Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts regiment

The plantation was owned by A. R. Taylor, and our good friend was the driver. He was very intelligent, having travelled all over the country with his master. He fully understood the danger he was in, and that if we were found in his house he would hang to the nearest tree, but he laughed at it and said, “Negroes were cheap now, and one would not be missed.” We remained in bed all day, locked in our room, the man and his wife going away to work. We had a cold lunch, and before starting at night they made us a nice soup.

We began our journey soon after sunset. The night was clear, the moon shining brightly. Our friend went with us to the Lexington turnpike, and giving us directions left us with many good wishes for our success. We tramped along without speaking, and made very good time. Our road lay through the town of Lexington, and we intended to go around it, but, like all other southern towns, it has no outskirts, and before we knew it we were in its centre. Lights were burning in several houses, and we could hear talking, but pushed on and were safely through. On the other side we met a negro, who gave us valuable information. We walked all night. The country was so open that when daylight came we could find no place to hide, and as a last resort went into a barn, and covering ourselves with hay, were soon fast asleep; but our slumbers were disturbed by an old man who came in to feed the cattle, and for their fodder took our covering. He had two dogs that jumped upon us.

It looked as though our march to freedom was ended, but we drove away the dogs and began to talk with the old man. One of the many resolutions we had made at the beginning of our journey was that we would not be recaptured by any one man. We had seen two persons brought back by one man and did not think it appropriate. We had provided ourselves with stout clubs, and it looked as though we should have a chance to use them. Our friend said, “I can’t hear a word,” and thinking that he meant he would hear no explanation, we got in position to use our clubs.

Frank said, “I guess he is deaf.” Then we asked him by signs if he was; he answered, “Yes.” We then told him that we were conscripts going to join General Bragg’s army at Augusta, and had lost our way. Frank wore an old rebel jacket, and it would have been hard to tell by our clothing what we were. He appeared satisfied, however, and put us on the road. We had gone but a short distance when we heard the barking of dogs, and knowing if the bloodhounds were on our track it was good-by liberty, we entered a brook and travelled up stream several miles to throw them off the scent, then came out and lay in the woods until night.

When it came time to resume our journey we could not move, as we were exhausted with our long tramp of the night before. We had eaten nothing since we left our colored friend at Taylor’s plantation. We crawled out of the woods, and seeing a house, dragged ourselves to it. After waiting a while a negro came out, and we attracted his attention. He saw our helpless condition, and taking us to an old shed, made a bed on some husks and brought a quilt from his house to cover us. He then went for our supper, but returned in haste with a piece of corn-bread and the information that we must leave at once, as the rebel patrol was at the house looking for us, having learned from the old man that we were in the woods. Tired and sore, we returned to the woods and remained until morning.

Our plan was not to travel by day, but hunger drove us. We moved along cautiously, and suddenly came upon the cabins of “white trash.” Dogs of all shapes and sizes welcomed us, and a white woman came out with several children clinging to her dress. It was hard to tell which was the most afraid, the woman or we poor wanderers. We asked her if she could direct us to Boatride’s plantation, one of the places Ben, the colored man whom we had met near Lexington, had mentioned. She “reckoned not,” but we reckoned that we could find it and moved along.

This danger proved to us that it was not safe to be seen by daylight, and we returned to the shelter of the woods. While there a negro boy came along a path, and when opposite to us we spoke to him. At first he was frightened, but as we stood up he came to us and said, “You are Yankees.” We asked him how he knew. He said, “I can tell by the blue pants;” some rebel soldiers had told him that Yankees wore blue clothes. We soon became well acquainted, and he promised to bring us food. He kept his word, and said at night he would come and take us to his mother’s house. Just after dark he came with another boy, and we were soon made welcome at his home. They were expecting us, and the table was set. Roast pork, sweet potatoes, hot biscuits, butter and plenty of new milk were on the bill of fare. What a feast! To sit in a chair at a table, and eat with a knife and fork like a human being; we could hardly believe it was real.

