As we knew we had come southward from Macon, we felt pretty certain we were in the southwestern corner of the State.
Conversations with guards and others gave us the information that the Chattahooche flowed some two score of miles to the westward, and that the Flint lay a little nearer on the east.

Our map showed that these two united and flowed together into Appalachicola Bay, where, some of us remembered, a newspaper item had said that we had gunboats stationed.
The creek that ran through the stockade flowed to the east, and we reasoned that if we followed its course we would be led to the Flint, down which we could float on a log or raft to the Appalachicola.

This was the favorite scheme of the party with which I sided.

Another party believed the most feasible plan was to go northward, and endeavor to gain the mountains, and thence get into East Tennessee.
But the main thing was to get away from the stockade; this, as the French say of all first steps, was what would cost.
Our first attempt was made about a week after our arrival.

We found two logs on the east side that were a couple of feet shorter than the rest, and it seemed as if they could be successfully scaled.