[2]. Among these fabrics manufactured and sold by the prisoners in Texas, were:
Axe helves, Baskets, Blacking, Brooms, Candles (mould and dip), Chairs (arm and rocking), Chessmen, Checkermen, Crockery-ware, Caps (military), Cigars, Door mats, Hats (straw); Musical instruments, viz., banjoes, castanets and triangles; Pails, Pepperboxes, Pipes, Potash, Kings, Shirt-studs, Sleeve-buttons, Soap, Shoes, Tables, Toy-boxes; Wooden-ware, viz., knives, forks, spoons, plates, dishes, bowls, salt-cellars, wash-boards.
X.
ESCAPE.
Through illness, changes, toil and trouble, the subject of escape never left our minds. At Camp Groce, weakness and ill-health constantly postponed intended attempts. Moreover, the open prairie country around the camp, the nearness of the coast-guard, and, above all, the absence of any point or outlet to which to run, were disheartening obstacles. At Camp Ford, it was somewhat different; for the woods came down nearly to the stockade, and the country was one vast forest.
The troubles that beset the path of an escaping prisoner in Texas were entirely different from those which would attend him in the Northern States. The difficulty of passing the stockade and guard was trivial; the difficulties of crossing the surrounding country were not insurmountable; but after hundreds of miles were traversed, and weary days and nights had exhausted the body and dulled the mind, then the chief obstacles began. Two hundred miles to the south was the Texan coast-guard. One hundred and fifty miles to the east were the carefully watched lines of the Red River and Atchafalaya. To the north were the rebel Cherokees and the open Indian country. Five hundred miles west of us stretched desolate prairies, and beyond them were the scouts that watched and guarded the Rio Grande. In short, when we studied the map, we saw no city of refuge to which we might flee; when the stockade was scaled and the pursuit evaded, there was still no outlet of escape. Further than this, the chances of re-capture were many. To look over the wide extent of country with its sparse population, its scattered plantations, its remote towns, and talk of pursuing prisoners would seem as idle as searching for needles in a haystack. But every road was watched, every river was guarded. Every man or woman or boy who was not a secret Unionist was in effect a Confederate patrol; the entire State was one great detective police, constantly pursuing prisoners, refugees and slaves.
Yet, after calmly contemplating these difficulties, the greater part of the prisoners at Camp Ford determined to escape. Perhaps the determination was quickened and extended by annoyances which began soon after our arrival, and which steadily increased. There are said to be “bad streaks” in all countries, and Tyler is situated in a very bad streak of Texas. The inhabitants were poor, ignorant and narrow-minded, and viewed, with angry ill-will, the liberality of Colonel Allen. They poured in complaints at head-quarters, and the result was, that one fine morning, the poor Colonel received a reprimand for his liberality, and strict orders not to let us out of the stockade.
The kindness of Colonel Allen and his amiable wife was not lessened by its unpopularity. Regularly, every afternoon, Mrs. Allen came within the stockade, accompanied by a little black girl bearing a basket. Sometimes she brought in visitors, partly to amuse us and partly to soften them. She was tireless in every work that could add to our comfort. She cheered the despondent and comforted the weak, and for the sick, showed that beautiful solicitude that no one save a Christian woman can evince.
There was a little paper then in camp, printed with the pen by Captain May, of the 23d Connecticut, which was read successively in the “shebangs,” and shortened the hours and occupied the mind. It had much local wit and humor, but so blended with the inner life of Camp Ford, that the outside world can never understand its hits and jests. Yet frequently the Old Flag rose above satire and humor, and it enabled Lieutenant-Colonel Duganne to pay to Mrs. Allen the following graceful tribute:
“All kindly acts are for the dear Lord’s sake,
And His sweet love and recompense they claim: