Our town was soon one of 4000 or 5000 population and built like a Western boom city, avenues and streets being carefully laid off and appropriately named. We had lots of fun in naming some of these streets, and the lots were bought and sold in regulation style. We had a solid business street and efficient police regulations.
Before he left, my friend, Major McCauley, together with Jack Armstrong, a captain in a Kansas colored regiment, and several others, including myself, used to sit under our front porch spinning yarns, devising plans of escape and cracking the backs of a species of bug with a hard shell, which used to be prevalent about our quarters in those days. We planned a good many escapes, but could not hit upon the right method of getting away.
Colonel Allen and his wife were very nice people, and did what they could for us, but it was his business to keep us there, and, while many escaped from the stockade, very few got away.
In policing our enclosure they used a dump cart, which would drive in, be filled with leaves and other litter lying around and then be taken to a ravine outside and dumped.
We conceived the idea of using the cart as a means of escape, and forthwith set about carrying out the scheme. There were some prisoners among us from a Zouave regiment, and one of them was an innocent-looking boy. We enlisted his services, and he soon had the confidence of the cart-driver and was allowed to drive the cart around within the enclosure while it was being loaded. Selecting a favorable opportunity, Major McCauley and Captain Armstrong were laid in the cart and covered with leaves. The major's legs were too long, and, in drawing them within the limits of space allowed, his knees reared themselves so high that, when we had covered them as well as we could, there was very little covering on top. The captain was inclined to be corpulent and was full-blooded, so that, when the leaves covered him, he breathed heavily, and a close observer could notice a regular upheaving of the mass of leaves. We hoped for the best, however, and watched the progress of events with keen interest.
The cart finally started for the exit, and several of us made our way to a good point of observation.
By the time the vehicle had reached the gate the jolting over the rough ground, and the captain's breathing, had settled the leaves until, like the ostrich, the occupants felt secure with their heads covered, but were exposing telltale signs of their presence. McCauley's knees appeared above the leaves like mountain peaks above the timber, while the captain's stomach just showed, like the back of a porpoise above the water as he plunges.
An officer at the gate surveyed the cart, and we expected to see our friends hauled out, but he only smiled grimly and said not a word, while the cart proceeded on its way to the ravine.
We looked at each other in astonishment, and we could see the captain's stomach give an extra heave, evidently with a sigh of relief.
Our astonishment was soon changed to amusement as the officer spurred his horse toward the cart, and then stood quietly by, with a smile on his face, as the driver backed up to the ravine and prepared to dump the cart. A creak, a rush, a cloud of leaves and dust, a glimpse of two tumbling figures, and we saw our friends sitting in the bottom of the ravine, looking up wonderingly at the smiling officer on the bank, who said to them: