Chapter II: Part 2

The next morning I reached a shed standing in a field, which proved to be partly filled with corn fodder. Concluded it would be a snug place to spend the day. Inasmuch as it stood alone and out of sight of any dwelling I thought it would be safe as well as comfortable. Going in, I at once burrowed under the fodder, and after carefully pulling a covering of stalks and blades over my shivering body, was soon dozing away. How long I slept I had no means of knowing when a noise as of some one approaching aroused me. The dry husks and stalks lay all around the shed, and the trampling over them could be distinctly heard. Presently the steps reached the door, and as one fell within it an impulse to spring out and trust to the knife and circumstances to get away was allayed only by a hope that I would not be disturbed. How still and quiet I tried to keep. The effort to avoid making the least noise made the drawing of my breath, and the consequent rise and fall of the fodder with my respiration, sound to my ears like claps of thunder. I could accurately follow the intruder in and back to the door and hear the fodder dropped on the outside. Out and slowly back came the evil disturber of my slumbers, and right over me it stopped. The prison pen, with all its horrors, seemed staring me in the face. Scratch came the hands diving into the fodder, and as my covering was taken away I cautiously rose up. To my agreeable surprise I discovered the intruder was a black woman. She threw the fodder on the outside and returning, as she stepped into the door, she discovered me standing, like an apparition, before her. Looking the very picture of fright and astonishment, she threw up her hands and exclaimed: "Fo' de Lo'd, massa, wha' you come from?" I held up my hand in token of silence, and hastily explained who I was and how I got there. I told her I was very tired, and would like to find a place where I could rest during the day undisturbed. She said there would be no one there again that day, and for me to stay there and she would send uncle somebody out in the evening to see me. Sure enough, just after dark, that evening, a dusky form came creeping up to the shed. I was on the lookout, and watched him closely for a while without allowing him to see me. This to guard against treachery. How thoughtful it was in him to have a good quantity of hoe-cake with him. He gave me necessary information as to roads, forest tracks, etc., and told me how to avoid dangerous points in my pathway.

I wandered on and put in the time as usual plowing through forest and swamp through the night, and laying up during the day. The next evening I found myself somewhat at a loss to know what direction to take in order to get into the proper course. I started out a little before dark and soon struck a swamp--no unusual thing--but after quite a walk and no signs of solid ground appearing, but seemingly an interminable stretch of brush and tangled vines in front and on all sides, the fear crept over me that I had lost my bearings. The shadows under the trees were growing blacker and broader and darkness was gathering fast. At every step I sank almost knee deep into the wet, oozy earth. I climbed on a log and peering forward could see nothing but dense masses of underbrush and overhanging boughs. Wheeling about I made the best possible speed back over my tracks. With darkness increasing at every step it was difficult to find the way, and chance, more than sagacity on my part, brought me to firm ground. I afterwards learned from negroes the swamp covered a large extent of territory and had I gone farther would in all probability have become confused and eventually have perished. It was not long after emerging from the swamp and while I was leaning against a pine tree, when one of those severe southern rain storms burst through the clouds and I stood there in the drenching rain while the great pines moaned a chorus to the music of the storm. Strange as it may seem I felt glad that it had come. The darkness would hide me from the sight of man. Even blood hounds would not pursue a trail on such a night. Cold chilling March rain in North Carolina, and me nearly naked. I hugged up as close to the tree as possible hoping for shelter. Mercy! how it does rain down there when it rains. It was long after midnight when I made my way back from the region of the swamp until I stumbled on a cart track and taking a position in its neighborhood remained there until daylight.

