John G. B. Adams, Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts Regiment

Our hearts beat hard and fast. Wheeler's rebel cavalry were forming, and after advancing, fell back. We were sure that night would find us safe under the old flag. We congratulated ourselves on our good judgment, talked of the foolishness of those who had tried to escape through the mountains, when our plan was so much easier, and concluded that of all the men who had escaped we were a little the smartest.

Night came on. The negroes said they would not cross the creek until after dark, and we waited. All night these faithful negroes kept watch for us, and in the morning, with long, sad faces, reported that “Massa Sherman had done gone down the river.” We could not follow by day, but started quite early in the evening. We had gone but a short distance when we struck a company of cavalry camped on the roadside. We entered the swamp to flank them, but it was so dark that we lost our way, and after travelling all night, tearing our clothes and scratching our faces and hands, we came out where we entered, and again passed the day at Pat's house. We were rather discouraged, and the colored people felt about as badly as we did, yet did all they could to cheer us up. Our friend, the white slave, made us gingerbread and biscuit to take with us, and said many comforting words.

With a firm resolution to get through the lines we began our journey. It was a dark, rainy night, and we had to guess our route. We came to a place where the road forked. Frank was sure he knew the road we ought to take, and I was just as confident that he was wrong. We scolded