Escape from the Confederacy

by Benjamin F. Hasson

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.