I then went in search of information. Getting sight of a black man I watched him until he entered the timber and then had an interview. I learned from him that not far away was a turpentine furnace, and black men were there engaged in making turpentine. I hid in the brush until night and then struck for the turpentine furnace. I reached it about the middle of the night. I remained in its vicinity the balance of the night and following day. I was then within a few miles of the town of Wilson, which is situated on the Wilmington and Weldon Railroad. I must pass this town and with the view of saving myself from the necessity of wandering around two or three nights in order to get beyond it I secured the services of two young men who were working at the furnace to go with me and show me the easiest and safest way around it. It was a rule always observed to turn aside when coming upon any habitation, whatever, and make a more or less wide circuit in order to avoid both men and dogs. Accordingly after nightfall, we started forward cautiously following the road, and reaching a point near the town we sat down on the roadside to discuss ways and means of getting to the other side. After fully canvassing the subject we at last concluded to go straight through the place. Mose, the most intelligent of the two, said he knew every street and by-way, and felt certain of his ability to get me through. The knife I always carried conveniently hanging to my side. Towards the middle of the night we entered the place, Mose and his friend, by pre-arrangement, some ten or fifteen paces in advance. They were walking in the middle of the street. I stumbled along the rough side walk until we got well into the town and then fell into their tracks in the street. It had been arranged they would give me warning in case there was any sign of danger ahead. A train of cars on the Gaston & Wilmington Railroad went whistling across the street in front of us. The arrival of that train at that time was, I afterwards felt, a happy circumstance, because I think it contributed somewhat to helping me out of a difficult situation before I got out of the town.

Everything proceeded well until we were about to emerge from the town, perhaps passing the last houses, when two soldiers (Home Guards), with guns in their hands, put in an appearance, one coming from each side of the street. They walked rapidly towards my guides and called out: "Wha' ye all gwine?" Mose tried to give them the explanation which had been agreed upon in case just such an emergency should happen. He said he was going to Massa somebody's, to chop wood. The scheme would not work and they were turned back. When they were halted I stopped just a moment and revolved in my mind what I would do. It came to me like an inspiration. A retreat on my part would arouse suspicion. I dare not go back. I threw my heavy walking stick into my left hand, leaving my right free for emergencies, and marched straight forward. Meeting my guides and passing on I found the guards waiting for me to come up. The same question was put to me: "Wha' you all gwine?" as I walked stiffly past between them. I told them I was going home and indignantly denounced them for attempting to stop me. I swore "like a trooper," called them cowards, accompanying every word with the necessary adjective to make it as emphatic as possible. I told them I had a furlough, and gave the impression that I belonged to that neighborhood. While I was talking I was walking steadily away from them. I kept up the sulphurous fusilade until I was well out of their hearing. I have always felt that this was one of the very rare occasions when profanity was justified. They were completely thrown off their guard--utterly taken by surprise and confounded. They stood there without saying a word in reply, and before they recovered I was beyond sight and hearing. I have always thought they did not report the incident, fearing their course in allowing a stranger to pass them would be condemned and punished. It was one of those strange fortunate accidents that could happen only once in a lifetime.

The course I pursued was undoubtedly the right one. The audacity of the movement was in its favor, and the passage of the train through the town as we entered it probably helped me out. After going some distance, probably a mile or more, I heard a rapid tramp, tramp, behind me, and quickly dropping into the brush on the roadside, waited to see what was coming. Soon a form passed, running rapidly. I could see well enough to feel convinced it was one of my guides. Springing out into the road behind him I soon overhauled him. It proved to be Mose. He said when "de ga'ds" turned him back he took off on a side street and came out on the road outside of the town. His companion he had lost, and from the way he talked I thought he was glad of it. He was determined to go on with me and pleaded earnestly to be allowed to do so. His claim that he was well acquainted with the country and could take me through in a few nights, induced me to consent. We were yet fifty miles from the coast. That and the following night we spent in reaching Greenville, which we did near the middle of the night, without incident.

