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    Table of Contents added by the transcriber:

    Introductory                               7
    War Memories                               9
    Appendix: How and Where I Was Captured    58
    Addenda                                   59
    List of Captured                          60




ESCAPE

FROM THE

CONFEDERACY

OVERPOWERING THE GUARDS--MIDNIGHT LEAP FROM
  A MOVING TRAIN--THROUGH SWAMPS
    AND FOREST--BLOOD HOUNDS--
      THRILLING EVENTS.

  B. F. HASSON,
  Late Lieut. Ringgold Battalion (22d. Pa. Vol. Cav.)


Entered according to Act of Congress.

_Sept 26, 1900_




    _To the comrades of the Ringgold Cavalry and the relatives and
    friends of the boys who suffered and died at Richmond and
    Andersonville, this booklet is dedicated._

    _"Across the years, full rounded to many score,
      Since advancing peace, with her olive wand,
    Returns the sunshine to our desolate land,
      Come thronging back memories of the war.
    Again the drum's beat and the cannon's roar,
      And patriot fires by every breeze are fanned,
    And pulses quicken with a purpose grand,
      As manhood's forces swell to larger store.
    Again the camp, the field, the march, the strife,
      The joy of victory, the bitter pain
    Of wounds or sore defeat; the anguish rife,
      And tears that fall for the unnumbered slain,
    And homes, where darkened is the light of life,
      All these the echoing bugle brings again."_




_INTRODUCTORY._


I have been so often urged by old army comrades, as well as other
friends, to publish the facts contained in the following pages in a
convenient shape for preservation, that I have concluded to comply
with their wishes, and now present them in this form. Many of the less
important details have been omitted, as well with a view of preventing
the story from becoming tiresome as of getting it within the limits of
space it was intended it should occupy. While the experience was
attended with trials and suffering, I wish to assure the reader that
it was nothing more than was endured by hundreds of other boys who saw
service in the War of the Great Rebellion. I would not go through it
again for all the world, and yet I would not like to lose the
satisfaction I enjoy in the knowledge of my success in overcoming so
many seemingly insurmountable difficulties. It is a plain narration of
facts, and is written without any effort to overdraw or embellish. I
hand it over to the friends and comrades who have been urging me to
publish it, in the hope that it will help to fill up an idle moment.

      B. F. HASSON.

[Illustration: F. C. ORMSBY WASH. D.C.]




War Memories

"Flank out Frank, and go with us to-morrow."


We were squatted on the sandy ground--vermin-ladened sand--inside the
prison stockade on Belle Island, discussing the probable destination
of the prisoners then being daily removed from that place. Joseph
Morton and Peter Deems of my own regiment and myself were of the party
and the above remark was made by Morton and addressed to me. It was
early in the month of March, 1864, and just after that famous raid to
the vicinity of Richmond by Gen. Kilpatrick and Col. Ulrich Dahlgren.
The daring troopers had even penetrated the defences of the city and
thoroughly alarmed the Rebel authorities. Immediately steps were taken
to remove the prisoners from Richmond to Andersonville, Ga., and other
remote points in the South out of the reach of rescue by Federal
raiders.

The prisoners on the Island were divided off into hundreds. The first
hundred was composed of those first put into the stockade; and then,
as new or fresh prisoners arrived the second and other hundreds were
added. One member of each hundred was chosen to see to the welfare of
the men in securing rations, etc. The hundreds were subdivided into
messes of twenty-five each, and a man was selected from among them
whose duty it was to cut up the loaves of corn-bread into twenty-five
equal sized pieces, and see that they were impartially issued to the
men. This was done by placing a man with his back to the pieces of
bread, and the sergeant pointing to one piece at a time and asking,
"Whose is this?" The answer would be, "That goes to No. 1," and so on
through the list of twenty-five. The men were called by number instead
of name. This was made necessary by reason of frequent changes on
account of deaths.

This rather full explanation is given here because it answers
questions often asked me. This stockade, or inclosure, within which
prisoners were confined, comprised several acres on the lower end of
the Island, around which piles were driven, close together, leaving
perhaps four to six feet projecting above ground. A little below the
top of these logs or piles a platform was erected, and on this
platform the guards marched and countermarched. It is not my intention
to enter into a description of the condition of the prison camps.
Their histories have been written and all are doubtless more or less
familiar with them.

At this time there were about 9500 (ninety-five hundreds) in the
stockade. Up to and including the sixteenth hundred had already been
taken away. Morton and Deems were in the eighteenth hundred, and I was
in the twenty-second hundred. It was expected that the next day more
would be taken, and fearful that my squad would not be reached I was
asked by Morton to "flank out" and go along. It was a violation of the
rules to go from one squad to another, but on account of the many
deaths occurring every night it could be managed in an emergency like
this.

