At Montgomery I was joined by Tobe Hicks, who was going to Helena, Arkansas. As he had come but lately from the Trans-Mississippi army on some war business, and knew the route across the river, I decided to stick to him.
We took a boat to Selma, on the Alabama river. There were many comrades on board and we passed the time in talking of the war. From Selma we went to Kingston, which was twenty-two miles from the railroad. We had to hurry to meet the train. We left at twelve o’clock and walked the ties to the junction, doing the twenty-two miles by seven o’clock. It was hard on Tobe Hicks. To our dismay we missed the train by five minutes and there was no other. We slept on the ground that night and next morning started on the hundred mile walk to Meridian.
At Meridian we took the Jackson railroad, but had been on the train only three hours when we came to a wash-out bridge and had to walk again.
At Panola we gave a negro ten dollars to put us across the river in a skiff. Everywhere was water, water, water.
When we could go no further we fell in with four men going down Cold Water on a flat boat with two bales of cotton. We told our tale of woe and they agreed to let us go with them if we would pull the boat. Although we had always lived on a river, we had never played deck hands. But this was no time to be dignified. We laid hold of the oars and played deck hand for two days and a night. They were hard steamboat men. We could stand it no longer. Late in the afternoon Tobe said, “Let’s land here.” We landed and took off our traps. They tried to bully us into going on, but we were used to bluffs, and they couldn’t work it.
By walking ridges and wading sloughs, we came to the Mississippi. It was miles wide. We went to the house of a man whom Hicks knew. He told us the Yankees had patrol boats out every night and we would certainly be captured. We were between the devil and the deep blue sea. If we went back we would be captured; if we went on we would be captured. But danger had been our meat and drink for four years. We decided to build a raft of cedar logs, huge and square and long and light. We built it in a slough, back from the river, and when it was finished, we went to eat supper with this friend and bid him good-bye. Crossing the Mississippi at night on a raft could never be the safest journey in the world. With the Yankee patrol boat ready to capture us the danger was doubled.
But our friend said he knew of a man who had a skiff (if the Yankees had not burned it) that he would come for us if we could make him hear. We called and to our joy the fellow answered. He landed us at the mouth of St. Francis river about one o’clock in the morning, and we gave him our watches and other valuables in payment for his services.
We had to wade again, but we hurried on. At last we came to the parting of the ways, for Hicks was going to Helena and I to Jacksonport. We felt rather sad at separating after walking, wading, riding, playing deckhand and building rafts together.
To guide me Hicks gave me the names of all the men on the road who were o. k. About two o’clock in the morning I called up one of these o. k. men and asked to stay all night. He laughed and said, “It is day now.”
I told him I had been up all night and must walk for my life that day. I must have two hours’ sleep—on the floor, anywhere.