It was too near daylight to attempt to get through or around Greenville that night so we "laid very close to the ground" during the day and anxiously awaited for the coming of another night. When it came Mose proposed to hunt up a black man who would be willing to "pilot" us around the town. Traveling around through the brush and across fields we ran against a cabin and after considerable manoeuvering found the occupants were the right color. Mose got the man out some distance from the house and asked him if he would take us to a point on the road beyond the town. He surprised us by asking pay for the service. It was the first instance of the kind I had met with. As he and Mose were making the negotiations I attributed the speculation part to the fact that the man was dealing with one of his own color. We had no money but I had an extra coat uncle Ben had procured for me while I was lying about Louisburg. The coat was made of cotton material and was considerably threadbare, but in the darkness Mose was able to make the fellow believe it was quite valuable. He consented to take it instead of the money, and he and his son agreed to go. They placed themselves a few rods in advance and led us a long journey around Greenville. They had reached the road leading from Greenville to Washington and Newburn, N. C, and Mose and I were coming up behind slowly and carefully picking our steps when in the suddenness of a moment the guides came rushing back, and passing us, without saying a word, fled with the speed of Tam O'Shanter's mare when she was trying to make the keystone of the bridge. We turned and followed of course. Mose overtook them and demanded an explanation. They said when they looked up the road they saw a man on horseback riding directly towards them. Instead of lying quiet they ran away from the supposed danger. I noticed it was their way always to at once take to flight on the occasion of any alarm. It was my rule at such times to drop to the ground and get into shelter of the brush as quietly as possible. We dismissed them and started forward again keeping off the road and going eastwardly on a line which we supposed was parallel with it. We were now about twenty-five miles from Washington, a town near the mouth of the Pamlico River, North Carolina, which was occupied by the Union forces.

We found it necessary from this time forward to use great caution. We kept in the brush and slowly felt our way. After another night's travel we found ourselves at daylight fixing a nest under the trunk of a fallen tree. It had been blown down and was held up off the ground by its roots. Here we expected to spend the day. We were probably twelve or fifteen miles from Greenville and ten or twelve miles from Washington, N. C., where we hoped our pilgrimage would end. At this point I lost Mose. We crawled under the trunk of the tree and drew leaves and branches up on either side, completely hiding us from view. Near evening a noise was heard, and, peering out, we saw a white man and woman coming directly toward us. They were evidently absorbed in conversation. They could not see us. Our best plan was to lay still. But the sight of a white face was too much for Mose. He slipped out on the opposite side of the log, giving no heed to my warning to lie still, and, dodging from tree to tree, he was soon lost to sight and hearing. The old people passed close by the root of the tree. Giving them time to get away, I crawled out and went in search of Mose. I shouted as loud as I dared, and whistled around the neighborhood until near dark. I have never seen him since. His fear of falling into the hands of his master probably induced him to run and keep running. I gave up the search with great reluctance, because we were so near friends and I had a great desire to get the faithful fellow through. He was about as successful in leading his charge within view of the promised land as one of the same name aforetime, and failed as utterly to enter it himself, at least, so far as I know.

I struck out in the direction the old folks had taken and soon came to an open field, across which, perhaps half a mile away, stood a house. It was getting toward dark and I concluded to pass near the house in the hope of getting near the road and locating myself. I crossed a field and was climbing a fence. I was about to jump to the ground when my eyes fell upon a man standing at a fence corner but a few steps away. We discovered each other about the same time and were both equally surprised at the meeting. It was the same old gentleman who had passed our hiding place in the forest. He was looking at some hogs which were running around in the field. I went toward him and extended my hand. He took it and greeted me in a cordial way. After passing some casual remarks I told him I belonged to the 25th North Carolina Regiment, and was on my return to rejoin the command after visiting my home, which I told him was in Franklin County. This was the county in which I had left the train. It will be here appropriate to mention that the Confederate forces, under General Hoke, was at that time investing Washington, situated at the mouth of the Pamlico River, North Carolina, the place I was aiming to reach. His troops had taken Plymouth and had moved on Washington a few days ahead of me. This fact aided me to deceive the old gentleman, but it unfortunately increased the difficulties which I had to encounter in my progress forward. He said the Confederate soldiers had been around for a day or two. Some of them had been at his house, the last ones but a few hours previous. I accepted his kind invitation to the house, but purposely loitered along and delayed reaching it until about dark. Here I met the old lady, the other member of the party which gave Mose the fright. I refused to go into the house on their kind invitation, and we stood talking on the outside near the door--my object being to take a position which would give me the best chance to get away in case an enemy should appear. During our talk the old lady denounced the war and its authors, including among the latter both Lincoln and Jeff Davis. I thought she was more severe on Davis. Three sons--all the children she had--had been compelled to go into the Confederate army. One had already been killed and one was wounded. This fact probably had a tendency to move her to direct her denunciations against Davis. However, as I endorsed her words and expressed sympathy, she leaned more and more toward Union sentiments. The old gentleman went some distance with me. We entered the forest and took a seat on a log. Here we remained talking until it was quite late. I was tempted to tell him the truth about myself, but realizing that it might embarrass him and would be of no service to myself I refrained. I got valuable information from him as to the location and sentiments of the people living on the way.

