We had traveled but a short distance when we came to a public road. There were about ten or fifteen negroes on this road. The Irishman wanted apple jack, and it seemed that to get a hold of this apple brandy was the most he desired. So he and the Frenchman went to the road, and, calling to the darkies, told them what their desire was, and from the chuckling of the darkies we came to the conclusion from what we heard that it would not be long before they would get something that they were not looking for, for at the time of the break at the Florence prison the country was aroused and armed, and they told the negroes that the Yankee man was so powerful that he would eat up a black man. The people were all armed for miles around and as soon as they would tree any of our men they would shoot them out of the trees as fast as they would come to them. Now this superstition had spread all over the country, and it was nothing but the most intelligent class who would be ready to help capture and kill these flying fugitives. They would kill them for pastime and amusement. Now as soon as it was understood by the Irishman and his chum that they would soon be supplied with apple jack, they waited until the return of the darkies, and it was not longer than half or three-quarters of an hour before we heard the sound of hounds and the blast of horns. We knew well enough what this all meant, and just as soon as these fellows met the darkies we started in the direction of the river again and made as fast progress as we could until we came to a swamp. We went into this morass as far as we could—through the mire and water to avoid pursuit of the hounds. We could hear the bay of the hounds and the blast of horns. We did feel bad to think that these poor simple fellows would run right into danger as they had done! It might have been about an hour before we heard the discharge of fire arms and all was still again and so ended. I have no doubt but that two more lives of fleeing prisoners were sacrificed. They had escaped from what was more than death—a Southern hell—as these prison pens were called, only to be shot to death. Now we lay here in this quagmire marsh until night set in and then we started again, never intending to travel after night unless compelled to do so. The way that we intended to travel lay in a northwesterly direction, and oh, such suspense and fear as a man will have in traveling in the cold part of the year in the enemy’s country, surrounded on every side by a gaping mob and howling hounds, and many a time while we were traveling near any road have we come upon a large company of rebels, almost on us before we would know it. We would lay down wherever we could, sometimes not over fifty feet away, and lay there until it seemed as though every eye was turned on us. [Illustration]