"The Long Way Home" - Third Installment

After talking a bit with his fellow freed inmates, he decided he’d be obliged to accept the invite to join with fellow prisoners headed in his direction that grew up in Alabama but had served in a Mississippi regiment. They were brothers, George and Robert Meek, who had served with the 15th Mississippi Infantry and had been captured at Nashville only that last December. Some of his 38th Alabama buddies had been captured at Nashville then. They had shown up at Camp Chase also. After much discussion between the three they agreed to travel together for mutual protection, as some of these fellows were desperate characters, and three foragers were certainly better that one forager.

The main road south was a broad gray earthen road much used by the Northern military that led southwest to Washington, Ohio. It had deep worn ruts from wagon wheels cut during the numerous summer showers but was dusty at the moment. The ruts gave promise of a quagmire when rain did come. It first led west across the bridge over the muddy and slow Scioto River through the village of Franklin and then traversed rolling plains southward. The people sometimes lined the road at Franklin to see the humiliated column of ragged beaten men as though they were some sort of animals on parade, but the local population was thankfully silent. The crowds had diminished after seeing so many bedraggled southern men pass, and curiosity was beginning to wane in their expected evil appearance. Seemed like they had a head and arms and legs just like Northern boys. Not a tail or horns to be seen among the lot, kinda ragged and smelly though.

John’s wounds had pretty much healed, and you had to look hard to see the scar on his left cheek where the .58 caliber bullet had passed. Of course, he’d always miss the two teeth on that side, but he’d learned to chew on the other. His left knee was another matter, but he still had good walking ability if he could but build some stamina and give it rest from time to time. It had healed but caused discomfort walking. He and some of the fellow prisoners had been exercising by walking the perimeter within the stockade after having heard of the surrender and knowing what was likely to come at release. John would always have a slight limp, and it would come back to haunt him in latter years. That hot day in Atlanta seemed so long ago now.

It was almost like marching with the regiment. You kind of disengaged your mind from your feet and let your thoughts wander where they would but not your feet. You could cover a number of miles that way. He hoped to make about 25 miles each day. He guessed 600 miles to Packer’s Bend and his family’s little dogtrot log home and 80 acres. That would require say four days per hundred or twenty four days if he got at it and had a bit of luck. Way he figured it now was time for some good luck or Traveling Grace as the Baptist called it. The three men set out just before noon to just see how far they could make it. The column spread out after a few miles and was not so congested. About half the crowd had followed the roadway beside the railroad to the west to turn south later. John, George and Robert headed directly south by country road. It was great to be alive and free of the prison again.

The day carried them through rolling farmland and forest with a sprinkling of farming family two-room unpainted, rough-sawn board houses with oak shingle roofs, chimney and a porch. Each little homestead had its stock pen and shed for livestock and a well. The spread would contain apple trees. The apples were not ripe yet so no help there for food. Occasional grape arbors were alongside the catch pen. The milk cow had her pen nearby. It was not unusual to see a couple of goats, and there were always the meal on legs, chickens. Well-guarded chickens! So that leaves them out for now. A curious collection of dogs of all breeds and color would greet the travelers, announce loudly their arrival and departure and return under the steps to the house after their passing.

As the sun waned in the west, the three men began to search for shelter. With other groups on the move south, it was possible to group up and share a campfire and bivouac (there that word again that had crept into their lives). There was safety in numbers, and they were still in what was considered enemy territory. Soon a campfire was seen flickering between the tree leaves, and the three approached and entered a merry group settled in beneath a large white trunk, big-leaf poplar tree. Every one was happy to be free and on the road home and welcomed the weary travelers. The fire cast a dancing light all around within the confines of the thicket where the camp had settled. Golden flecks of fireflies danced like fairies in the forest, and night birds called.The wind lay still.

Each man contributed a bit to the food on spits around the fire, and someone had obtained, probably by misappropriation or just plain simple theft, a tin pot to which bits of food were added to create an army stew. Sweet potatoes were simply left in the edge of the coals to cook with skin on. Small amounts of brown crusty cornbread of sorts were prepared using the bit of meal given by the ladies in the farewell kit. This was an acquired cooking and eating experience from the years with the regiments and prison mess. A fat rabbit had given its short life on earth along with some doves with beans and potatoes to create the chief’s surprise. Only a little more salt was needed to really top it off.