As I neared Washington extreme care had to be observed, and it was necessary on account of the swamps which abounded here on all sides, to keep pretty close to the road. My feet and legs were always wet from wading in the swamps, and I had become so tired and weary of clambering through the brush and water, that I sometimes felt like running the risk and keeping the road. This I tried on one occasion, but was soon driven off by the approach of a force of Confederate troops. The town of Washington lay on the north side of the river. I was traveling down the south side. The main force of the enemy was on the north side, yet a sufficient force was on the south side to make demonstration against the Union troops guarding the approaches to the bridge. These forces I was obliged to pass, and it took fine figuring and careful manoeuvering indeed. But slow progress was made from this time forward. Groping along, peering ahead through the darkness, dodging off when anything in the shape of a soldier appeared in front--and nearly every object would assume such a shape in my excited imagination. Put to flight occasionally by a pesky stump, which in the darkness would suddenly grow into a giant sentinel armed cap-a-pie, I made slow headway.

Finally, without dwelling upon details, I reached the house of a Mr. Caldwell, about the middle of the night, and knocked at his back door. I had learned from the gentleman above mentioned that this Mr. Caldwell was a Union man, and at his house I first struck an underground road which extended far up into the country, and was used for conveying information and necessaries to Union families living in the interior, and also for guiding refugees into the Union lines. Mr. Caldwell, being, no doubt, suspicious, and naturally fearful of falling into a trap set for him by the enemy, was exasperatingly cautious. He said the soldiers (meaning Confederates) had occupied his premises the night before and were all around there during the day. He also said he had been told they had taken possession of Washington. This alarmed me, because if they had, I was liable to fall into their hands unless I steered clear of the place. He, however, gave me directions how to reach the house of Mr. Archie Hill. From Mr. Hill's on to the residence of a Mr. Kennerly, which was not far from where the pickets usually stood. Mr. Kennerly was a Union man, and I have learned since that he was a Presbyterian clergyman. He lived at the forks of the roads which came from Newbern and Greenville, and forming a junction, ran on into Washington.

It was just breaking day when I reached the back door of Mr. Kennerly's house. My summons was soon answered by the gentleman himself. I was anxious to make an end of my wanderings that morning. I inquired the way to the picket post. He looked at me suspiciously, and said I could follow the road. I told him I did not want to be seen; that I hoped the Union forces still occupied the town. At this he glanced me over and seemed to get a revelation. He took me by the arm and drew me inside the door and exclaimed: "Oh! you are a refugee. Come in. How in the world did you get through? They have been fighting around here for several days. We have not been in bed for three nights. Did you come through underground?" And so on, excitedly plying me with questions--sometimes answering himself, without allowing me opportunity to explain. By refugee is meant a native of the country who might be fleeing from home and endeavoring to get into the Union lines. After getting into the room in presence of his wife, she joined him in expressions of wonder at my success in evading the enemy and expressed sympathy for my distressed condition. The table, on which were some cold meat and a plate of biscuit, was standing in the middle of the room. I refused their kind invitation to sit down and contented myself by accepting a couple of biscuits which I pocketed and hurried away. He told me where the pickets would probably be found, and pointed out how I could get to the road near them by following a by-path through the forest, and cautioned me to be very careful because they had been fighting over on the other side for several days and it was possible the Confederates might have taken the town. If they had of course their pickets would be at the post.

