Ellis and Treadaway listened to them with a quiet smile. The perils ahead did not disturb our serenity, because they were so much lighter than the perils behind. We had left horrors to which all future possibilities were a mercy. We had looked in at the windows of Death, and stood upon the verge of the Life To Be. We doubted not that the difficulties were greatly magnified, and all dangers looked infinitesimal, along the path leading toward home and freedom.
Among those who went back was a North Carolina citizen, accompanied by a little son, the child of his old age. Reluctant to trust himself again to the tender mercies of the Rebels, he was unaccustomed to the war-path, and decided to return to the ills he had, rather than fly to others which he knew not of. Purchasing one of his horses, I was no longer dependent upon the kindness of Ellis and his comrades for a steed.
Before noon we started, following secluded valley paths. The rain ceased and the day was pleasant. At a Union dwelling we came upon the hot track of eight guerrillas, who had been there only an hour before. The Rebel-hunting instinct waxed strong within Dan, and, taking eight of his own men, he started in fierce pursuit, leaving Treadaway in charge of the company.
Before dark we reached Kelly's Gap, camping in an old orchard, beside a large farm-house with many ample out-buildings. The place was now deserted. One of our guides explained:
"A Union man lived here, and he was hanged last year upon that apple-tree. They cut him down, however, before he died, and he fled from the country."
Tying our horses to the trees, we parched corn for supper. Fires were kindled in the buildings, giving the place a genial appearance as night closed in.
A Rebel Prisoner Brought In.
After dark, Dan and his comrades returned. The whole party of guerrillas had very narrowly escaped them. They captured one, and brought him in a prisoner. One of the out-buildings was cleared, and he was placed in it, under two volunteer guards armed with rifles. He was not more than twenty-two years old, and had a heavy, stolid face. He steadily denied that he was a guerrilla, asserting that he had been in the Rebel army, had deserted from it, taken the oath of allegiance to the United States while at Knoxville, and was now trying to live quietly.
Some of Ellis's men believed that he had broken his oath of allegiance, and was the most obnoxious of the guerrillas. In his presence they discussed freely the manner of disposing of him. Some advocated taking him to Knoxville, and turning him over to the authorities. Others, who seemed to be a majority, urged taking him out into the orchard and shooting him. This counsel seemed likely to prevail. Several of the men who gave it had seen brothers or fathers murdered by the Rebels.
The prisoner had little intelligence, and talked only when addressed. I could but admire the external stolidity with which he listened to these discussions. One of his judges and would-be executioners asked him: