While Bob went on a double-quick for his master, the lady ordered me some buttermilk and wheat biscuit. While I was eating, the planter came in.
"Lord bless you, John!" exclaimed the lady, as her husband entered, "here is one of our soldiers, and he has had a fight with the Yankee pickets and has killed three of them! He says he's gwine to walk to Salem after another hoss. I tell him that he's not a-gwine to walk when we've got heaps o' mules! I think any of our soldiers that has killed three Yankees is entitled to a mule to ride!"
"You can have a mule in welcome; there's no occasion for you to walk," said the planter.
"Thank you!" said I, "I am under very great obligations to you for your kindness, but it may not be possible for me to return this way. I will not take a mule, but I am a thousand times obliged to you."
With many blessings from them, and an urgent invitation to call if I returned, I took my departure. When about twelve miles from Grand Junction, I was overtaken by a squad of thirteen rebel cavalry, including one Sergeant, under command of a Lieutenant.
"How are you, boys?" said I, as they came up.
"Fine!" said the Lieutenant. "How do you do?"
"I'm getting pretty near well, I thank you."
"Where do you belong?" he inquired.
"To the 13th Tennessee Infantry, Col. Vaughn's regiment."