The feverish desire to escape was constantly present with every man in the stockade, but there seemed to be little chance for getting away. We were allowed to go out after wood, but there was a guard for each prisoner when we went.
One rebel guard talked to me, and made a proposal. He was a rebel from principle, he said, but had lost everything, and was now over forty years old. What the outcome was to be he did not know, but he did know that he wanted to make some money for himself and family, and had a chance to do so if he had some help.
He told me of two steamboats, loaded with cotton, then lying tied up on Red River, not over five miles away, and kept in readiness for a run up some secluded bayou if the Yankees approached, calling my attention to the fact that, as only two guards protected each vessel, the fires kept in the furnaces made it a comparatively easy job to capture and get away with one of the boats and its load. He said that he had contemplated the capture of one boat for the purpose of taking it to New Orleans and selling the cotton, but had given up the idea of trying it as originally intended, fearing that the cotton and boat would be confiscated at New Orleans, because he was a rebel, even if he succeeded in getting there.
The suggested scheme struck me as being a good one, and in several trips made outside for wood with this man as my guard we perfected our plans for making the attempt.
I was to select a pilot and crew from the prisoners, and he agreed to arrange for our exit from the stockade. We kept up daily communication with each other until all was in readiness.
I had found a pilot and crew to man the boat. The capture seemed an easy job, as we would most likely find the guards asleep. We had accumulated some rations for the trip, and it was settled as to what night the start would be made.
The stockade was made with two-inch planks, twelve feet long, placed on end on the ground and strongly braced. The soil was sandy.
When the appointed time came our party quietly went to the place which had been selected for the work, and we were busily digging our way out, under the fence, when someone inside of the stockade reported us to the sergeant at the gate, who yelled out:
"Sergeant of the guard! Prisoners escaping!"
The sentinel on whose beat we were to escape could do no less than fire his gun, which he promptly did, and the bullet came through the fence at about the proper distance above the ground to perforate the body of anyone not lying down. It seemed almost a miracle that no one in our party of eight was hit.