Now, it so happened that just as we neared the gate of the prison, the prisoners were being marched from the Stockade.  The officer in charge of us—­we numbering possibly about ten—­undertook to place us at the head of the column coming out, but the guard in charge of that squad refused to let him do so.  We were then ordered to stand at one side with no guard over us but the officer who had brought us from the Hospital.

Taking this in at a glance, I concluded that now was my chance to make my second attempt to escape.  I stepped behind the gate office (a small frame building with only one room), which was not more than six feet from me, and as luck (or Providence) would have it, the negro man whose duty it was, as I knew, to wait on and take care of this office, and who had taken quite a liking for me, was standing at the back door.  I winked at him and threw him my blanket and the cup, at the same time telling him in a whisper to hide them away for me until he heard from me again.  With a grin and a nod, he accepted the trust, and I started down along the walls of the Stockade alone.  In order to make this more plain, and to show what a risk I was running at the time, I will state that between the Stockade and a brick wall, fully as high as the Stockade fence that was parallel with it, throughout its entire length on that side, there was a space of not more than thirty feet.  On the outside of this Stockade was a platform, built for the guards to walk on, sufficiently clear the top to allow them to look inside with ease, and on this side, on the platform, were three guards.  I had traveled about fifty feet only, from the gate office, when I heard the command to “Halt!” I did so, of course.

“Where are you going, you d—–­d Yank?” said the guard.

“Going after my clothes, that are over there in the wash,” pointing to a small cabin just beyond the Stockade, where I happened to know that the officers had their washing done.

“Oh, yes,” said he; “you are one of the Yank’s that’s been on, parole, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, hurry up, or you will get left.”

The other guards heard this conversation and thinking it all right I was allowed to pass without further trouble.  I went to the cabin in question—­for I saw the last guard on the line watching me, and boldly entered.  I made a clear statement to the woman in charge of it about how I had made my escape, and asked her to secrete me in the house until night.  I was soon convinced, however, from what she told me, as well as from my own knowledge of how things were managed in the Confederacy, that it would not be right for me to stay there, for if the house was searched and I found in it, it would be the worse for her.  Therefore, not wishing to entail misery upon another, I begged her to give me something to eat, and going to the swamp near by, succeeded in getting well without detection.