The next day was devoted to preparations. The trunk was wrapped in many folds of bagging and taken down in a wheelbarrow after dark. Later on my father and brother strolled down separately, each having nervous shocks.
Father met an old friend just as he arrived at the wharf. As father had been ill for some time, Mr. Ormand was much surprised at seeing him out at that time, and asked why he was there. Father said, “Yes, indeed! It is entirely too late. I must go home immediately.” And walked back up the street, returning later, and reaching the boat unobserved.
Colby, when halfway down, heard some one running behind him. He was too feeble to run, so turned, to face his younger brother bringing something that had been forgotten.
They were finally off, and met with no other adventure during the five miles’ ride.
The next morning mother stood at the back gate, and the man who had rowed them down the bay passed by. Neither appeared to greet the other, but he whispered “All is well.” That was a great relief, but she did not hear of their safe arrival at the North for several months. The captain of the blockader treated them very kindly, and sent them to Key West by the fortnightly transport, and from there they went North to our summer home in Rhode Island.
Mother then had to face a very serious situation. Naturally, the people were much incensed over my brother’s desertion, and no one could tell what the authorities might do. Left with four small children and another (myself) in Georgia, with very little money, and food scarce, there were many perplexities to meet, both immediate and in the future. She knew that the only thing for her to do was to follow father as soon as possible. But first, she must get me down from Columbus, for she could not think of my being left behind. It would seem a simple thing for her to go up the river after me, but the war had brought about many unexpected conditions.
Fearing the blockaders would go up the river and burn the towns and factories, the Confederates had obstructed the passage with trees, rafts and other materials, which, in time, had accumulated still further débris of all sorts, so that the river was practically useless above this obstruction, which extended northward for miles. The problem was how to get around this obstruction. Beyond that, she could get a steamer. But the hardest trouble of all was leaving her little children behind. Dear old “Aunt Ann,” a faithful colored nurse, could be entirely trusted for service and devotion, and a relative promised to protect them. Though mother was brave, it was a hard trial to leave the young family and start off alone on the unknown but certainly dangerous journey.
She was rowed as far as the obstruction, around which she was carried in an ox cart, stopping for the night’s rest whenever she could find a decent log house. She must have suffered many privations and much fatigue. Rowing against the current was slow and tedious work, and jolting over rough roads through the deep forests must have been lonely and fatiguing. Realizing that I could never endure such an experience, and hearing that the river had made a way for itself around the obstruction, though a narrow, swift and dangerous one, she resolved to brave it, and engaged a man to build a strong boat for the return trip, and take us down himself. He was an Italian who had lived in Apalachicola, and was a man to be trusted.
Beyond the obstruction she found the rest of the journey easy, and she could rest a little before meeting us. That meeting was joyful, but full of conflicting emotions.
She was so worn from the journey that she hesitated about taking me back with her, and said she would have to leave me behind after all, but I had something to say about that, and exclaimed vehemently, “Mother, if you do not take me with you, you will never see me again!” So after resting a couple of weeks, the eventful return journey was begun.