"Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?"
"I am in your hands," he replied, without moving a muscle; "you can kill me if you want to; but I have kept the oath of allegiance, and I am innocent of the charges you bring against me."
After some further debate, a Union officer from East Tennessee said.
"He may deserve death, and he probably does. But we are not murderers, and he shall not be shot. I will use my own revolver on anybody who attempts it. Let us hear no more of these taunts. No brave man will insult a prisoner."
It was at last decided to take him to Knoxville. He bore this decision with the same silence he had manifested at the prospect of death.
During this scene Dan was absent. He had gone to the nearest Union house to learn the news, for every loyal family in a range of many hundred miles knew and loved him. We, very weary, lay down to sleep in an old orchard, with our saddles for pillows. Our reflections were pleasant. We were only seventy-nine miles from the Union lines. We progressed swimmingly, and had even begun to regulate the domestic affairs of the border!
An Alarm at Midnight.
Before midnight some one shook my arm. I rubbed my eyes open and looked up. There was Dan Ellis.
"Boys, we must saddle instantly. We have walked right into a nest of Rebels. Several hundred are within a few miles; eighty are in this immediate vicinity. They are lying in ambush for Colonel Kirk and his men. It is doubtful whether we can ever get out of this. We must divide into two parties. The footmen must take to the mountains; we who are riding, and in much greater danger—as horses make more noise, and leave so many traces—must press on at once, if we ever hope to."