is that?" He replied: "A pack of hounds, and they are on our trail." I said: "Turn up your soles," took out the bottle of turpentine which I had kept so carefully for months, put some on the bottoms of all of our shoes, turned a square corner and we all ran as fast as we could in another direction. After a little we saw we were coming to the edge of the woods, where there was a road and beyond an open field. Just then Hastings said: "The dogs have struck the turpentine—hear them—they are not barking, but whining; they are whipping them to make them follow the trail, hear them howl, but they won't do it—the turpentine is too strong for them."

We rushed ahead and as we were crossing the road we heard a horse coming down the road on a good gallop. Soon a man on a horse came up. He evidently was one of the party who came around on a venture to see if he could head off whoever it was that they were after. He, of course, had his rifle and could have followed us, and shot or captured us, but there were five of us and he did not know that we were unarmed, so he began to call loudly and whistle for the dogs. Had they responded and come with the other men while we were in sight with the bright moonlight, they certainly would have caught us. We ran as fast as we could. In the field we came to a fair-sized stream, rushed into it, waded down it for awhile, then crossed over, sat down on the bank and rubbed garlic, a strong wild onion, on our feet to change the scent, changed our course again and pushed on. We were now out of sight and got away this time, it being our first night out.

We had many exciting and varied experiences. We traveled only in the night and if possible kept in the woods, and went in a northwesterly course, guided by the north star. If we could not see that star and were uncertain as to our course I had a pocket compass which I carried through the war; we would form a ring that the light might not be seen, strike a light, look at the compass, get our bearings and proceed.

We kept aloof, if possible, from all human beings, preferring to suffer material privations to taking chances. Our food was what we might pick up in the woods, which was very little. We could easily approach a corn field every night. The corn was ripe, hence hard to eat raw, but much better than nothing. Before daylight in the morning we would look for a quiet place in the woods and lie down, but seemingly nearly every morning before we had slept long something would occur to seriously disturb us. Some one out shooting or chopping wood, or doing various other things. One night about midnight we came to the edge of the woods, and as the woods did not run in the right direction, and there were no houses in sight and a road which ran in the direction we were going we decided that we would follow it, being careful to keep on the sides and not leave any tracks, until we could reach another stretch of woods. We did so and as we were going quietly along we noticed a light in a house which, like all the houses in the South, stood well back from the road. On looking around we found one or two other lights and discovered that we were in a small town, but apparently half way or more through it, so went on and got to the woods once more.

Several days after our escape, early in the morning, as usual, we got a place in the woods, lay down and after a short sleep were eating our corn, when one said: "This is pretty tough grub for all the time. We are in the woods apparently out of sight of every one, we have matches, why can't we make a hole in the ground, start a little fire, put our corn around it, over it, all about it, let it toast, roast or burn? It will be much better than it is now." We did so, and were watching the fire when we saw a woman with a plain gray cotton dress, hanging from the shoulders like a night dress, coming toward us. Presuming that she was a colored woman, we said: "Hastings, go and make friends with that Auntie or we will be in trouble." He started. As he approached her, he said: "Good morning, Auntie," then saw that she was white. "I know who you uns is. They cotched two of you uns here yesterday and took them back to Columbia," she said. "Yes, my good lady, I am an escaped prisoner of war," said Hastings. He then went on talking with her to the best of his ability. They were soon joined by her three daughters, who were about twelve, fourteen and sixteen years old, and dressed like their mother. He learned that she was a widow, owned a large plantation, which we were on, that she and her daughters were out looking about the place and saw the smoke and were coming to see what it was. We, of course, put out the fire. She had two sons, young men, who had been in the army since the beginning of the war. Before the war she was in good financial condition, had plenty of slaves, but they had run away long before, so that she and her daughters were left alone, and were obliged to work the plantation enough to give them something to live on. Hastings asked if her sons were both living. "Yes, fortunately they are and neither of them has been wounded," she replied. "Have they ever been made prisoners?" Hastings inquired. "Yes, they were both captured last spring," she said. "Where in the North were they confined?" he asked. She told him. "How were they treated?" "Finely," they said. "Have they been exchanged?" he questioned. "Yes," was the reply. "I suppose," continued Hastings, "that after their exchange they were allowed to come home." "Yes," said the woman, "and I was glad that they were captured for it was the first time I have seen them since the beginning of the war. They looked fine and said they were well-treated while prisoners and had no reason to complain." "My good lady," said Hastings, "I am very glad to know that they were well-treated and that you had a good visit with them. We have been prisoners of war from six months to one and a half years each. We have nothing to say about how your government has treated us, perhaps it did as well by us as it could. A few days ago we made our escape when the guards did not see us and they probably do not know it now. We are making every effort to get home to our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. If you will recall how you felt about your sons you will understand how they feel. I know that you are required to report to the officer in charge in this locality that you have seen strangers here, but if you have, as I believe you have, a true mother's heart and any regard for us, for God's sake don't do it until tomorrow, for as you can readily see, we must stay here until after dark tonight. To do otherwise would be the greatest folly; so we are in your hands. If you wish to send us back to Columbia all that is necessary is to report us today. We shall be here all day," and so he continued to the best of his ability, and he was a good pleader. After a little, the youngest daughter began to rub her eyes and shed tears, and said: "Mister, we won't tell on you uns, will we mar?" and soon was joined by the other two, all weeping and saying: "Mister, we won't tell on you uns, will we mar?" but the good lady said nothing, and the plea continued, helped by the appeal of the daughters, until the woman said: "Mister, we will not tell on you uns today." He replied: "My good lady, I am very glad that you took time to deliberate before you decided what to do, for I feel assured that you mean and will do just what you say, but if you have no objections will you and your daughters hold up your right hands." They did so and he administered to them, I presume, as strong an oath as he ever did that they would not in any way let it be known that they had seen us until the