I did not get a chance to explain to him who I was and left him in the belief that I was a North Carolina refugee. It was perhaps not more than a mile from his house to where the pickets ought to be found. Hurrying along the path through the brush as he directed I struck a fence which I had been told if followed would lead me to a point on the road not far from the outpost, and I would there be able to take observations and probably learn whether Union or Confederate soldiers were holding the post. Keeping close to the fence--cautiously creeping along, all the while closely examining the territory in front of me I came to the road. It was not full daylight and the fog and mists obstructed the view. Dodging around fence corners and getting a position so that I could look down the road, I discovered a couple of hundred yards away, a blue-coated sentinel pacing back and forth across the road. Keeping trees and fence in range between us I stealthily crept nearer. Was that sentinel a Yankee was the first thing to be settled satisfactorily? I looked intently. His coat, his cap, his every movement was carefully noted. Yes, surely. The guards at the reserve post began to move about. They were back perhaps a couple of hundred yards beyond the picket or outpost. As it grew lighter a fair view of them was caught. The glorious blue. There can be no mistake. With difficulty I kept from shouting for the Union and the old flag.

Stepping out into the road I threw up my hands in token of surrender and marched towards the sentinel. When I arrived within a few steps of him he brought down his gun and commanded me to halt. I took the knife from my belt and threw it at his feet and told him I was otherwise unarmed and would be glad to come in. He called for the sergeant of the guard. When that officer came forward I was admitted within the lines. Of course an explanation was given. That I had been "through the mill" as well as the swamps, my external appearance bore testimony. Pantaloons in ribbons below the knees, partly barefooted, the little flesh left on my limbs scratched, poisoned and swollen from having been compelled so often to wade through water, I was a picture of the direst distress. But the haven was reached at last. The imagination must be left to picture my feelings. Any attempt to describe them would result in utter failure to do the subject justice. With gratitude to God and those kind and faithful people who were instrumental in making the journey a success, I felt the extremest sensations of joy.

The boys were making coffee, and I got a good share of it. I had not had any coffee for about seven months, and of course relished it now. From this picket post to the bridge it was perhaps two miles, more or less. Throughout this distance the ground was covered by water and a corduroy road was constructed. This is made by piling logs one upon another until they reach above the water. Midway between the post and the bridge there was a block house or fort. It was occupied by a detachment of a hundred men. I was taken over this road, past the block house, on over the bridge into Washington, and presented to General Palmer, who was in command of the forces on the North Carolina coast at the time. Two soldiers were detailed at the picket post to escort me to the headquarters of the commanding officer.

Washington was evacuated that same day, our forces falling back to Newbern. If I had been one day later--well, we need not speculate upon what might have been the result. I was forwarded under guard to Newbern, going around the Sound on the same vessel which carried the commanding officer. I was kept under guard by our own forces until I was identified. This was in accordance with military usage. At Newbern I was taken to the barracks, or building used for confining prisoners of war taken by our own forces. The commanding officer was a colonel of a Massachusetts regiment. I have lost his name. His wife was with him and they were living in the adjoining building. The good woman, happening to discover me as I was taken into the door, and being attracted by the clothes I wore, and my "lean and hungry look," asked her husband to bring me into the house. In response to her inquiries, I gave her a brief account of my adventures. She kindly directed that I should be supplied with soap and water and an opportunity to use them and also secured from the Government stores a new suit of clothing--all except a coat. The gray Confederate jacket I was wearing was "scalded out" and thoroughly cleaned. That jacket is now in the museum or relic room of the Court House at Washington, Pa., the only memento in existence--except myself--of that memorable trip. She also assigned me to a room and luxurious bed in her house while I remained at that place.

What a pleasing change! From the immediate presence "of most disastrous chances; of moving accidents by flood and field," to this shelter and delightful rest.

Two days after coming into Newbern I went around by ocean transport to Fort Monroe, and there I found Capt. W. H. Meyers, formerly from my own county in Pennsylvania, who was acting provost marshal at that point, who identified me and took me from under the charge of the guard. I can so well remember how the captain's big heart rejoiced when he discovered me and found he could render me so great a service.

