soon as the rebel commenced to ask the negro what was the matter, and the darkey standing in the middle of the hut with mouth wide open, Henry arose to his feet and spoke to the rebel, bidding him good evening. It took the rebel so much by surprise it seemed as though poor Henry could have snatched one of his weapons from his scabbard and shot him with one of his own guns, but it seemed that the Lord had another way for us to get out of this dilemma. Henry was trying to find his cane that he had left in the corner that he might surprise the rebel still more, but the little darkies had made way with it. So after the first surprise the rebel began to think of his weapons, and drew them for the first time, asking Henry where he was going. Henry told him he was going north to a large river that we expected to cross. “Well,” said the rebel, “how many are there of you?” Henry told him there were two of us. Oh, how uneasy I was at this time, under a bed in a negro hut, betrayed, and, as I thought, almost in the jaws of death! Still he asked Henry where the other fellow was, and Henry told him I was out in the road. The rebel told Henry to go out and tell me to come in and he would fix him in about a minute. This was what Henry desired—to get out once for a start—so he went right off in a southern direction, and just as soon as the rebel started after him I got out of the hut as soon as I could. The darkey tried to stop me, but with one swing of my club I placed him out of my way. When I got to the road fence the rebels saw me running in the opposite direction. I made for the timber in a north-easterly direction as fast as I could, and very soon there was heard the blast of horns and the baying of hounds in pursuit of me. Oh, how gloomy and heart sick I was to find myself separated from my comrade, with hounds and rebels in pursuit of me. It must at this time have been about one o’clock in the morning. Soon thereafter it began to rain very hard. All at once the hounds came upon me, but they did not seem to be as fierce as the blood hounds of Andersonville. Shortly the blast of the horns ceased, and the hounds stopped following us. This was the last of our being together.

Now, my travel the balance of the way to our lines, of over four hundred miles, was alone, and a sad and lonely journey it proved to be. Well, I have learned from Henry what he did after he ran south. The poor boy came back to the negro shanty after it sat in and commenced to rain, to find out, if he could, whether the rebels had captured me, or had, as he thought, shot me, for as he made away they turned their attention to me, and he heard them shoot at me as I left the negro shanty. Henry came back to this shanty. The negro had drank an apple jack and was so drunk in consequence that Henry could not wake him, although he hammered him with his cane. He then went to the encampment of a large band of guerillas, and here he whistled on his fingers the call of the brigade which we belonged to until he aroused the whole encampment. Well, dear reader, it is very seldom that one comrade will do this for another.

On the banks of the Big Peedee river, after we had swam this stream three times in one day, and each time I had carried poor Henry on a cane across my left shoulder, we pledged ourselves that we would not forsake each other in life or in death. Now I remained in this timber, thinking that Henry might come this way and we would again get together, but I was destined to disappointment, though I continued to make the call on my fingers, yet did not give up in despair. If I had I could not have written this simple narrative.

Well, I must hasten along. I lay by a good part of the next day in this forest. Then I kept on in a northern direction until I came to the river that Henry spoke to the rebel of. Now while crossing this river I had since learned that Henry and I might have gotten together again if we had only known each other, for below me, as I was told the story, there was a rebel, to all appearances, crossing the river about one hundred rods distant. We both told the same story, only he allowed the rebel was just such a distance above him, and right here, if we had understood, we could have gotten together again, but it seems our lives still laid apart from each other.

I am in hopes that we may meet some day—if not in this world, that we will in the world to come.

Praise God! My mind is continually trusting in Him that He will keep me in the truth in this narrative.