The family consisted of the mother, two daughters and this boy, besides a baby. The daughters were delighted with us and the mother named the baby for me, so (if he is alive) there is to-day in South Carolina a young man thirty-five years old bearing the name of John Gregory Bishop Adams, besides several others belonging to the boy’s family. They also said we were the handsomest men they ever saw. Well, we must have been. I had on the clothes described in a previous chapter, was twenty-three years old, and, having never shaved, my face was covered with white hairs an inch long. Frank looked better, but did not wear his party clothes on this occasion. The old lady said master told them not to go out after dark because the Yankees would catch them, but wondered what he would say to see them now. They were owned by a Dr. Vose, and I should judge he was a kind master. We were not anxious to leave our good friends, but felt that we must be on our way, so we bade them good-by, and, guided by the boy, began our night’s march. He went with us about two miles and gave us in charge of a man who travelled with us until nearly morning, then hid us in a barn on the plantation of a Mr. Williams.

The next day was Sunday, and we were on exhibition from morning until night. We were stowed away in the loft, and our first visitor was a man with our breakfast. After that a constant line of white eyes could be seen in the darkness as the procession filed past. The usual salutation was, “Hello, boss! how has you been?” Then followed all sorts of questions. One asked if we toted ambitions (meaning arms). We told him that we had some ambitions left. He said that was good, because we might have to use it. They asked if we belonged to Mr. Grant’s or Mr. Sherman’s company; but while they were ignorant of many things, they were all loyal and ready to do anything for us.

We left the barn at night and ate supper in the field. A negro guided us several miles, then gave us in charge of two others, who promised to remain with us until morning. With the negroes as guides we seldom travelled in the road, for they knew all the short cuts. Our new acquaintances were not very sharp, as they had had a hard master, but they rejoiced that the Yankees had killed him. The face of one looked like a skimmer, for his master had fired a charge of shot into it. They were very superstitious. Coming to a fence, Frank and I were getting over in different places, when they pulled us down, and said all must get over in one place, because there was luck in it. Here we saw a man crossing a field with a lantern. Calling their attention to it they said it was not a man, but a Jack-o-lantern going to the graveyard. When we arrived at the main road our guides left us, as they had never been so far from home before. We were glad to part with them, yet they did the best they could.

Following the Pike road until daybreak, we came to a plantation that answered the description Ben had given us of Boatride’s. He said that his brother Dick lived there and would help us. We made our way to a cabin, called up a colored man, and asked him if his name was Dick. He didn’t know, didn’t know Ben, didn’t know anything that he proposed to tell, but at last light broke through the clouds. We found he knew enough, only feared to trust us. He said that colored people had to be very careful, as all kinds of ways were used to trap them. He hid us in the barn. The colored women came in, and although they did not speak to us, left food in abundance where we could get it. The old master came in twice, but not having been introduced we held our peace.

At night Dick came for us and took us to his house. He had invited his friends, and the house was full. They sang to us, and, besides giving us a nice supper, they packed a haversack with bread and meat for us to take. Being on the main road, we thought it best not to take a guide, but found travelling quite difficult, as the road was lined with refugees fleeing from Augusta, and we often had to flank them, which made our progress slow.

Morning found us about fifteen miles from Augusta. We hunted up a negro, and using Dick’s name for reference, he put us into the second story of a barn. We climbed up on a plank which he removed so no one could get at us, neither could we get out. Through the cracks of the barn we could see men, single and in companies, going to join General Bragg’s army at Augusta. The negro said that Sherman was expected there, and our plan was to get as near as possible, wait until the city was taken, then enter. One night more and we would be within a few miles of our destination.