Remaining over night with the captain, I was furnished transportation by him, and the following day, being May 1, 1864, proceeded to Pleasant Valley, near Harper's Ferry, where I found a part of my regiment, under command of Colonel A. J. Greenfield. The colonel kindly detailed a man to nurse me to health, and thanks to a rugged constitution it was not long until I was again on duty. Remained in active service with my regiment till the close of the war. With this exception I never spent a day in hospital or failed to answer daily roll call during my whole service in the army, which was three years and three months.

I have earnestly endeavored to learn the fate of the boys who left the car with me, but have failed. Two of them claimed to belong to the Harris Light Cavalry, a New York regiment. I have been down through North Carolina, over the tracks I made on that memorable march, and have advertised in all papers likely to reach the ex-soldiers. I have not much hope now, although stranger things have happened. The chances for getting through were perhaps one in a hundred, on account of the vigilance of the citizens of the so-called Confederacy. They were always on the lookout for deserters, conscripts and runaway slaves. The south was literally an armed camp. Every man, old and young, and, I might say, woman and child, was in the service in some capacity. So when a stranger was discovered they raised the alarm, and with shotgun in hand and blood hound on the trail, gave chase. A man had little chance against such odds.

As I approached the block house between the picket post and the bridge I got a glimpse of the starry emblem. It was attached to a staff on the top of the fort, and it appeared to me to embody everything that was beautiful and good. It could have been no more welcome to a luckless mariner afloat on a boundless sea without a compass than it was to me. As the mists lifted it came into view amidst all the splendor of a southern sunrise, and as its spotless colors rolled in merry and playful billows across the sky my heart swelled with joy unspeakable.

Now peace hovers over the land.

"No more are hostile standards reared,
Nor bugle note nor trump is heard--
The war drums cease:
The blue-coats scatter through the land;
The erewhile soldiers, plough in hand,
Of their own hard won fields demand
The earth's increase;
Or ply their skill with sharper zest,
Where shafts nor wheels nor halt nor rest;
O'er North and South and East and West
Broods White-winged Peace."

And it is the earnest wish of us all that it may be perpetual.

APPENDIX

HOW AND WHERE I WAS CAPTURED.

In September, 1863, Major Stevens, of the 1st W. Va. Vol. Infantry, was occupying a position near Moorefield, Va., having six companies of his own regiment, two pieces of artillery, and Capt. A. J. Barr's company of cavalry (afterwards Company F, 22d Pa. Vol. Cav.). The Major had received information that a force of the enemy was approaching his post, and in order to secure as full intelligence as possible of location, number, etc., scouting squads were sent out on the different roads. Early on the morning of the 4th I was directed to take command of a squad and go out on a road which wound its way for several miles along the south fork of the Potomac river and which led to and through Brock's Gap. My party consisted of William Jenkins, John W. Manning, Abel Moore, John Penny, Corporal Samuel P. Hallam, myself (at this time a sergeant) in command. Just as daylight was breaking we reached a ford on the river, and on the opposite bank discovered a mounted sentinel or picket belonging to the enemy's force. Corporal Hallam was immediately sent back to camp, to report the fact to the Major, and in the hope that we could capture this man on the outpost, or some of the reserve, which must be near at hand, we dashed across the river, and paying no heed to the shot he fired at us spurred forward in hot pursuit as he withdrew. The shooting warned his friends at the reserve post, and when we came upon their position they were mounted and in full retreat. They greeted us with a volley as they abandoned their post, but we kept up the pursuit until we drove them into camp. Here we found their whole force, having been alarmed at the firing, falling into line and in much confusion. We wheeled about and got back across the river, and then feeling pretty secure leisurely retired. A force of the enemy soon appeared at the ford, but as they did not rush us we fell back in good order. Just as we were beginning to feel that we would soon be near or in our own camp we met a company of Confederate cavalry coming from that direction. This proved to be McNeill's company of rangers under command of Lieut. Jesse McNeill. Now, being caught between this force in front and the one pursuing there was no possibility of escape. They closed up on us from both directions, and in the midst of such a demonstration as only such conditions could bring about they soon had the little squad unhorsed. Two horses shot and Jenkins and Moore wounded were the only casualties. This incident was one of the strange freaks of the fortunes of war. Instead of capturing one or two of the rebels, as we hoped, we, ourselves, fell into their hands. We were taken to Richmond, Va., and put into Libby Prison, where we remained for two or three weeks, then placed on Belle Island. In a stockade on this bare island we remained during that cold winter of 1863-64, scantily clothed and without other shelter from the chilling winds which swept over the island. Three of this party lived to get back to the North--Hallam, who got through with his message in the morning, but was captured later the same day; John W. Manning, who was fortunate enough to be included with a few hundred that were exchanged in April, 1864, and myself, escaped in March, 1864. Hallam had a long and terrible experience in different prison pens in the South. He was longest at Andersonville, and strange to relate, lived through more than a year of privation and suffering at that place. He was released by Gen. Sherman's army at the close of the war.

