A Life Wasted

Escape

For several days I looked for an opportunity, then on my sixth day at Chatham I made my move. It was far from Ideal, but I knew if I didn't do it now I never would. A rational person wouldn't have tried in the first place. For one thing I only had a one year sentence, and despite my earlier escape, I only had eight months remaining on my sentence. Granted it promised to be a difficult eight months, but that wasn't why I was so determined to escape. It didn't matter how little time I had to do or difficult that time would be. What did mattered was that I had been given boundaries I was told not to cross. That was a challenge I couldn't ignore. I barely factored that the consequences of failure would be death, or that success would mean a life as a fugitive. All that mattered was that I wasn't willing to submit to imprisonment. Regardless of how irrational, my response to jail and prison was to get out.

After carefully explaining to every convict on the gang what I planned, here's how it went down. The first thing we had to arrange was for the trustee to be as far from the truck as possible. The trustee was not a convict, not someone I could trust. If I managed to get away from the two guards their procedure required both guards to stay with the remaining eleven convicts until they could be secured in the truck. Only then could one guard give chase on foot. Their logic was sound since given an opening nearly every man on that chain gang would run. My other concern was the radio. The chain gang guards didn't carry hand held radios, but relied on a radio in the truck. The radio was not my friend. One clever deterrent Georgia employed to prevent escape was to work two crews within a mile of each other. Positioned between the two work crews was a pickup truck with a brace of tracking dogs and handler on standby. If a convict did manage to get away from two armed guards, a well trained team of tracking dogs would be on his trail in minutes. There was no way I could avoid the dogs, but I could try to buy a few extra minutes head start.

For more than an hour we pushed two water moccasins along with us as we cleaned the ditch. As I learned earlier in life this is an aggressive, poisonous snake that commands respects. Herding them down the ditch without allowing the observant guards to notice was no small feat, but we pulled it off. When the trustee crossed the ditch to give the front guard a cup of water I gave the signal by tapping the man in front of me with my shovel. He did the same to the guy in front of him and my signal passed up the line. As the signal moved up the short line, I began to slow down, which was a signal to the guys behind me to do the same. Immediately the convict at the front picked up his pace and we spread out as far as they would allow us. A minute after we spread out the front guard noticed. He stood up straighter to look around for any sign of danger and was about to stop the front guys to tighten us up. That's how he always did it. First he'd look behind him, then to each side fearing an ambush by outsiders, then he would order us to tighten up. His predictable movement was our signal. The front guys pushed one of the cotton mouth's out in front of the crew and the city fellow who was deathly scared of snakes screamed. It was a believable scream because the guy behind him used his shovel to toss his snake at the city fellow's feet.

Several things happened at the same time. The front guard spotted the moccasin at the front of the crew, so he moved forward to shoot the snake, which he couldn't do right away because the front guys were too close. The two guys at the back of our line moved back in response to a rather upset water moccasin between them and the next guy. A gap opened in the middle while the snake at the front drew the attention of the forward guard and the one in our midst drew the attention of the rear guard. Only a hand full of seconds had passed before it was time for my move. The rear guard held his shotgun in his left hand and drew his pistol with his right. Doing this the rear guard went out of position to get a shot at the middle snake with his pistol. Everything was going exactly as I'd planned it, but I was still startled when the front guard fired his shot gun at that snake. When the shotgun boomed I was out of my boots and over the side of the ditch.
When I hit solid ground the rear guard fired his pistol at the other snake. At this point both guards were so focused on what they were shooting at they hadn't seen me. The loud noise from the shotgun and pistol were a disruption to the senses I hadn't considered, but it helped add to the confusion. I I'd heard one round fired from the shot gun and three from the revolver, but I was so focused on what I was doing that they were mere background noise. I took two running steps and my wet socks tripped me. The guard with the revolver didn't see me fall, but saw me when I got back up and ran. I now had my back to all of them and was running as fast as I could, so I don't know what they were doing, but sincerely hoped they were doing what I expected. The only one with a clear shot at me was the guy holding the revolver, which had three rounds left. I knew because I had counted his shots. I was praying he would remember Georgia's policy and not decide to shoot me with his hand gun. I hoped both of the guards would realize they were standing too close to a line of convicts armed with long handled shovels and that their first thought would be for their own safety. If so their first action would be to move back from the others rather than immediately shoot me in the back.
Either that plan worked or something else did because it was thirty long seconds before I heard a shout to stop. I was surprised by this warning since they weren't suppose to give one. The warning gave me a few more seconds, still, it was less than a minute before the first round of double OO buckshot was fired at me. Just before I heard that shot I made a hard right turn in my run. I'm not sure it that moved saved me, but I didn't get hit, nor did I hear the distinctive sound of a projectile passing. More rounds were fired and I continued to make erratic changes in direction. My guess is that 70 seconds after I took my boots off I was in a thin wooded area and relatively safe from being shot for the moment.

