The march from the landing to the headquarters of General John E. Mulford, was through a swampy piece of ground and the road was muddy, but, with freedom almost in sight, we tramped along cheerfully, with buoyant steps and hopeful hearts, singing snatches of army songs, though we were still inside the lines of the enemy. After a march of about five miles we passed the reb picket line, and about three hundred yards ahead, saw once more floating in the breeze, on a tall flag staff, the glorious old banner for whose defence we had suffered so long and so fearfully.
When the head of the column came under the shadow of “Old Glory,” both our cheers and our old dilapidated hats went heavenward with all the velocity that we were able to impart to them. Some were too feeble to more than faintly whisper their greeting to the dear old flag they loved so dearly, while tears of joy attested the genuineness of their affection for that beautiful emblem of liberty, the sight of which had so long been denied them.
I never before realized how much I loved the dear old stars and stripes, or how much protection there was beneath its shining folds. How I longed to press it to my heart and lips. And not me alone, but of the nearly two thousand skeletons who that day saw it proudly waving high over their heads for the first time in many months; there were few indeed who would not have fervently kissed and caressed it had it been within their reach. As a mother’s love goes out to her first born that has come to her amid suffering and pain, so that old flag seemed a thousand fold more beautiful and precious to us, for the sufferings and privations we had passed through in its defence.
Cheer after cheer went up as the straggling column passed along, feeble hands were waived, and feeble voices joined in the huzzahs, with which we celebrated our return to “God’s country.”
Arriving at General Mulford’s headquarters, we were obliged to wait two or three hours for a boat to take us down the river. Once on board the steamer, our first thought was for a good square meal.
But, alas! a meal on board that steamer cost a dollar, and Confederate money was no good there.
A comrade whom I had befriended, however, invited me to take dinner with him, which invitation you may be sure I readily accepted; and for the first time in many months, sat down to a regular dinner of roast beef, Irish potatoes, bread and butter, and a genuine cup of coffee.
On the morning of Sunday, the 22d of February, we arrived at Annapolis. As the steamers were approaching the wharf, a band which had come down to welcome us, struck up “Home, Sweet Home.” Involuntarily every officer took off his hat and bowed his head, as though receiving a benediction, so impressively solemn sounded that sweet, familiar tune just then.
Arriving at parole camp, the first person I met whom I knew, was Captain Eastmond, who escaped with me at Columbia, and who was recaptured the next night.
He told me that a few days after my escape, my name was called for special exchange, and he answered to my name, signed my name to the parole, and had been out nearly three months.