When it became dark our man put up the plank and we came down. We made about ten miles that night. The settlements were growing thicker and the roads and woods were full of refugees. We halted at a cabin where they were having a first-class minstrel show. The negroes were seated in a circle around the fireplace and the old banjo was a-ringing. We walked into the room. The music ceased, and they thought the d – l had come. We explained our position and asked them to care for us. While they were anxious to do so, they could not make up their minds where would be a safe place. It was suggested that they hide us in the cabin. This had two rooms, but the master had locked the door of one and taken the key. The partitions did not run to the roof. One of the boys climbed up and pulled up a board so that we could drop down into the other room. Making a ladder out of stools and negroes, we ascended, then dropped. We found a bed in the room, and a hole in the bottom of the door, made for cats to pass in and out; this was used as a dinner hole, the negroes passing rations through it. We awoke in the morning much refreshed, but when I looked at Frank I was startled. He was as black as a negro, and he broke out laughing when he saw me. In reaching our room we had passed through several years’ collection of soot and had taken some with us, and, not having a key to the bathroom, were forced to keep dark all day.

The negro came at night and unlocked the door, having obtained the key through the house servant. They said, “We are going to take you to see a white man.” We answered, “Oh, no! we take no stock in white men.” But they replied, “He is one of you’ns. We talked with him to-day, asked him if he would like to see a Yankee, and he said he reckoned he would. Then we told him we had two hid, and he asked us to bring you to his house.” We had the most perfect confidence in the negroes, and followed them to a house where we found a true Union man. His name was L. H. Packard, from Kent’s Hill, Maine. He prepared supper and made us feel at home. Mr. Packard had lived in the south eight years, had been married, but his wife was dead, leaving two little girls, one five, the other seven years of age. His life had not been a happy one since the war, as he was resolved not to enter the rebel army. He had worked in a flour-mill and in several other industries, and was now making shoes for the rebels. He gave me the address of his sister in Maine, and I promised to write to her if I lived to return home.

He could give us no information in regard to Sherman’s army. Like ourselves, he had expected they would come to Augusta, but they had not, and he feared they had gone toward the sea. We remained with him several hours, and made his heart glad by the news we brought from God’s country. When we parted he gave us forty dollars in confederate money, and I gave him a little badge of the 2d corps. He took us to the trundle-bed where his little girls were sleeping. They awoke and kissed us good-by. The name of the sister in Maine was Mrs. H. H. Bulen. As soon as I reached home I wrote to her, sending my photograph.

In the month of October, 1889, two ladies called on me at the State House; one was Mrs. Bulen, the other her brother’s child, the younger of the two whom I saw twenty-five years before in a trundle-bed in South Carolina. My good friend Packard died a few years ago in this State, having returned north soon after the war. His daughter remembered seeing us that night, and also remembered the corps badge which her sister, who resides in Philadelphia, had.

Our friend Packard sent one of the negroes with us as guide, armed with an old-fashioned horse pistol. He was apparently very brave, would march in advance of us, and say, “I’d like to see anybody take you’ns now;” but hearing the least noise, would forget that he was our protector and fall back in our rear. He was the only armed guide we had on our journey, and our experience with him was such that we did not care for more.

We were in doubt what to do, as Sherman, not coming to Augusta, had forced us to change our plans, but concluded we had better cross the Savannah River and try to strike him in Georgia. Our guide turned us over to another, who advised us to remain with him until the next night, which we did.

After supper, in company with the negro, we started for the river. He knew all the short cuts through the swamps, also the location of creeks, and coming to one he would cross on a log, but we, not knowing in the darkness where to step next, would walk in. Then he would turn around and say “Creek thar, boss,” a fact we had already learned. In the distance we heard a strange noise, which grew louder as we walked along. We asked what it was, and were informed that it was the shouters; that they were having a shouting meeting on the plantation where we were going. Arriving at the plantation, we found it a singular village. The houses were set on posts some eight feet from the ground, as the river overflows in some seasons of the year. No white people were there, as it was owned by the man who owned and lived at the place where we found Mr. Packard, and this swamp plantation was in charge of the driver named Isaac. Our friend called him out, told him who we were, and what we wanted; he said, “Come right in,” and turning to the meeting, of which he was in charge, said, “Meeting dismissed without prayer.” All gathered around us. We sat up until morning, talking of the north and of freedom, – subjects they were anxious to hear about, – and they asked many intelligent questions.