Having been on the Island for six months I was glad to make a change
of residence. A change of any kind was desirable even if it was not an
improvement. To walk around the stockade another day, over the same
well-beaten path, looking into the same pale, haggard faces, listening
to the groans of the dying and witnessing the miserable condition of
the living, was no longer tolerable, so that, "rather than suffer the
ills we had we were willing to flee to others we knew not of."

I did flank out that night and the next morning quietly slipped into
the eighteenth hundred with Morton and Deems, and marched with them
out of the inclosure and over the bridge to the city of Richmond. We
were put into the building called "The Pemberton" and remained there
until the following morning, when we crowded into freight cars, forty
to sixty in a car, and started southward.

While crossing the bridge on our way from the Island to the city I was
marching by the side of a prisoner whom I had not met before. He was
yet in apparently vigorous condition--evidently not having been a
prisoner very long. He asked me in a suppressed tone if I intended to
try to escape in case we were taken further south. I replied that I
did, and we there and then entered into a contract to go together. He
was enthusiastic about the matter and gave me his hand as a pledge of
his sincerity.

Studying means of escape, and efforts to rid themselves of the
tormenting vermin, were the chief occupations of prisoners of war
while awake. In their fitful and uneasy slumbers they were dreaming
that they were at home sitting at the most abundantly supplied tables
and enjoying all the comforts which the word home implies.

Long continued exposure and lack of food had engendered diseases and
reduced the poor creatures to the most pitiable condition. Of course
some were worse off than others, but all looked miserable enough.

After passing through Petersburg we were satisfied that a longer term
of imprisonment awaited us, for, had it been the purpose to exchange
us, we should have stopped at Petersburg and from there been taken to
City Point. When the fact was made known there were loud murmurings.
The bronzed and starved faces were pictures of the most abject
wretchedness and despair. Reaching Gaston, North Carolina, we were
transferred to another train, taking the Gaston and Raleigh road from
that point.

Morton was very sick when we started from Richmond, and the jolting
received in the cars had tended to increase his trouble. I endeavored
to keep as close to him as possible on the way, so as to render him
all the assistance I could. When changing cars at Gaston he was quite
feeble, and required assistance to get from one train to the other.

"Do you intend to escape, Lieutenant?" was whispered in my ear as we
were getting off the train. On looking around I found Peter Deems at
my elbow.

"To-night," I as quietly replied.

"All right, I'm with you," said he. Those who will remember Mr. Deems,
(and doubtless many of his old friends in Pike Run township, and all
his surviving comrades in Co. F will) must be amused, as I was, at
such a proposition coming from him. Although he was considerably
reduced in flesh by his long confinement, he was yet large and clumsy,
and to jump from a running train would, to my mind, have resulted
disastrously. The whistle of the locomotive notified us that all was
ready, and it was not long until we were speeding southward. On
looking around for Deems I found he had in some way failed to get into
that car. I never saw him after. His name, together with poor
Morton's, appeared in a list of prisoners who answered the last great
roll call at Andersonville, Georgia. Night came on as we approached
Franklinton station, Franklin County, North Carolina. Here the train
stopped for some time for the purpose of taking on wood and water, and
while doing this the guards in the car were relieved. That is, those
stationed there during the day were taken away and other men put in
their places. I kept careful watch of everything going on and all the
while keeping in view my purpose to get out of that car at the very
earliest opportunity. While placing the guards the officer in charge
renewed the instructions for the night. They were emphatically ordered
not to allow a prisoner to get near the door. As is well known, the
doors on a freight car slide along the side of the car. The door on
one side of our car was securely fastened, while the one on the other
side was partly open--perhaps two feet--not more than enough for a man
going out in a hurry to clear the sides. There were two guards in the
car, one on each side of this partly open door. Armed Confederate
soldiers were scattered all along the train--some on top of the cars.
The rear car, an ordinary passenger coach, was occupied exclusively by
them. They were held in readiness to answer a call from any part of
the train in case of trouble. A lantern was hung up to the ceiling
near the middle of the car.

It was a little after dark when the bell announced the time for
starting. About the time the train was pulling out I asked the man who
had agreed with me when we were crossing the bridge to make an effort
to escape, what he thought about it. I found he had changed his mind.
The boisterous and violent manner in which the officer had instructed
the guard to shoot any man who came near the door, the sound of guns
fired off for the purpose, no doubt, of overawing the prisoners, and
the general gloom which night and darkness threw around the scene, had
a depressing effect upon him. He said we would surely be killed. This
was sufficient to convince me that he could not be relied upon and I
bade him good-night and went in search of others who might be induced
to consider the matter favorably.

Two stalwart men with guns in their hands, stood between us and
liberty, and a sufficient force to render their defeat absolutely
certain must be brought to bear. A failure to overpower them at the
first attack would be sure to lead to the instant death of those
engaged, if not others. The car was unspeakably filthy, and