In Defense of the Flag: A true war story: A pen picture of scenes and incidents during the great rebellion.--Thrilling experiences during escape from southern prisons, etc.Stafford, David W.
History
In Defense of the Flag: A true war story: A pen picture of scenes and incidents during the great rebellion.--Thrilling experiences during escape from southern prisons, etc.
Stafford, David W.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Prisoners and prisons; United States. Army. Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment, 83rd (1861-1865)
As I was saying, I had stopped at an old plantation to look around.
Soon I saw a man about half a mile away toward the mountains, gathering
corn from the field, with an old gray horse. I made myself known to
him, for by this time I was getting very weak, not having had anything
to eat since Henry and I had been separated at the negro shanty. If I
remember right, there had been at least a week, if not better, since
I had tasted food. When I got to the old man I gave him to understand
that I was a fugitive and was on my way to Ash county, West Virginia.
My way and manner of talking was not like that of the people here, so
the old man told me he reckoned that I was a Yank from Salsbury prison,
but he seemed to receive me so kindly that I told him who I was after
he had told me that most of the people there were Union folks. This
he did to win my confidence. Oh, how sorry I was as soon as I went to
the house, for the old lady was, I believe, the hardest looking old
woman, with a Roman nose, and such eyes I never saw, as she glared
on me when I uttered the word that we were rebels. Here there was a
son about thirty years old, seated in a chair, who was a sad sight,
for he appeared to be perfectly helpless and he would repeat just like
some parrot the same words, “Yes, we are rebels here,” and how simple
he seemed to act. Now the old man told the old lady to give me some
hoecake if there was any and he at this time showed his true colors,
for he told me that there was a company being raised and I had better
wait and eat some hoecake until he would return, and I would get a good
suit of rebel gray, worth thirty or forty dollars a suit, and fifty
dollars bounty. On saying this he left me, and jumping on the back of
the old gray horse went off on the run to a small town four miles to
the west and south of his place. This old man, I think, told me that
he was eighty years old. As soon as he was gone I told the old lady
if there was any hoecake in the house that I must have it. She still
insisted that they were rebels and had nothing for a Yankee. Then I
told her that I would have to help myself, for I was determined to have
something to eat or die in the attempt. I had almost become mad on
account of going so long and having so little to subsist on. You see
the harvest had gone by and the cold, bleak rains and some snow would
fall every few days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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