In a few days word reached North Carolina and Greene and Cocke Counties, Tenn., that a “pilot” would be on hand at a place in the woods on my father-in-law’s farm at a certain date. On the appointed day, one, two and three at a time, they made their appearance. I did not make myself known, but had a man ready to meet them and keep them quiet, for the rebels were all through the country. I knew if they captured me it would be certain death, for they killed every “pilot” they could lay their hands on.
The Union women had been notified when we were to meet, and they had made haversacks and filled them with provisions for their husbands. The mothers and sisters had done the same thing for their sons and brothers who were single.
When the time came at nine o’clock for us to start, I came out and made myself known. There were about a hundred men present, and I had been acquainted with nearly all of them. They were surprised and glad to see me, and I swore in all who wanted to enlist. It was a sad sight. The wives bid their husbands good-bye, net knowing whether they would ever see them again or not, and some of them never did; but they were loyal women and were ready at all times to sacrifice all for their country.
Women in North Carolina and some parts of East Tennessee suffered themselves to be whipped, and everything taken from them, and yet they would not tell where their husbands were. I have known them to cut up the last blanket in the house, to make clothes for their husbands, who were lying out, waiting for a chance to reach the Federal army. The night I left, my wife had cut up a blanket and made for me a shirt and a pair of drawers. All these things go to show what the Union men and women of East Tennessee did to help save this Government when it was in danger of destruction.
We then started on the perilous undertaking, which was more dangerous at that time than upon the previous trip to Kentucky, for men all over East Tennessee had to leave, and the roads and river were guarded. Nearly all the men had old rifles or shotguns that they had rubbed up until they looked like army rifles. We reached the Nola Chucky, about twelve miles from our starting point, about midnight in a violent thunder storm, in the darkest night I had ever witnessed. As the lightning flashed we could see it run along the barrels of the guns. The river was very high, and there seemed to be a general war of the elements.
Each man had been instructed before we started to not speak above his breath, and if possible not to break a stick under foot. We halted in the lane in front of the house occupied by the man who kept the ferry, who was a Union man. His name was Reuben Easterly, six feet and two inches in height. I went to the door and knocked; he was slow to get up, but in a few moments came and opened the door.
Capt. R. A. Ragan Arrested at the School House. See page [8].
I said in a low tone of voice, “One hundred and twenty Union men want to cross the river.”
He hesitated and said, “The river is up, and I am afraid you can’t cross.”