Reminiscences of a Prisoner of War and His Escape

by Daniel Avery Langworthy

We rushed ahead and as we were crossing the road we heard a horse coming down the road on a good gallop. Soon a man on a horse came up. He evidently was one of the party who came around on a venture to see if he could head off whoever it was that they were after. He, of course, had his rifle and could have followed us, and shot or captured us, but there were five of us and he did not know that we were unarmed, so he began to call loudly and whistle for the dogs. Had they responded and come with the other men while we were in sight with the bright moonlight, they certainly would have caught us. We ran as fast as we could. In the field we came to a fair-sized stream, rushed into it, waded down it for awhile, then crossed over, sat down on the bank and rubbed garlic, a strong wild onion, on our feet to change the scent, changed our course again and pushed on. We were now out of sight and got away this time, it being our first night out.

We had many exciting and varied experiences. We traveled only in the night and if possible kept in the woods, and went in a northwesterly course, guided by the north star. If we could not see that star and were uncertain as to our course I had a pocket compass which I carried through the war; we would form a ring that the light might not be seen, strike a light, look at the compass, get our bearings and proceed.

We kept aloof, if possible, from all human beings, preferring to suffer material privations to taking chances. Our food was what we might pick up in the woods, which was very little. We could easily approach a corn field every night. The corn was ripe, hence hard to eat raw, but much better than nothing. Before daylight in the morning we would look for a quiet place in the woods and lie down, but seemingly nearly every morning before we had slept long something would occur to seriously disturb us. Some one out shooting or chopping wood, or doing various other things. One night about midnight we came to the edge of the woods, and as the woods did not run in the right direction, and there were no houses in sight and a road which ran in the direction we were going we decided that we would follow it, being careful to keep on the sides and not leave any tracks, until we could reach another stretch of woods. We did so and as we were going quietly along we noticed a light in a house which, like all the houses in the South, stood well back from the road. On looking around we found one or two other lights and discovered that we were in a small town, but apparently half way or more through it, so went on and got to the woods once more.

Several days after our escape, early in the morning, as usual, we got a place in the woods, lay down and after a short sleep were eating our corn, when one said: "This is pretty tough grub for all the time. We are in the woods apparently out of sight of every one, we have matches, why can't we make a hole in the ground, start a little fire, put our corn around it, over it, all about it, let it toast, roast or burn? It will be much better than it is now." We did so, and were watching the fire when we saw a woman with a plain gray cotton dress, hanging from the shoulders like a night dress, coming toward us. Presuming that she was a colored woman, we said: "Hastings, go and make friends with that Auntie or we will be in trouble." He started. As he approached her, he said: "Good morning, Auntie," then saw that she was white. "I know who you uns is. They cotched two of you uns here yesterday and took them back to Columbia," she said. "Yes, my good lady, I am an escaped prisoner of war," said Hastings. He then went on talking with her to the best of his ability. They were soon joined by her three daughters, who were about twelve, fourteen and sixteen years old, and dressed like their mother. He learned that she was a widow, owned a large plantation, which we were on, that she and her daughters were out looking about the place and saw the smoke and were coming to see what it was. We, of course, put out the fire. She had two sons, young men, who had been in the army since the beginning of the war. Before the war she was in good financial condition, had plenty of slaves, but they had run away long before, so that she and her daughters were left alone, and were obliged to work the plantation enough to give them something to live on. Hastings asked if her sons were both living. "Yes, fortunately they are and neither of them has been wounded," she replied. "Have they ever been made prisoners?" Hastings inquired. "Yes, they were both captured last spring," she said. "Where in the North were they confined?" he asked. She told him. "How were they treated?" "Finely," they said. "Have they been exchanged?" he questioned. "Yes," was the reply. "I suppose," continued Hastings, "that after their exchange they were allowed to come home." "Yes," said the woman, "and I was glad that they were captured for it was the first time I have seen them since the beginning of the war. They looked fine and said they were well-treated while prisoners and had no reason to complain." "My good lady," said Hastings, "I am very glad to know that they were well-treated and that you had a good visit with them. We have been prisoners of war from six months to one and a half years each. We have nothing to say about how your government has treated us, perhaps it did as well by us as it could. A few days ago we made our escape when the guards did not see us and they probably do not know it now. We are making every effort to get home to our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. If you will recall how you felt about your sons you will understand how they feel. I know that you are required to report to the officer in charge in this locality that you have seen strangers here, but if you have, as I believe you have, a true mother's heart and any regard for us, for God's sake don't do it until tomorrow, for as you can readily see, we must stay here until after dark tonight. To do otherwise would be the greatest folly; so we are in your hands. If you wish to send us back to Columbia all that is necessary is to report us today. We shall be here all day," and so he continued to the best of his ability, and he was a good pleader. After a little, the youngest daughter began to rub her eyes and shed tears, and said: "Mister, we won't tell on you uns, will we mar?" and soon was joined by the other two, all weeping and saying: "Mister, we won't tell on you uns, will we mar?" but the good lady said nothing, and the plea continued, helped by the appeal of the daughters, until the woman said: "Mister, we will not tell on you uns today." He replied: "My good lady, I am very glad that you took time to deliberate before you decided what to do, for I feel assured that you mean and will do just what you say, but if you have no objections will you and your daughters hold up your right hands." They did so and he administered to them, I presume, as strong an oath as he ever did that they would not in any way let it be known that they had seen us until the next day. He then said: "Am I the first Yankee you have met?" "Yes, the first," she said. "I am the poorest looking of our number," said Hastings. "Come and let me introduce you to the others." He brought them and we were formally introduced and they soon left. We soon heard some dogs barking. We said: "Hastings, how about that?" He said: "There are several of them, but I do not think they are on a trail." But the barking continued until one of our number went up a tree. After he got well up in the tree he saw in an open field adjoining the woods, over toward the river, a man with a bunch of dogs. Apparently he was out to give them exercise, and as they did not get scent of us or cross our trail they did not trouble us; but the two incidents gave us plenty of anxiety for that day. After dark we were moving.

