"I have been out to Somerville, and beyond toward Bolivar, to see some friends."
"Yes, Bolivar," cried the old man; "the d—d rascal has just come from Bolivar, and there is where he belongs. I tell you, Colonel, I know him; I know that he is a Yankee spy."
"Well, if you know him to be a Yankee spy, I'll shoot him." (Addressing me, and drawing his revolver and cocking it:) "Get off from your mule."
I dismounted, and one of the soldiers led my mule to one side, and the crowd opened behind me. The excitement was intense, and the crowd dense, and, in its excitement, it swayed to and fro like an angry mob, and cries went up from every direction, "Hang him!" "Shoot him!" "Shoot the d—d rascal!" I can not picture the horror that filled me. In all that vast multitude, there was not a friendly eye to witness my doom. To escape was utterly impossible! Die I must by the hands of traitors, and my fate be wrapped in oblivion to my comrades and relatives! The color left my face and a cold tremor crept over me, and such indescribable sensations filled me as makes me shudder at this when I think of it.
Just then Doctor Biggs, surgeon of the 4th Tennessee Infantry, stepped out of the drug store to learn the cause of the excitement. As he came out, he saw me and recognized me as the Confederate spy that had been captured by the Federal pickets near his house, and who had eaten breakfast with him.
"Colonel, you are gwine to shoot the wrong man thar," said the doctor. "I know that ar man, and I know who he is and whar he belongs. He is no Yankee spy."
"I know that he is a Yankee spy," said the old man.
"I know better," said the doctor; "and if you kill him, you kill the wrong man. You ar not a gwine to find out his business; and if you kill him, he'll not tell you. I know that he is all right. I have seen him in a tighter place than he is in now." Then stepping to the soldier that held my mule, he snatched the bridle out of his hand, and, turning to me, he said: "Here, take your mule; they are not a gwine to shoot you." Then turning to the Colonel, and stamping his foot on the ground, he said: "You are not a gwine to shoot that man, for I know that he is all right!"
"Well, doctor, if you know that he is all right, and are willing to vouch for him, I'll let him go."
"I will vouch for him, for I know who he is." Then turning to me, he said: "Get on your mule and go about your business; they are not a gwine to hurt you."