ADDENDA.

A most remarkable coincidence connected with this sketch happened since it was first published. While I was engaged in the Civil Service of the Government, in 1901, at Washington, D. C., I was rooming at the house of Mrs. Kiel, No. 12 Sixth St., N. E, and there met Capt. T. T. Westcott, a Confederate soldier, who held a position in the National Capital by the favor of Senator Daniel, of Virginia. Mr. Westcott lives in Accomac County, Va. While talking over our experiences in the war, it was discovered that he was the officer in command of the very train of cars from which I escaped. He well remembered the incident of the departure of myself and friends on the night of March 6, 1864, which he discovered the next morning when his train pulled into Raleigh, N. C. He said he continued on with his load of human freight to Andersonville, Ga.

_LIST OF CAPTURED._

The following is a list of the members of the regiment captured during the war:

_Company A._--Sample S. Bane, died in Andersonville, Ga., April 1, 1864; James Gray, died at Salisbury prison, N. C.; C. L. Kinder, exchanged; W. Laferty, died at Andersonville June 9, 1864; Joseph Morton, died at Andersonville March 20, 1864; J. K. Robinson, exchanged; A. M. Nicely, died at Salisbury, N. C., December 23, 1864; *Jas. Crouch; Wm. H. White, killed in Manassas Gap by Moseby's guerillas.

_Company B._--Hardman Gantz, died in Annapolis, Md., soon after exchange; Raymond Gouse, died at Andersonville October 27, 1864; *And. K. Reed; Andrew Smith, died at Andersonville October 17, 1864; *J. S. Lindley, *L. K. Burncrots, *W. C. Wheeler.

_Company C._--Milton L. Davis, died at Andersonville July 5, 1864; Jas. C. Smith, died at Andersonville October 1, 1864.

_Company D._--*E. H. Miller; W. H. Hickman, exchanged.

_Company E._--J. G. Byers, died in Andersonville.

_Company F._--H. H. Eller, died on Belle Island December 16, 1864; William Vankirk, died at Andersonville September 21, 1864; James Bradley, died at Richmond; David Campbell, died at Andersonville April 6, 1864; Peter Deems, died at Andersonville April 26, 1864; And. Elliott, died at Richmond; W. P. Haynor, died at Richmond; Wm. Jenkins, died at Richmond; N. B. Marsh, died at Richmond; M. G. Moore, died at Andersonville July 29, 1864; Abel Moore, died at Richmond; A. J. Scott, died at Andersonville; H. C. Slusher, exchanged; John Manning, exchanged; John Fulton, exchanged; John Flowers, exchanged; B. F. Hasson, escaped.

_Company G._--David Beatty, died at Andersonville, June 16, 1864; A. J. Stottlemyer, exchanged; James Amous, died at Andersonville May 5, 1865; Thos. Bee, died at Andersonville June 14, 1864; J. Hardin, exchanged; *George W. Johnson; *G. Marcy; C. Phillips, died at Annapolis, Md.; O. P. States, exchanged; John Stiner, died at Andersonville August 9, 1864.

NOTE.--The fate of those marked with a star (*) is unknown to me.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Italics indicated by _ markings

Obvious printing errors repaired

Alternate and idiosyncratic spellings retained

'Sept 26, 1900' on title page was handwritten in original. Left as found, since there was no date actually printed.

End of Project Gutenberg's Escape from the Confederacy, by Benjamin F. Hasson