One night as we were traveling in the woods, Captain Aldrich said to me: "I have kept a correct diary since we started, giving our names, telling when and how we got out and each day since, but I have lost it tonight." I replied: "I am sorry for your loss, but we will not go back to look for it. It may be found, but if it is we will hope we will be far enough away so that they will not find us." The diary probably was found and returned to Columbia, for one morning when they came in to count the prisoners, the officer in charge said: "Men, I suppose you all know that five of your number"—giving our names—"got out from here on the morning of October 3rd. They did nicely for a while, got to such a place, were discovered and a posse sent after them. They were ordered to surrender, but did not and all were shot dead." That, of course, was a warning to all the others not to take similar risks.

Not long after I reached my home in New York City, one of the lieutenants of the Eighty-fifth was exchanged. As he was passing through the city, he thought he would come to the house and see if he could learn anything about me. He did so, and was much surprised to find me there, and told me what had been told them about our escape and execution.

In the latter part of one night, when we were well up on the Blue Ridge mountains, we had trouble in making our way in the direction which we wished to keep, and came to a mountain road which led the right way. We decided to try it for a while and, as we always did when on or near a highway, one of us went ahead. This time I was ahead. As I came to a small gully and was about to step onto the bridge which was across it, I heard a call from the other side: "Corporal of the Guard, Post No. 3," which gave me a shock. I threw up my hands and hurried back, and reported what I had heard. We went up into the mountains and looked for a suitable place to hide. After a reasonable time in the morning, we said: "Hastings, we are in a tight place. You must go and investigate for we cannot move from here without some knowledge of our surroundings." He started, but did not go far before he saw a small clearing and a shack. He watched it, and saw a colored woman and some colored children. He watched until he felt sure there was no one else there, then went toward the house. As he came up the woman, speaking first, said: "Mister, this a very bad place for you uns; there is a company of guerrillas here. I am expecting one of them up here for his washing." Turning to a boy she said: "Tom, you go to that knoll and keep a sharp watch. If you see anyone coming you tell me quick." Then she turned to Hastings and was ready to talk with him. He told her who he was and about us. She gave him something to eat and other food she had for him to bring to us, and said we were in a tight place, that she was not well posted, but that her husband was a free man, hence could go about the country and was pretty well posted, that he would be home by and by, and she would have him see what he could do for us. She said for us all to come to the house after dark when her husband would be there and she would have something more for us to eat. Hastings returned and reported. We waited until after dark, then went to the house. The husband was there—quite a bright-looking man. We were fed. He said we were in a tight place, but that he would take us past the guerrillas and start us on beyond. We started out, he and I going ahead. Soon we came to a few houses, went around and past them, went through a gate into a back yard. Passing through that we went near the back of a large log stable in which were lights. We could see between the logs. It was full of horses and men caring for them. Captain Aldrich came up, took hold of my right arm and said: "Are not those the guerrillas?" I said: "Be quiet." As he held onto my arm I could feel his heart beat. But our guide took us through all right to the other side and away from the guerrillas. We came to a road leading up into the mountains. Our guide said: "You want to go the way this road runs. You had better stay in the woods until morning, then go up the mountain the way this road goes. When you come to four corners, a signboard and a schoolhouse there is the line between North and South Carolina. Keep straight ahead, but about two miles beyond the schoolhouse are some soldiers beside the road. Do not let them see you, but go well around them. They stop everybody that comes along. Get back to the road and go ahead until you come to a house and a blacksmith shop. Stop and see that man. He will take care of you." "Who is he?" we asked. "He is a first-class Union man," he replied. "I was over there this summer. He is all right." We thanked him most heartily and he left us and we went into the woods for the night. The next day we worked our way up the mountain, arriving at the schoolhouse about dark. It was raining. We decided to go a piece by the road, so started on. I went ahead. None of us thought about the guards who were by the side of the road. As I was nearing a narrow pass I saw a light shining across the road. Like a flash it came to me. I threw up my hands and hurried