The evening of the 9th was that fixed upon for flight.  At a little after nine o’clock the exodus began.  Those in the secret made their way to the cooking-room.  The fireplace passage was opened, and such was the haste to avail themselves of it that the men almost struggled for precedence.  Rules had been made, but no order could be kept.  Silence reigned, however.  No voice was raised above a whisper; every footstep was made as light as possible.  It had been decided that fifty men should leave that night, and fifty the next, the prison clerk being deceived at roll-call by an artifice which had been practised more than once before, that of men leaving one end of the line and regaining the other unseen, to answer to the names of others.  But the risk of discovery was too great.  Every man wanted to be among the first.  It proved impossible to restrain the anxious prisoners.

Down into the cellar passed a long line of descending men, dropping to its floor in rapid succession.  Around the mouth of the tunnel a dense crowd gathered.  But here only one man was allowed to pass at a time, on account of the bad air.  The noise made in passing through told those behind how long the tunnel was occupied.  The instant the noise ceased another plunged in.

The passage was no easy one.  The tunnel was little more than wide enough to contain a man’s body, and progress had to be made by kicking and scrambling forward.  Two or three minutes, however, sufficed for the journey, the one who had last emerged helping his companion to the upper air.

Here was a carriage-way fronting southward, and leading into Canal Street, which ran along the Lynchburg Canal.  Four guards paced along the south side of the prison within plain view.  The risk was great.  On emerging from the carriage-way the fugitives would be in full sight of these guards.  But the risk must be taken.  Watching the street for a moment in which it was comparatively clear, one by one they passed out and walked deliberately along the canal, in the direction away from the prison, like ordinary passers.  This dangerous space was crossed with remarkable good fortune.  If the guards noticed them at all, they must have taken them for ordinary citizens.  The unusual number of passers, on that retired street, nearly the whole night long, does not seem to have attracted the attention of any of the guards.  One hundred and nine escaped in all, yet not a man of them was challenged.

Canal Street once left, the first breath of relief was drawn.  Those who early escaped soon found themselves in well-lighted streets, many of the shops still open, and numerous citizens and soldiers promenading.  No one took notice of the fugitives, who strolled along the streets in small groups, laughing and talking on indifferent subjects, and, with no sign of haste, directing their steps towards the outskirts of the city.

As to what followed, there are almost as many adventures to relate as there were persons escaped.  We shall confine ourselves to the narrative of one of them, Captain Earle, from whose story the particulars above given have been condensed.  With him was one companion, Captain Charles E. Rowan.