This was Monday, the eighteenth day of our tramp, and we had passed through South Carolina and Georgia, and were near the extreme north-west corner of North Carolina.
We walked about two miles, when we came to the house of the Rev. Mr. Burch. He had been milking and was just going to the house with a pail of milk when we came up and asked if we could get some breakfast there. He gave us a hearty welcome to such fare as they could give us, and invited us into the house. We soon discovered that he was a strong Union man, and, although we did not reveal ourselves to him as Yankees, I believe he at least mistrusted we were. We learned from him that the Union forces had been at Murphy, and when we got across the river from there we would be in Tennessee, where we would be safe, as our forces held the ground there. We had told him that we did not intend to go back into the army, but intended to get inside the Union lines and stay there.
I being a member of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, gave him some signs of that order, which he thought was a clumsily given Masonic sign, and, as he belonged to that fraternity, he tried to test me in the signs of that society. I told him I was not a Mason, but was an Odd Fellow, and he could trust me just as freely as though we both belonged to the same order. He said: “I do trust you, and believe you are all right, but when we express Union sentiments in this section of the country, you know, we do so with a halter around our necks. I have already said and done enough to hang me if it were known to the rebel authorities, and I know they would resort to any trick to trap me into saying or doing something that would convict me of treason to the Confederacy. But I will trust you, though I place my life in your hands by so doing, for God and my own conscience tell me that I am doing right.”
He then gave us explicit directions about getting across the river, near Murphy, which was about twenty miles further. He said it would not do to cross the bridge at that place, as it was guarded night and day; but we could probably find boats above there that we could use in crossing. After breakfast he walked with us a short distance, and bidding us an affectionate good-bye and God speed, he turned back and we pursued our way.
About three miles further on we passed the little hamlet of Fort Emory, where I noticed a Confederate officer sitting on the stoop of the only store in the village. Passing by with a nod and a good morning, we were soon out of sight, and as we felt a little uneasy after this, we walked as rapidly as it was possible in my enfeebled condition.
The country through which we were passing now was mostly woods and sparsely settled. In fact, I think we did not pass but two or three houses in the next ten miles. At that distance from Fort Emory we came to a large house that looked as though it belonged to a well-to-do planter, and seeing the owner out near the road we stopped and asked if we could get some supper. We had as yet said nothing about paying, and he put on a long face when he told us that he had nothing cooked in the house. He was a miserly looking old seed, and thinking a little money might tempt him, I said that we were not particular what it was, but would pay him for any kind of a “snack,” if he could manage to give us something that would stay our stomachs until we got to Murphy.
Mr. Harshaw—for that was his name—thought he might find something if we would wait awhile, till he could go into the house. While we were yet talking two mounted, armed men, came suddenly around a bend in the road, and galloped down to where we were standing, each with a drawn pistol, and a carbine slung over his shoulder. Dick Hancock the Sergeant, asked, to what command do you belong? 32d Georgia I answered. Where are you going? To Murphy to see my sister; giving him a ficticious name. Let me see your pass said he. I felt in my pocket and said, by golly Alban I left those passes in my haversack at Maj. Carters; and then turning to the Sergeant, I explained that we staid at the Major’s last night, and as we intended to go back to-morrow or the next day, we thought we would leave the haversack which was pretty heavy, and our passes were in the haversack.
You can consider yourselves under arrest, said the Sergeant; and told his companion, Tom Hubbard, to dismount and search us. Tom was a very excitable person, and had a habit of spitting about sixty times a minute. He first took a large Morocco pocketbook that I carried in the breast pocket of my coat, and looking over the papers, came across my recruiting authorization paper, which I had received from the Governor, authorizing me to recruit volunteers, for the service of the United States. Tom read this aloud, spitting between each sentence. He read along until he came to the clause above spoken of, when he stopped suddenly and said: “You are a Yankee officer, by thunder!” I laughed and said: “Well, a Yankee could not guess better than that.”
“Well, you are, by jingo.”
“Well, who said I wasn’t?”