The past few days my feet had been bare, – my old boots not being able to stand the rough service required of them. An old colored woman kept her eyes on my feet, and began to untie her shoes; taking them off, she came to me and said, “Honey, take these shoes.” “Oh, no,” I replied, “you will not get another pair, and a cold winter is coming.” “No matter if I don’t,” she said, “ain’t you suffering all this for me, and hadn’t I ought to go without shoes if they will help you get home?” and she forced me to take them. They were rudely made, the uppers being untanned and sewed with rawhide, while the bottoms were pegged on with homemade pegs, but they did me good service, and I wore them inside the Union lines three months later. Another gave me a pair of socks, and, washing my bleeding feet, I was once more comfortable.

We could find no trace of Sherman’s army, and remained with Isaac two days. We slept in the barn, and were well supplied with food; we also had plenty of peanuts, as they grew on this plantation, and were called “ground peas.” At night the negroes held another meeting, and at their request I read the Bible to them. My scripture lesson was the third chapter of John. They asked me to pray, but I excused myself. I never attended a meeting where all were so earnest. The singing was grand. They sang one song where all shake hands, and the words were, “My brother, ain’t you mighty glad you’re going to leave this sinful army,” etc. They kept time with their feet and hands, closed their eyes, and swayed from side to side as they sang.

The next day we decided that it was best to cross the river. The rebels had cut holes in all the boats, and sunk them; but the negroes were sharp, and had taken them up, repaired them and sunk them again, so all they had to do was turn the water out and they were as good as new.

We embarked just as night was closing in, a negro taking the paddle. The entire inhabitants followed us to the shore and knelt in prayer for our success; no cheers were given, but with hats, aprons and bandannas, they waved their farewells. They remained until they saw us safely landed on the Georgia shore, and we felt that we had parted with dear friends. Our boatman secreted his boat and guided us to the turnpike.

We travelled without interruption for about two hours. The moon was very bright, and all was quiet save the sound of our own footsteps. We had just crossed a bridge when we heard horsemen approaching, so dropped by the roadside, under the shadow of a tree. We did not dare breathe as the five rebel cavalrymen rode past. Renewing our journey, we soon saw a fire by the roadside, and creeping up to it saw a rebel picket on duty, his three comrades sleeping by the fire.

Thinking it dangerous to go on, we turned up a lane and found a negro, who secreted us. From him we learned that the roads were all picketed, and that the mounted patrols were constantly riding up and down. Danger was on every hand, but we still had faith. We remained with the negro through the day, and at night started again; we could not travel in the road, as the pickets were very thick, but made our way slowly through the woods. Arriving at a plantation, we found the negroes much excited. One of the girls started for the mansion, saying she was going to tell master. We caught her and told her she must take care of us, but she would not talk, and turned back to the house, where all the colored people were gathered. We followed and walked in. I was the spokesman and told our story. They asked if we came through the yard. We said we did; they could not see how we got through, as ten rebel cavalrymen were sleeping on the piazza. While we were talking a white woman appeared. She was quite good-looking, had long, curly hair, and her dress was clean and becoming. She said, “I will take care of you;” we thanked her, but said we didn’t care to trust a white woman. This pleased the negroes, as she was a slave and a field-hand besides.

The story she told us the next day was a sad one. The overseer of the plantation was a brute, but had charge of all the slaves. She was employed in the house and he desired to make her his mistress, but she repelled his advances and was severely whipped; again he urged her, with no better results. He then drove her to the swamps to work, and she was employed carrying heavy logs on her shoulders. This was one of the damnable features of slavery. Her brother, named Pat, was the driver. (I have several times used the word driver, and some may not understand its meaning. The driver is an intelligent, faithful slave, selected by the overseer as foreman. He turns out the slaves in the morning by blowing a horn, gives them their tasks, and has charge of them in the field.) She took us to his house, which was better than the rest, and we slept in the room with Pat and his wife.

