Mysterious voices. — "I reckon deys Yankees." — "Who comes there?" — The Lady of the Manor. — A weird spectacle. — The struggle through the swamp. — A reflection on Southern swamps in general. — "Tired nature's sweet restorer."
The attention of the fugitives was suddenly arrested by the sound of human voices in their immediate rear. It occurred to both at once to discover as quickly as possible if the speakers were white or black, and they accordingly listened in the hope of learning their color by their dialect. This was by no means easy, the vernacular of the poorer class of whites in that section of the country very much resembling the ordinary dialect of the negroes. The comrades, however, concluded to risk a halt until the strangers came up. Glazier then saluted them with the remark that it was "a pleasant night," with the view of drawing them out before committing himself. "Indeed 'tis!" was the reply. This failed to convey the desired information as to the color of the strangers, and they thought it wiser to hurry forward than prolong the conversation at some risk to their safety. Before they had advanced many steps, however, they were agreeably surprised by hearing one of the same party remark to another, "I reckon deys Yankees," followed by the response, "Golly, I hope to God dey is!" Glazier immediately turned and inquired, "Do you know who I am?" "I reckon I dunno yer, massa," was the reply. "Have you ever seen a Yankee?" asked Glazier. "Lord bress yer, marser, I've seen a right smart heap ov um down at Clumby." "Well," said Glazier, "do we look like them?" "How'n de debbil can I tell dat in de dark, marser?" answered the now unmistakable negro, "but I spec' yer talk jest like' em." "We are Yankees," responded Glazier, "and have just escaped from Columbia. My good fellow, can't you do something for us?" "Ob course!" said our colored friend, promptly. "I'll do all I can for you, marster. I no nigga if I didn't 'sist de Yankees."
THE ESCAPE—FED BY NEGROES IN A SWAMP.
The fugitives had heard so much from their fellow-prisoners of the sympathy exhibited by the colored people of the South for Federal soldiers, that they hesitated not for a moment to place the fullest confidence in these humble friends. They thereupon explained their precise situation, and told them the story of their recent escape. They also learned from the negroes that they were returning to their masters, having come from Columbia, where they had been working upon a new prison stockade, now abandoned on account of the expected approach of General Sherman.
The name of their "Master" was Steadman, and, slave-fashion, one of the men was named "Ben Steadman." They were directing their steps to Mr. Steadman's plantation on the Augusta Road, and the fugitives therefore decided to keep in their company and use them as guides. In the nature of things, unless guided by some one accustomed to traveling in a country so bare of landmarks, they would lose ground continually, even if they ever reached their destination.
One of the negroes with that shrewdness engendered by slavery, in which cunning is the only protection against injury; and strength and courage count for nothing; suggested that so large a party would attract attention, and the safety of the two officers might be endangered. It was therefore finally determined that Ben should act as guide, and the other darkies take a different route home. Another advantage to be derived from dividing the party was that in the event of the fugitives being pursued, the double trail would mystify the hounds. Ere long Ben reached a bridle-path, which plunged into the wood, and as it offered superior advantages on account of its narrowness and privacy, and from the fact of its leading to the plantation of a well-known planter and therefore less likely to be suspected of being the road taken by escaped prisoners, the little party concluded that this was their safest route. They therefore hurried forward upon their way, Ben preceding them in the double capacity of guide and scout. A few miles from its commencement this path led to a blind road, which Ben informed them was seldom traveled by any in the night-time but men of his own race, so they turned into it, and had become quite joyful and careless, when suddenly the challenge, "Who goes there?" rang out in the stillness, and the next moment Ben was halted by the sentry of a Confederate picket consisting of eight men, who had bivouacked just off the road. Ben boldly advanced, and our two friends, it must be admitted, with more discretion than valor, started off like lightning, their "guide" meanwhile amusing the guard with a description of how "Dem two oder dam niggas got skeered, kase dey thought Mars Sentinel must be a dam Yank!"
No harm could come to Ben, as he was in a condition to prove that two other negroes had left Columbia with him, and the fugitives therefore feeling that he was safe, concealed themselves among the brush and awaited events. Ben shortly passed their place of hiding, in custody, en route to the Reserve, and our friends were not a little amused, despite their danger, to hear Ben's vigorous denunciation of "dem two cowardly niggas," who had taken to their heels!
A few moments only elapsed before they were made aware, by certain unmistakable tokens, that they were in dangerous proximity to the Confederate encampment, and although nearly famished, for they had eaten nothing since morning, it was deemed safest to lie perdu; so, thanking the good Providence which had sped them thus far on their journey, they lay down and slept.