When daylight came I found myself in a creek bottom and in a body of very large timber. I found a large, hollow sycamore with a hole in the side reaching down to the ground large enough to admit me. I sat back into that tree to get a little rest and possibly a little sleep. I watched and listened. A good while after sun up I saw a man going with a yoke of cattle toward a field, which I could see through the timber, to plow. Two big, savage looking dogs were following him. The dogs raised their heads and came toward me as though they scented me and I made sure I would be discovered, but they turned in another direction before they got very near and did not disturb me. I sat there all day and, in spite of my hunger, slept and rested. When night came I made another start as soon as I could see the north star. I traveled all night and when morning came I still had but little idea where I was. I went up on a high hill which was covered with brush and from which I could see all about me. Everything was quiet, so I lay down and slept. I awoke about ten o'clock and saw a stage-coach loaded with passengers passing along a road below me. This was the first information I had that I was near a public road. I remained in the brush awhile and then decided to move along cautiously by daylight. I saw a house now and then and, though terribly hungry, I did not dare approach it and ask for food. Toward night I reached the rugged hills, from which I judged I must be near the Missouri River. Just before dark I found an empty tobacco barn and crawled into it and remained throughout the night. This was the third night with two days intervening—sixty hours—in which I had not tasted food, and I was worn out with my long tramp besides.
I did not sleep well that night. My accommodations were very poor and my gnawing appetite, made me wakeful. I had one comfort, however, I was well hidden, and this reflection rewarded me for much of my suffering. Since this trip home I have had a warm sympathy for all hunted beasts.
When day began to dawn I commenced observing my situation without. I saw a house near by and watched it for an hour. I could only see two women, and from the way they attended the work outside as well as in the house, I concluded there were no men about the place and that it would be safe for me to venture up and ask for something to eat, and, if I got into trouble, trust my legs, the only weapons I had, to get me out. I went up cautiously and found what I could not discover from my hiding place, that one was an old lady and the other a girl just grown. I spoke to the old lady and told her my famished condition. She said she was sorry for me, but she had orders to feed nobody on either side and that she could not disobey them without getting into trouble herself. I told her the war was over and that I was trying to get home. I had tried to quit fighting when I left Price on Red River, but had had greater difficulty in keeping myself from being killed since I quit fighting than before. She still refused to give me anything. Finally, my entreaties won the girl. She spoke up and said, "Mother, I have made no promises. You have kept your promise and have refused him food. I will give him something to eat." With that she told me to draw my chair to the table and she began to set such a meal before me as I had not tasted in years, it seemed. Cold boiled ham, light bread, milk and butter, preserves, honey, cake and pie—plenty of all, and rations I had not heard of in months. I will not attempt to describe how ravenously I ate. I was probably as shabby looking a mortal as ever sat down to a meal at a civilized table. My hair and beard were long and had not been combed for days. I had not washed my face since I escaped from the guard-house. My clothes—what was left of them—were, with walking through mud and rain, wading lakes and sloughs and swimming rivers, soiled and grimy beyond description. When I had finished eating the girl asked me if I would take a lunch along with me. Of course I told her I would, and that I would always be grateful to her, and I have kept my promise. I have many times remembered that kindness and thanked that young lady over and over a thousand times in my heart.
I took my package and bade the girl and her mother goodby and started for the woods. I soon reached level ground and heavy timber and knew I was in the river bottom. I went cautiously along until I saw the river in the distance. Then I selected a good shade and lay down and had a fine rest after my good meal. I awoke some time along in the afternoon. Everything was quiet—no sound of human foot or voice. I ate my lunch and went down to the river bank to select a good crossing place. I found a place that suited me. Then I prepared three logs and brought them to the water's edge and tied them firmly together with hickory bark which I peeled from the saplings near by. I found in a drift close at hand a clap-board suitable for an oar, and my craft was ready to sail. I might have made the crossing in daylight without being molested, but, not knowing what I might encounter on the other shore, I decided to wait for night.