I ran for two more minutes before risking my first look back to make sure I wasn't being chased. Not seeing anyone I stopped and removed my paints and shirt. Each of my front pockets held a spoon size portion of black pepper. I turned one pocket out and sprinkled the contents on my t-shirt, then did the same on the pants. I made a feeble effort to hide the pants behind a pine tree, ran twenty feet in a different direction and tossed the shirt as far as I could. I was about to start running again when I heard the worst sound I'd ever heard. Dogs. Impossibly, the dog truck was already on the scene and from the sounds of their braying, the dogs were either on my trail or about to be. I didn't stop to think about it. I ran. I ran as fast and as smart as I could. Much later I would figure out that the dog handler had heard all the shooting and arrived before he was called.

Only a hand full of minutes had passed before I found the type of geographical advantage I needed. The trail I followed through the woods ran roughly along the edge of the large swamp, then ended at a deep but narrow channel. This channel bordered the woods as it made a turn, then flowed deep into the swamp. If I were standing there today and were offered $10,000 to swim across that snake infested swamp channel I wouldn't do it. But in 1979 I was more concerned about the dogs and men with guns behind me than any possible danger the swamp had to offer. I didn't break stride, but ran full speed to the bank of the channel and made a leaping shallow dive. I surfaced near the opposite bank. I hadn't planned this, but without thinking about it I grabbed the long swamp grass and pulled myself up far enough to leave a mark on the muddy bank. To someone on the opposite side it would look like I had left the channel here and went into the swamp. With a false trail laid I slid back into the water. The current was flowing away from my pursuers, so I swam with it.

I was so young when I learned to swim that I have no memory of learning how. Its like I always knew how. I've always been a strong swimmer and at home in the water. Nor was I intimidated by the swamp. As a youngster I'd learned to water ski in a swamp channel like that one, not too far away. As crazy as it might seem for me to run into the swamp, it had been my plan from the beginning. Without the swamp I wouldn't stand a chance of getting away. Those dogs were capable of tracking me through nearly anything, including the swamp, but neither the dogs nor their handlers could follow the path I would lay. One of the things I noticed about the dog truck was that it lacked a john boat. They'd need a boat to follow me. Without a boat they wouldn't be able to cross the channel to realize I'd laid a false trail. The Chatham County Sherriff's department would have a boat, but even then they wouldn't be able to use the dogs in the deep mud. By reaching the swamp I had taken the dogs out of the chase and in doing so had defeated my first and most immediate challenge.

As I swam down the channel and deeper into the swamp I could still hear the dogs behind me, but ignored them to focus on what was next. I'd won the first round but this was far from over. I'd have to survive the next seven hours of daylight without being spotted. If spotted, even from a great distance, they would be able to concentrate their manpower and I'd be caught. Or killed. My most immediate concern was that I didn't allow myself to be seen or leave a trail that could be found. This meant I couldn't stand up in the swamp during daylight. The channel I swam was low with the current tide, but in a few hours it would rise a few feet. Even then I'd be too low to be seen, except from the air. But I wouldn't be able to stay in the water long. I figured a half hour would be the limit of my endurance. Once on the swamp's muddy land I'd have to be extra careful. The swamp had no trees nor vegetation higher than my knee. It was also lower than the surrounding dry land, where they would be waiting and watching. I'd have to stay low. If I so much as raised up to my knees I would risk being seen. As I swam a plan developed. I'd stay in the swamp until dark, then slip into the woods surrounding it. Then I'd travel through the woods through the night. If I made enough distance through the night I could get out side of their immediate search zone. Past this initial search I doubted they would look too hard for me, so I figured if I stayed hidden till dark and didn't make any mistakes through the night I would get away. I became confident I'd get away with it. I'd always been an optimist, but this confidence had a foundation. There was no reason for them to actively search for me tomorrow. I was a small fish and the escape hadn't been a big deal. No one was hurt and all I'd done was to run away. Make it through the night and I would be gone. This time tomorrow I'd be headed to Ohio. Two days from now I'd be able to hold my wife and daughter.

I couldn't have been more mistaken.

*Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! If you like what you read feel free to cast your vote and leave a comment. Dad is going to start responding to all of the comments. It will take a few days as I have to email him and wait his response, but I am looking forward to it!

~Rebecca