Most of the fellows had acquired a throwing stick for rabbits and other small game. A quick eye was required, but pretty regularly supper could be supplied with the throwing stick. A snare was also a possible way to catch food but that required time. The home-sick veterans did not have time to sit and wait on snares. The entire pot not was well cleaned before a harmonica appeared and strains of Lorena, Eating Goober Peas and Camp Fire Races lulled the group to relaxation, stories and then sleep. This would be first of many shared campfires along the journey. Most times the three would meet someone they recognized from Camp Chase, and other times men with similar histories for the past four years. The camps sometimes contained a number of men, and other times it was just the three. A few nights Polk salad was all that there was to fill hungry growling bellies. Finally on the last leg, it was to be just John alone. All the camps were pleasant, even in the rain, if nothing else it was one-day travel nearer to home and further from Camp Chase, Ohio.

(Continued in the right column.)

Early in the trip on nights where there was a bright moon they made extra miles. Full moon had been June 9, and now was on the wane. Time was lost at new moon June 23, as the light failed at sunset and camp was made early. On several nights lonesome sounding old owls kept them awake awhile with his calling for his mate. It made the lonely men think even more of home. Chip-cut-out-of-the-white-oaks called in the evenings. Some folk called them poor-wills-widow or by their Yankee name, whip-poor-wills. They all called “get on home” boys.

Crossing the wide and deep Ohio River would present a considerable problem and much thought was put into how best to accomplish the task. They all figured that stealing a boat was out of the question, and they didn’t want to get shot at this point or steal anything anyway. They had no money or the ability to get any. All the available boats would be on the south bank of the Ohio already stolen and abandoned or well guarded if on the north. Perhaps a floater log could be found and paddled across.

After six days hard walking the big river was sighted. As it turned out, there was a most accommodating old ferryman, who with a kindly heart to the Southern boys took them across gratis as he had many others. Kindness or did he just want to get rid of the Southerners? Once across the big Ohio River they felt they were on Southern soil even though Kentucky had sided with the Northern states in the conflict. Indeed some of its Confederate brigades had become known as orphan brigades after they were formed up and marched off to war and found that Kentucky failed to ratify the secession. In any case, there were far more of the population sympathetic to the Southern cause than there had been north of the Ohio.

They heard of some veterans who were picked up by steamboats to ride south all the way to New Orleans, and they waited around a day but no down-bound boat traffic appeared, and they continued on by foot. They were so pleased to be in the South that they hardly felt the bad luck of not catching a steamer. Here in Kentucky and Tennessee, they would have an opportunity to do chores, chop wood, plow a day or two and thus earn a meal and a barn to sleep in. George, by shoeing a couple of horses, was even able to get a pair of used shoes as his had played out, and he was temporarily barefoot. In this manner bartering labor, the men acquired necessities such as salt, baking powder, meal, a pan and flour and once a hambone with a great amount of meat still left on it. Talk about a feast in the pot. For one farmer in Tennessee, they split oak shingles and roofed his shed in two days. For the effort they gained room and board in the barn, food such as it was and let’s not forget the soap.

Talk about improved olfactory climate in the neighborhood. This made them feel civilized again. It also would help them combat the gray home infected with lice. He well remembered the louse races they had back around campfires and the prison barracks. Picking and nail cracking lice had become a way of life that would not be missed. They took another day to visit a clear cold creek bath and wash their clothes. While they had taken the opportunity to bathe in creeks before it was without benefit of soap. Didn’t matter if it was homemade lye soap, it was soap.

June passed with blue skies and puffy clouds, gnats and flies. Occasional rain showers were encountered but only one period of several days of rain. This did slow things down, but the men had been used to such on the army marches and continued on their way. Some days they made as much as 25 miles, other rainy days as little as 17 miles. They made themselves as comfortable as possible at night and except for one night in the open under a big log with the tent fly they found dry bedding in barns and sheds. Some wet nights they found a shelter under a rock overhang. They wondered about walking on Sunday as it was the Lord’s Day and usually they would have rested but decided that getting home would be considered “an ox in the ditch’ and asking forgiveness carried on. The three, once up in Kentucky, were able to catch a Southbound ride on a train for about 40 miles thanks to a compassionate conductor.

The mountains of central Tennessee were somewhat of a struggle but march on they did. Drinking water was a constant problem as they had no canteens, but they became adept at listening for the soft tinkle of running water to get a drink. That and wells at friendly homes kept them going if not satisfied. Continuing south into Tennessee way off in the southeast, they could see the hazy blue bulky heights of Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga for a couple of days. What memories it evoked of their fight on those heights and the eclipse of the moon that occurred while there.

Go to the Fourth and Final Installment of this serial.