The hounds, and the difficulties they put in the way of escape -the whole south patrolled by them.

Those who succeeded, one way or another, in passing the Stockade limits, found still more difficulties lying between them and freedom than would discourage ordinarily resolute men.  The first was to get away from the immediate vicinity of the prison.  All around were Rebel patrols, pickets and guards, watching every avenue of egress.  Several packs of hounds formed efficient coadjutors of these, and were more dreaded by possible “escapes,” than any other means at the command of our jailors.  Guards and patrols could be evaded, or circumvented, but the hounds could not.  Nearly every man brought back from a futile attempt at escape told the same story:  he had been able to escape the human Rebels, but not their canine colleagues.  Three of our detachment-members of the Twentieth Indiana-had an experience of this kind that will serve to illustrate hundreds of others.  They had been taken outside to do some work upon the cook-house that was being built.  A guard was sent with the three a little distance into the woods to get a piece of timber.  The boys sauntered, along carelessly with the guard, and managed to get pretty near him.  As soon as they were fairly out of sight of the rest, the strongest of them-Tom Williams-snatched the Rebel’s gun away from him, and the other two springing upon him as swift as wild cats, throttled him, so that he could not give the alarm.  Still keeping a hand on his throat, they led him off some distance, and tied him to a sapling with strings made by tearing up one of their blouses.  He was also securely gagged, and the boys, bidding him a hasty, but not specially tender, farewell, struck out, as they fondly hoped, for freedom.  It was not long until they were missed, and the parties sent in search found and released the guard, who gave all the information he possessed as to what had become of his charges.  All the packs of hounds, the squads of cavalry, and the foot patrols were sent out to scour the adjacent country.  The Yankees kept in the swamps and creeks, and no trace of them was found that afternoon or evening.  By this time they were ten or fifteen miles away, and thought that they could safely leave the creeks for better walking on the solid ground.  They had gone but a few miles, when the pack of hounds Captain Wirz was with took their trail, and came after them in full cry.  The boys tried to ran, but, exhausted as they were, they could make no headway.  Two of them were soon caught, but Tom Williams, who was so desperate that he preferred death to recapture, jumped into a mill-pond near by.  When he came up, it was in a lot of saw logs and drift wood that hid him from being seen from the shore.  The dogs stopped at the shore, and bayed after the disappearing prey.  The Rebels with them, who had seen Tom spring in, came up and made a pretty thorough search for him.  As they did not think to probe around the drift wood this was unsuccessful, and they came to the conclusion that Tom had been drowned.  Wirz marched the other two back and, for a wonder, did not punish them, probably because he was so rejoiced at his success in capturing them.  He was beaming with delight when he returned them to our squad, and said, with a chuckle: 

“Brisoners, I pring you pack two of dem tam Yankees wat got away yesterday, unt I run de oder raskal into a mill-pont and trowntet him.”

What was our astonishment, about three weeks later, to see Tom, fat and healthy, and dressed in a full suit of butternut, come stalking into the pen.  He had nearly reached the mountains, when a pack of hounds, patrolling for deserters or negros, took his trail, where he had crossed the road from one field to another, and speedily ran him down.  He had been put in a little country jail, and well fed till an opportunity occurred to send him back.  This patrolling for negros and deserters was another of the great obstacles to a successful passage through the country.  The rebels had put, every able-bodied white man in the ranks, and were bending every energy to keep him there.  The whole country was carefully policed by Provost Marshals to bring out those who were shirking military duty, or had deserted their colors, and to check any movement by the negros.  One could not go anywhere without a pass, as every road was continually watched by men and hounds.  It was the policy of our men, when escaping, to avoid roads as much as possible by traveling through the woods and fields.

From what I saw of the hounds, and what I could learn from others, I believe that each pack was made up of two bloodhounds and from twenty-five to fifty other dogs.  The bloodhounds were debased descendants of the strong and fierce hounds imported from Cuba-many of them by the United States Government-for hunting Indians, during the Seminole war.  The other dogs were the mongrels that are found in such plentifulness about every Southern house-increasing, as a rule, in numbers as the inhabitant of the house is lower down and poorer.  They are like wolves, sneaking and cowardly when alone, fierce and bold when in packs.  Each pack was managed by a well-armed man, who rode a mule; and carried, slung over his shoulders by a cord, a cow horn, scraped very thin, with which he controlled the band by signals.

What always puzzled me much was why the hounds took only Yankee trails, in the vicinity of the prison.  There was about the Stockade from six thousand to ten thousand Rebels and negros, including guards, officers, servants, workmen, etc.  These were, of course, continually in motion and must have daily made trails leading in every direction.  It was the custom of the Rebels to send a pack of hounds around the prison every morning, to examine if any Yankees had escaped during the night.  It was believed that they rarely failed to find a prisoner’s tracks, and still more rarely ran off upon a Rebel’s.  If those outside the Stockade had been confined to certain path and roads we could have understood this, but, as I understand, they were not.  It was part of the interest of the day, for us, to watch the packs go yelping around the pen searching for tracks.  We got information in this way whether any tunnel had been successfully opened during the night.

The use of hounds furnished us a crushing reply to the ever recurring Rebel question: 

“Why are you-uns puttin’ niggers in the field to fight we-uns for?”

The questioner was always silenced by the return interrogatory: 

“Is that as bad as running white men down with blood hounds?”