"Where are who?" asked the landlord.
"The escaped prisoners—the two men that came last night."
"There's a good many came last night. How do you suppose I know which two men you mean?"
"The men we want are escaped prisoners of war—came in last night with a picket guard."
"Oh, yes. Now I know who you mean. Here, Jake, show these gentlemen up to No. 19."
We followed the waiter up to the room. The door opened in answer to our rap, and—Glory Hallelujah! there were Gough and Vliet! To describe the scene is simply impossible. I never was so happy before, and I never expect to be again.
When we had become calm enough to talk, the mystery of our separation was solved. At the time we halted in the brush to investigate the noise made by the hog, Vliet, as the reader will recollect, was followed by Hatcher. It so happened that Hatcher stopped near a white stump. When Hatcher started on, Vliet mistook the white stump for him, and thus did not notice our forward movement or follow us.
After a considerable time, while he waited in silence, he discovered his mistake. The two then started after us, as nearly as they could guess at the direction we had taken, and unfortunately missed us. When we went back to look for them, we must have passed each other in the brush. They had taken a more northerly direction than we followed, and reached our lines at Chattanooga one day after our arrival at Calhoun.
All the members of our party were together once more. Our desperate attempt had been successful. We had traversed over three hundred miles in the heart of the South; pierced the Confederate egg, from shell to shell. Our trials were over, and we were on our way home.