When we last left George and his comrades they had just escaped from a train taking them to Florence Prison in Florence, S.C. They rolled under the train station platform when the guard wasn't looking and waited anxiously for a chance to escape.
[Part 3]
I have stood
in the battle front when shot and shell were flying around me and men were
falling dead on all sides; have been in that most trying place to a soldier's
courage, "the reserve;" have stood on picket, knowing the liability
of being pounced upon and shot or strangled, have advanced with the skirmish
line in the face of a blazing line of battle and charged in solid column the breastworks
of a hidden foe; but never did I experience the feeling of abject helplessness,
of mortal terror, of absolute fright, as when that last car passed the platform
and left us, subject to discovery by some small boy or girl as they played
hide-and-seek around that depot. The
fright which the presence of five live yankees would have given that little
village meant death to all of us, and we knew it; we dared not speak, we hardly
dared to breathe, and when a large sized hog (hogs run wild in that southern
village) came rooting at our heads, we dared not drive it off, lest its sudden
exit would attract attention to our hiding place.
Slowly the
twilight gave way to night, the lounging crowd dispersed, and we gained courage
to crawl together and plan "what next." Gradually we worked our way to the end of the
building, and then, first Rice, followed in turn by Klingingsmith, Trounsell,
and Crossett, passed out into the bright moonlight, across the road, through a
gateway, and then by a path over a hill to a clump of trees just outside the
settlement, where it was agreed all would wait for me, whom it had been decided
was to act as captain of our little squad. The anxiety of superintending the timing of
each start, and watching the progress across the village, had so worked upon me
that when my time to go arrived I trembled in every nerve and muscle, and as I
started across the road my heart stopped beating. It seemed to me that every bush concealed a
foe, and every rustling leaf was shouting "halt." At last I reached the grove, and after a long
breath of relief, we all together rushed like frightened sheep across a plain,
over a fence, and into a large field of growing corn. Here hunger got the best of our frightened
rush, and finding the corn just in the milk, we threw ourselves upon the ground
and ate and ate, until the crowing of the cocks and the reddening of the
horizon warned us of the coming of the day, and the necessity of finding a
safer hiding place.
We had now
regained our senses and were able intelligently to study our surroundings. A swampy grove, about half a mile away, seemed
to offer security and we hurried on and before sunrise were safely sheltered by
its dense tanglewood, and all lay down to much needed sleep. Secure in our hiding place, we minded not the
dampness or rough underbrush on which we lay, but slept refreshingly until
almost night again. We were roused at
last by un-quenching thirst, and the realization that no food at all was even
worse than Andersonville rations - Digging a hole in the damp ground, we waited
until it filled with water from the swampy surface, and, laying on our
stomachs, drank our fill, each in turn waiting for a new supply, and ate the
tender leaves of growing shrubs around us. We could hear the bells ringing in the village
we had left, and concluded it was curfew bed-time, and shortly thereafter we
left our friendly cover, and, searching the heavens, found our "pillar of
fire," the north star, whose bright light showed to us the direction we
must take to reach the promised land of safety. Before starting out, we had
perfected a plan of action which consisted of an Indian file movement across
the country, regardless of roads or paths - North, North, was all we knew.
The details of
our tramp for the first week of our journey, which began each day at dark and
ended at dawn, is uneventful; we avoided all habitations, living on raw corn
and sweet potatoes, and hiding during the day in dense woods or dismal swamps. Growing somewhat bolder as we became
accustomed to our surroundings, we decided to test the loyalty of the negro,
and so drew lots to see what one would risk a visit to some cabin and endeavor
to find out where we were and what direction to take to reach our lines, and,
not less important, get something to eat. The lot fell to Klingingsmith, and
after pledging that in case of betrayal he would insist that he was alone (thus
giving us a chance to get away) he left us just as the lights were showing
through the windows of what we knew were negro cabins, and with anxious hearts
we waited his return. Minutes were
hours, for it seemed to us he would never come back, and we had about decided
to move off when we heard a low whistle (the signal agreed upon), and he soon
appeared, accompanied by four negro slaves, two men and two girls, loaded down
with food such as we had not seen since we left our homes, - ham, cold chicken,
cold lamb, hominy, bread, cake, and cheese, and a large pitcher of milk. Great Scott! How we ate, while these angels with black
skins rolled their white eyes and showed their whiter teeth, in ecstacy of joy that
they could do something for "Lincoln's"
soldiers.
When we had
eaten all we could hold we gathered up the fragments and stored them as best we
could among our clothes, hardly daring to believe we would ever get more, shook
hands with our faithful servants, and left them waving their hats and aprons in
silent encouragement as we disappeared over the hill in the direction pointed
out by them as sure to bring us to the "Yankee lines."