As soon as it began to grow dark I went down and pushed my raft into the water and tied it to the root of a tree. I then got astride of it with feet and legs up to the knees in the water to see if it would bear my weight. It appeared to be sufficiently strong, so with my clap-board in my hand I cut loose. The current caught me and took me rapidly down stream, but I was sure if I kept using my paddle it would have sufficient effect to land me on the other side some time. It soon grew very dark, so that I could not see the shore on either side, and I could not tell I was moving except by the water running past my feet and legs. After what seemed a very long time, and after I had grown very tired both with my labor and my position on the raft, I felt my feet strike the sand. I got up and towed the raft to shore and pulled it up on dry land. Then I took a rest and planned. I might be on an island and in that case I would have further need for my raft. I could only ascertain my position by investigating, so when sufficiently rested I started on across the land, breaking the top of a bush every few steps to guide me back in case I should find myself upon an island. I soon came to a slough which I waded without difficulty and passed on. A little farther on I came to another slough, which I also waded. The ground under my feet seemed to grow firmer as I walked away from this slough. I passed into a body of good sized timber and finally I came to a wagon road, and I knew then that I was on the main land and the Missouri River which had given me so much trouble during the four preceding years was again behind me. My little raft might rest and I should have no need to retrace my steps by the broken bushes.
I had no idea what time of night it was. I was tired and wet, but with all that, felt much better than on the preceding night when so hungry. I thought it must be twenty miles or more to where my sister lived in the northeast portion of Clay County, so I again took the north star for my guide and set out, bearing west somewhat when I found traveling that way agreeable, but never east. I paid no attention to roads unless they led in my direction. When daylight came I was at a loss to know where I was. I saw a house in the distance and went up near it. No one was up, so I sat down to wait. In a little while a girl came out to a wood pile and began picking up chips. I went up and asked her how far it was to Greenville. She said one mile. I asked her which direction and she pointed east. I thanked her and started in the direction she pointed. I was no sooner out of sight than I turned my course due north, for I was then in less than two miles of my sister's home. I arrived shortly after sun up, and as I went into her house and sat down to a good breakfast, I felt that my troubles ought to be fairly over, now that the war had closed; but my terrible experiences on the way home caused me to doubt whether I could go back and live in peace, even if there was no war.
I remained with my sister a day or two, never showing myself in daylight, for I learned from her that now since fear of southern soldiers was over, all those who were too cowardly to go to the front but had remained at home and robbed and harassed old men and women and children, were giving the community more trouble than at any time during the war. They were all very brave then and organized companies and marched and drilled and galloped over the roads, seeking all manner of pretenses to rob and kill those who had sympathized with the south. Returning Confederate soldiers, were, in those first days after the close of the war, in greater danger than when in the front of battle, as my own recent experience had shown, and I was not alone, for my sister told me of a number of soldiers who had returned from the south only to be killed after reaching home.
I was sure I would find much the same condition in Buchanan County that I had encountered all along my route home, and I did not like the prospect that lay before me.
I learned from my sister that Trav. Turner, a neighbor of hers, was at St. Joseph fitting up a freight train for Salt Lake. I knew Turner well. He had carried food to Brother James and me while we lay in the brush waiting to hear the fate of Charley Pullins who was captured when we were all overtaken at the home of Reuben Eastin in that neighborhood, and I knew, if I could reach him, I would have no difficulty in getting away from the country. Something had to be done. If I should be discovered at the home of my sister it would give the "yard dogs," as those brave murderers of that community were called, a pretext for robbing her and probably for killing her husband or some of her family. We decided upon a plan. I shaved very clean and parted my long hair in the middle, put on one of my sister's dresses and both of us put on sunbonnets. We got in a buggy and started for Saint Joseph. We passed right through old Haynesville, the center of all the patriotic parading of the "yard dogs," on through Plattsburg and reached the home of Jack Elder, a half mile from my old home, where we stayed all night. Next morning we drove on to Saint Joseph and took dinner with my brother, Isaac. I remember this incident particularly for the family had company for dinner. I was introduced as a Clay County friend of Mrs. Wilson's and sat down at the same table, and the visitors did not suspect me through my disguise. After dinner we drove to the ferry at the foot of Francis Street and drove on. The boat was crowded and they had to place our buggy in line in order to make room for others. Two men took hold of the buggy to lift it around. My sister said, "Wait and we will get out." The men said, "No, sit still ladies, we can lift it with you in it." We sat still, and crossed over. On reaching the other side we drove out through the woods and found Turner's camp. Passing on beyond and out of sight, I removed my disguise, after which we returned to the camp and I bade my sister goodby.