back. We went well around them, which was quite a job in the dark and the rain and the thick brush; but we got back to the road, kept on until we came to the blacksmith shop. It was about 10 o'clock and there was no light in the house. We had a talk and decided that we were in a tight place and that Hastings might go to the house as a Confederate soldier and see what he could learn. He went and rapped on the door. A man came to the door. Hastings told him he was a soldier with a leave of absence who had lost his way and asked if he could come in for a short time. While talking he asked the man how he was getting on. He said not at all well. "Why not?" asked Hastings, "you have a nice place here." "Yes," was the answer, "but they do not treat me well." "How is that?" Hastings inquired. "Colonel So-and-So was here the other day," said the man, "and took all of my horses, cattle and grain he could find." "Did he do the same by your neighbors?" asked Hastings. "No one else," said the man. "How so?" asked Hastings. "He said I was too much of a Union man," was the reply. Hastings then said: "We have talked long enough. I am not a Confederate soldier, but a Union officer, an escaped prisoner of war." "Why didn't you tell me that before?" asked the man. "Come, wife, get up and give this poor fellow something to eat." There was a bed in the room, an open fireplace with a fire in it. "I am not alone," said Hastings. "I have four comrades outside." "Outside in this hard rain? Go bring them in, quick," said the man. When we came in he was pulling a jug out from under the bed. Pouring something out of it, he said: "You are all wet, cold and hungry; here is some good apple jack which I made. Drink some of it, it will do you good. Have any of you got a bottle?" I had a small one which I had carried through the service, usually having it filled with brandy to use when some of my men gave out. He filled it. We were fed and he told us what to do; to go down the road and avoid all the houses which we would have to pass, some we must go well around, not leaving a track, others to go right past. At the last house near the bridge there would be a light, but to go right ahead. A poor man was dying there. When we crossed the river he told us to turn to the left, go about two miles, take the first road to the right, go to the first house, which was a blacksmith shop, and wait until morning. He said we need not be afraid, as there were no white people there; they had all left. "In the morning," he said, "when you see the first darkey, whistle and he will come to you. Tell him who you are and to take care of you through the day, and at night to take you to the high sheriff." "What do we want of the sheriff?" we asked. "He is just the man you want," was the reply. "He will take care of you, and if necessary will ride all day to find out something for you. He is allowed to be at home because he is a sheriff, but there isn't a better Union man." We went on, got through to the other shop all right, were cared for, put into the woods for the day. At night we started on with two colored men, who would take us to the sheriff. Neither of the men had been there, but the older one, who acted as our guide, thought he could find the way. We had not gone far when he stopped at a servant's house back of a plantation house, saying he wanted to go in there. He soon returned, saying they wanted us to come in. We hesitated, and he said it was all right; all were colored people except one minister and he was all right. We finally went in. The minister was a young-looking man who was allowed to remain at home because he was a clergyman. We endeavored to be respectful to him. He asked us: "What is the news?" Captain Starr replied: "We can't tell you. I have been a prisoner for a year and a half and we are not allowed to see the papers. You tell us the news." "I don't read the papers," was the reply. "I suppose you confine yourself to clerical reading," said Starr. "No, I never look at it," replied the man. "What do you read?" asked Starr. "Books," said the minister. The good man evidently did not know what "clerical" meant; but so far as we knew he was true to us and did not give us away.

After our guide had procured some information as to his route, we left. When outside he said to his comrade: "You go ahead and carefully look around a certain place two miles ahead; it is a bad place." He did so, met us and reported. We came to some woods and the guide said: "There is a path going through these woods leading to the road which goes to the sheriff. If we can find it, it will save us several miles." They hunted up and down the edge of the woods until they found the path. We then went through the woods, struck the road and went on until we came in sight of the sheriff's house, rather late in the evening. The dogs around the house were barking. The guide said: "You stop here while I go call him out and have the dogs taken in." He went forward and called out. A man appeared on the front porch and asked who was there. "A friend," was the reply. "Will you take the dogs in so that I can come in?" The dogs were called in. He went to the porch and soon came for us.