We were awakened in the morning by the firing of cannon, and the negroes came rushing in with the news that Sherman was coming. The firing grew nearer and nearer, musketry could be plainly heard, and through the cracks in the logs of the house we could see smoke where barns were burning. The negroes grew more and more excited and reported often. “They are coming, boss, they are coming. Massa Sherman’s company will soon be here! They done burn old Sam Jones’s barn, and they are fighting down by the creek; fo’ night you will be with them.”

Our hearts beat hard and fast. Wheeler’s rebel cavalry were forming, and after advancing, fell back. We were sure that night would find us safe under the old flag. We congratulated ourselves on our good judgment, talked of the foolishness of those who had tried to escape through the mountains, when our plan was so much easier, and concluded that of all the men who had escaped we were a little the smartest.

Night came on. The negroes said they would not cross the creek until after dark, and we waited. All night these faithful negroes kept watch for us, and in the morning, with long, sad faces, reported that “Massa Sherman had done gone down the river.” We could not follow by day, but started quite early in the evening. We had gone but a short distance when we struck a company of cavalry camped on the roadside. We entered the swamp to flank them, but it was so dark that we lost our way, and after travelling all night, tearing our clothes and scratching our faces and hands, we came out where we entered, and again passed the day at Pat’s house. We were rather discouraged, and the colored people felt about as badly as we did, yet did all they could to cheer us up. Our friend, the white slave, made us gingerbread and biscuit to take with us, and said many comforting words.

With a firm resolution to get through the lines we began our journey. It was a dark, rainy night, and we had to guess our route. We came to a place where the road forked. Frank was sure he knew the road we ought to take, and I was just as confident that he was wrong. We scolded each other for an hour, not daring to speak above a whisper. These cat-fights occurred nearly every night, and we made up in the daytime. One not in our place might think it strange that we should lose our temper, but we were strained up to the highest point, and were nervous and irritable. It was the same with nearly all who escaped. I have known two men who were fast friends who were never the same after they were recaptured. Not so with Frank and I. He was such a dear, good fellow that he gave in to me nearly every time.

Finding we were on the wrong road we struck across the country and came upon a nice cabin near a large house. We were listening under the window, and could hear the hum of a spinning-wheel. As we stood there a woman opened the shutter and, as the day was just breaking, she saw us. We entered the house and found a yellow man in bed. He said, “Go away from here.” We told him who we were, but he would do nothing for us. We had our clubs, were in good fighting condition and holding them over him made him swear that he would not tell he had seen us. The woman was friendly and gave us directions how to reach the creek, but we dare not take the road, fearing the yellow fellow would forget his promise. This was the first instance where a man with a drop of negro blood in his veins had refused to help us. We turned into the woods, but they were so thin that we were forced to cut down small pine trees and stick them in the ground where we lay down. It was so cold we could not sleep, and as we dare not travel through this open country, we kept alive by rolling over and over on the ground. Besides being cold we suffered for food, as we had eaten nothing since the previous day. We could endure it no longer, and late in the afternoon resumed our tramp. Calling at a cabin, a negro baked the last morsel of meal he had in the house for us, and after we had eaten it, directed us to the creek. Here we found a new trouble. Kilpatrick’s cavalry had burned the bridge, and we had “one wide river to cross.”

We made a raft out of pieces of plank, and went over all right. Frank was on the forward end of the raft; as we reached the opposite bank he caught a grape-vine and swung himself on shore. He left the raft and so did I, the only difference being that he was safe on land while I went into the water and came up under the raft. He fished me out, and with my clothes nearly frozen on me we continued our journey. Arriving at an old mill we called up the miller. He let us in, but was afraid to keep us, as the rebel pickets were very near, and liable to come there at any time, so we must keep in the woods. I was too wet to lie down, so we ran along in the edge of the woods. We saw places where Sherman’s army had camped only the day before, and the fires were still smoking.