After the incriminating letter was discovered in the lining of Stringfellow’s coat, his guard– a sergeant, informed him that he would be taken to Washington the next day along with a group of deserters and blockade runners. Stringfellow persuaded the sergeant to take him down to the river that evening. There, in the darkness, the scout related how he had refused to kill the sergeant with an ax when he had the opportunity, and the internal struggle he had faced.

The sergeant was touched by the story and wished he had an honorable way to save the scout’s life. Stringfellow offered him $500 in gold if he would turn his back and give the scout a ten-foot start. The officer turned him down, but said if Stringfellow was a Mason he would release him for nothing. He considered his oath to the order higher than his oath to the government.

Stringfellow was not a Mason, but replied, “But I am something better than a Mason. I am a Christian. If Masonry could save me, surely Christianity can.” After a short debate about the two institutions, Stringfellow concluded, “With the strength of Christianity behind me, there are not enough Yankees alive to put a noose around my neck.” 

That night Stringfellow awakened in the crowded makeshift prison with hopes of escaping. But he could see no loophole of escape and felt the odds were against him. He later wrote, “My heart, or rather my faith, failed me.”

The following morning just as the prisoners were ready to depart for Washington, a courier dashed up announcing that more prisoners would soon arrive. The commanding officer decided to wait one more day to depart for Washington, so the new prisoners could be included.

God had given Stringfellow one more chance. That night he awakened around 2 p.m. certain that this was the time. Two Federals had pulled benches across in front of the door, but were not asleep. Stringfellow walked to the water barrel and got a drink. With the guards watching him, he opened the door slightly and threw the remainder of the water outside. He closed the door, but left it slightly ajar.

He went back to his bed and waited patiently. When the guards were snoring, he got to his feet, and glided softly towards them. Gauging the distance carefully, he jumped lightly over the bench. But in coming down, his foot struck a soldier on the elbow. The fellow leaped up and grabbed Stringfellow, who claimed he was just getting water.

He was taken back to bed and felt he had lost his opportunity to escape. But soon the guards were snoring again, so he gave it another try. This time he was successful, as his jump landed him close to the door. He eased it back carefully, holding his breath, until he had it open barely enough to squeeze his thin body through.

Once outside, he clung to the shadowed wall waiting for a sentinel. The soldier walked directly towards the scout. Stringfellow pressed against the wall, and the sentry went by close enough to touch him. When the sentry rounded the corner, Stringfellow dashed across the yard and headed towards the river. 

He had run about a mile as dawn broke amidst rain. He heard the sound of horses behind him and knew the enemy was on his trail. He couldn’t outrun them and needed to find a hiding place quick. He ran into a strip of woods with his lungs on fire. His tracks were visible in the mud as he approached a stream. He climbed a tree and swung across on a limb to the other side. There he found an old log covered with leaves. He burrowed into the leaves and pulled them over him. 

The Federals searched up and down the little stream, but never looked under the log. After about an hour they left, but the “spy” remained buried with the rain pelting him. Intermittently, throughout the long wet day, he heard them pass his hiding place. Once a soldier stepped directly over the log against which he was hiding. He didn’t dare move. 

When darkness came, the rain stopped. The cold, wet, hungry, miserable scout stiffly emerged. He was alive and for the moment he was free. Thanking God, he set his face southward. He was going home.*

*From Stringfellow of the Fourth by R. Shepard Brown