After this we
never hesitated to make our wants known to man or woman with a black skin, and
never was our confidence betrayed. If
the negro has no other claim upon the people of this country in his struggle
for right and justice, if, in his ignorance, he sometimes falls short of your
idea of what he should be, remember his loyalty and faithful service in the war
of the rebellion, but most of all, his big-hearted goodness to all union
prisoners within his reach. My own
experience, in this respect, is precisely that of every soldier who had
occasion to ask help of the negro slave, or to put himself into his hands for
safety. LET US NOT FORGET IT!
From the
information we got from the negroes we now more systematically traveled, using
the turnpike roads, which were generally deserted after dark except by an occasional
horseman, upon whose approach the one in the lead would quickly dodge outside
the road, which signal was noted by each follower in turn, and so the rider
rode peacefully along, little thinking he had passed live yankees on his way.
One dark night,
Billie Crossett and myself were walking together in the rear (leaving a
distance between us and our file leader too long for sight) when directly in
our front came quietly walking along a large white horse and on his back a man.
Instinctively we threw ourselves out of
the road and flat upon our faces, but not before both horse and rider (who
proved to be a negro, evidently returning from a visit to a neighboring
plantation) had caught a glimpse of us. The
horse rose upon his haunches and snorted with fright, and his rider, in the
well-known accent of his race, and evidently in equal terror, in a voice low at
first but increasing in violence at every word, urged on his trembling steed
with, "Go long - go long- go long dar- go long, you damn fool," and like
a streak of lightning away went horse and rider, leaving us nearly as
frightened, but unable to repress a laugh as we imagined Sambo relating to his
family or friends at home that he had seen a "spook." It was a lesson to us, however, to be more
cautious, and thereafter we kept proper distance while on the road.
One day, while
waiting in a thick woods for night to come, we were seen by two white boys, who
started off on the run. Fortunately, we
also saw them, and knew we must move quick and get away from that locality. We struck off towards lower ground and were
soon up to our knees in a wooded swamp through which we struggled two miles or
more. We were none too quick, for, from
the howling of dogs, we knew the dreaded blood-hounds were on our track, and
afterwards learned that the boys we saw were sons of a well-known slave hunter
who kept a kennel of these savage brutes. These hounds cannot scent through
swamps, and we were saved from this danger. But, oh, how we suffered! No shoes, remember, and at each step roots and
stumps raking the skin from off our feet. At last we reached the end of swampy land and
came out into solid ground again and lay down completely fagged.
Poor Billie
Crossett, the baby of our party, scarcely nineteen years old, was a complete
wreck. His feet were raw, he could not
stand. We stayed with him one night and
two days, hoping he would be able to go on, and then offered to find a safer
hiding place and wait again; but heroically he claimed remembrance of the agreement
we had made the night of our escape, that "in case either one should
become disabled, or a hindrance, the others should leave him and push on to
freedom," and insisted we should do so. We worked him along, as near as we dared, to a
large plantation, and left him, with instructions to remain in hiding until the
next night, giving us a chance to get a good distance away in case our plan
failed, and then to get into communication with our friends, the negroes, whose
cabins appeared well separated from the mansion house of the estate. It was like leaving one's heart behind, but we
did it, and walked the saddest night's walk I ever knew. We shall meet Billie again before I finish. By the advice of “an old darkey” who knew the
country well we had decided to change our course more to the West, thus
reaching, if possible, the territory
of Western North Carolina, where we
knew roving bands of our troops often penetrated; or, better yet, that hot-bed
of union sentiment, East Tennessee. We crossed a railroad which runs between
Charlotte and Concord, N.C., camping one day so near the latter place that we
plainly heard the rebel bugle call for "reveille" and
"retreat," as we lay concealed, and at last found ourselves stopped
by a rushing river, whose swift current made it impossible for us to ford or
swim. Again our negro proved his worth. We
learned that some two miles below a ferry was run by a black man, and we were
assured that he was loyal. We reached
this ferry about midnight,
too late to cross, and secreted ourselves in a thick woods on the river bank.
Next
morning-again by lot-one of our number cautiously approached the grist mill
which was operated by the man who owned the ferry, and managed to interview the
negro, whose advice was that we wait until night again, when he would put us
across and find a trusty guide to pilot us on our way. Delighted at such prospect, I returned to my
comrades and found them busy skinning a small pig which they had captured
during my absence. Fresh meat was a rarity,
and we were hungry, so building a small fire of dry sticks, which we thought
would cause but little smoke (by the way, we were furnished with some matches
by the negro girls we first met), we were soon eating broiled or roasted pork
in fancied security.
No festive
board, laden with Delmonico's choicest viands, ever gave half the satisfaction
that this half-cooked baby pig, eaten without salt or savor, did to those four
half-starved mortals in their hiding place near the banks of the Pee Dee river.
But it was a costly meat: the smoke of
our little fire was observed from the higher ground on the opposite side of the
river by a posse of men who were in search of a slave who had run away after a
severe flogging. Thinking they had
discovered his hiding place, they crossed the river, and, closing quietly
around him, as they supposed, were surprised to find, instead, four union
soldiers, whose first intimation of their approach was the words,
"Surrender, or we fire!" We
were captured again, and our dreams of home were shattered.
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