I told Mr. Camp that I had promised my wife on parting with her, that I wouldn’t recognize the best friend I met anywhere, let no one know who I was and made him promise not to tell this man nor his family. He soon came back to the barn, while I was watching the road that these troops were on, and reported they were infantry, on their way to Centerville and made me leave my horse and go back to the house with him. These troops camped within about a quarter of a mile, at the mouth of his lane, and came to his house for milk, butter and chickens, while I was in bed asleep.
He gave me an early breakfast next morning and I started on with this gentleman, who Camp assured me was a particular friend of Tom Thorn’s and would fight for me, if he knew who I was. I told him that I did not intend to make myself known to him. We rode on together for about six miles, when we struck a creek, out of its banks. He suggested to me that he knew a foot log not far above there, where we could cross with our saddles and riggings; he would drive in his mare and she would cross and my horse would follow her, which he did. As soon as his mare got on the other side, she went flying up the road, with my horse following. He said he was satisfied that some friend of his would stop her somewhere on the road and we would hurry on afoot and try to get her, also my horse, and I had nothing to do but accept the situation. I spent nearly two anxious hours, watching the road in the direction in which the troops were coming, when he finally came up, leading my horse. We then saddled up and proceeded on our way and upon reaching the forks of the road, one leading to Centerville, the other to Leona, we parted; I taking the Leona road, which was called the old San Antonio road to Shreveport. I continued on this road, day and night, until I reached Marshall, where I found an old prison friend by the name of Fisher, who lived about a mile from the town and he insisted on my going out to his house to remain until I could take boat at Shreveport for New Orleans.
I spent several days with him, going up town, making my headquarters at the office of Ochiltree & Shaw. I was acquainted with Judge Ochiltree, whose son, Bill, was a public auctioneer. I turned him over my horse and saddle to sell at auction. While he was riding around the streets, crying the horse for sale to the highest bidder, he stopped in front of the office, called me to the door, said he was offered one hundred forty-eight and one-half dollars and that he had met a Federal lieutenant, who was stuck on the horse and he was going to make him pay two hundred dollars for him before he quit. I told him not to take another bid from him, as I did not want any Federal to ride that horse, so he had to sell him at one hundred forty-eight and one-half dollars.
I was now ready to move and, on investigation, found that two boats would leave Shreveport for New Orleans on Wednesday evening and on that day I went down to Shreveport to take passage on one of these boats. On arrival at Shreveport the stewards of these boats came aboard of the train and announced that the boats had failed to receive sufficient cotton to justify starting on the trip and had postponed sailing until the next Friday and if there were any passengers aboard, for New Orleans, they could go aboard of the boats at once and save hotel bills for several days, which I decided to do.
After registering on the “Bart-Able,” which was the finest boat on the river, I took a seat on the guards, the front of the passenger deck, and awaited for what would next turn up. Very soon a party of four men came aboard, whom I took to be gamblers. I was soon recognized by one of the party, who proved to be Ike Hutchison, who started out in the army with us, but was a professional gambler, a class of people I never had much use for. During the short time he was with us in our company, I treated him somewhat indifferently, which might have resulted seriously at this time. As soon as recognized by him, he came forward, grasped my hand, was very glad to see me and started to introduce me to his companions, when I drew him near me and whispered in his ear, “Jones—” He caught on, and introduced me to his companions as “Mr. Jones.” We then entered into a general conversation, took a drink together at the bar, when we both made it convenient to draw away from the crowd, out of hearing, when he asked, “What’s the matter, Henry?” I told him of my troubles, that I had the whole Federal Army hunting me to take my life, and that I was going down to New Orleans to try to get some sailboat for Mexico. He seemed surprised at my statement and told me that he was in the Government Secret Service, drew back his coat and showed me his badge, but said earnestly that I need not be apprehensive on that account; that he wouldn’t betray me. I told him, “Ike, my life is in your hands and I depend on your promise, but if you do betray me, some of my friends will get you.” He next told me that Lieutenant Black, an ex-member of our regiment, was at the Southwestern Printing Office, a commercial editor of the paper, and that I ought to go up and see him. He said he knew Black would be glad to see me. With this information I parted with him and went up and found my friend Black who, of course, was greatly surprised at my statement of my condition. When I expressed my fears about Hutchison betraying me, he said he did not believe that Ike would do that, but, studying a few moments, he said, “Now, if Ike does betray you and you are arrested, bring them up here; I have more influence than Ike. While I would not do such a thing for any other purpose, and would rather have my right hand cut off, but to save your life, I am willing to swear that Hutchison is mistaken and that you are ‘Mr. Jones.’ This will give us time enough to get a couple of good horses, which we will mount and go off together.”
Considering this proposition, realizing the enormity of the step he was about to take to save my life, from a lucrative and valuable position, commanding the esteem and confidence of the entire business community at Shreveport, to join me in becoming an outlaw, I consider he was one of the grandest and noblest characters that I have ever known and, at this writing, I regret to have to report that he has long since passed over the river, having died in Houston in the late seventies, a victim of consumption, and I was deprived of the pleasure of ever seeing him afterwards.
At the supper table that night I found only a little group of passengers aboard; two young ladies, one about twelve and the other about eighteen years old, a gentleman, whom I took to be their brother, wearing a mustache like my own, just about my age and size, and the captain of the boat, who sat between us, at the head of the table.
From their conversation I learned that these young ladies’ mother was aboard and was sick. After supper I went forward, took a seat on the guards and had a smoke.
The next morning I found only the two young ladies at the table for breakfast. Having planned to try to get access to the ladies’ end of the cabin during the trip, thereby avoiding the men aboard, I decided to form the acquaintance of these two young ladies and their brother and for this purpose entered into conversation with them, inquiring about the condition of their mother. While engaged in conversation, eating breakfast and sitting with my back to the front part of the cabin, I heard stateroom doors slamming behind me and, in looking around to ascertain the cause, found a policeman opening every door and looking in under the berths. Looking still further around I found six more policemen in the front end of the cabin, standing talking. This first man mentioned, continued his search in the staterooms, one after the other, until he passed us about two doors, then looked around and stared at me. I asked him, “Do you wish anything, sir?” He says, “Yes, sir; I am looking for a man about your size and appearance.” “Well, take a seat, sir!” I replied, “I will talk with you as soon as I finish breakfast.” He did not take a seat, but went back forward and joined the other policemen.
On the spur of the moment, I, of course, concluded that they were after me and, having resolved never to surrender, I started to run into my stateroom close by, get out my two pistols and start to shooting, but on a further reflection, was puzzled to know if they were after me. I could not understand why civil officers should be sent after me in place of soldiers, of which there were a good many in Shreveport. Then, I remembered the young man at the table the night before, and thought that they perhaps were after him and if through a mistake I should kill some of these civil officers, who no doubt had families and may have been Confederate soldiers, I would feel badly. I reconsidered by resolution and went forward to talk out of it, if they were after me, and with the assistance of my friend, Black, I believed I would have no trouble in doing so.