When we reached my home my wife came to the door, and did not display any excitement. She was a brave Union woman, and knew that they had a hard customer, and that I would never fight for the Southern Confederacy. I wanted to have a private conversation with my wife, but they refused. I did not know when I would return, for they were killing men by hanging or shooting them every day, and taking others to Tuscaloosa. I just told my wife to go to her father and remain with him until I returned.
I will here relate a little incident that occurred while under arrest that evening, showing the way the rebels treated Union men. My brother-in-law was a rebel, but a nice man personally. He lived on a farm of about one hundred acres, adjoining the farm I lived on, and I can safely say that there was a cross-fence every two hundred yards through his farm, and no bars or gates to go through. I was on foot, and the rebel soldiers put me in front to lay down all these fences for them to pass through, and made me put them up afterward. Of course I obeyed orders, for every man was armed and wanted me to do something that they might have an excuse to shoot me.
When we passed out of the field into the woodland, we had to go through a deep hollow. When we reached the place, it was dark, although in the daytime. About the time we reached the middle of the hollow one of the soldiers, in a low voice, said to another, “Dave, this is a good place!” I listened, expecting to hear the command, “Halt!” but no reply was made to the remark. No one can imagine how I felt. I had just left my wife standing in the door of our little log cabin, watching the soldiers driving me through the field, taking down and putting up all the fences, as heretofore stated; I thought of my mother and my sisters, whom I should probably never see again. This was all in about a minute of time, but it was a terrible minute for me. However, the soldiers continued to drive me along until we came in the evening to the home of Henry Kilgore, the conscript officer, which was about two miles from our home. He took my name, and registered it on the conscript rolls. I was then considered a rebel soldier.
It was dark when we arrived at his house, and we had to remain until morning. There was a bed in the corner of the cabin, and I believe some beds on the second floor. The kitchen was about ten yards from the log cabin. They gave me my supper, but I had little appetite. I had known the conscript officer all my life, but he did not recognize me, and I will speak of him further on.
About eight o’clock I found they were going to have a “hoe-down” that night, and the men and women of the neighborhood were invited to come. They began to arrive about nine o’clock. I pretended to be sleepy, and an officer who was guarding me ordered me to get into the bed in the corner of the cabin. Of course I was under orders, and I crawled in—but no sleep for me.
They had a man with a violin, and commenced dancing, four at a time, face to face—a general hoe-down. They kept their drinks in the kitchen, which they visited often. They began to get tired and commenced singing
“I want some more of your weevilly wheat,
I want some more of your barley.”
They danced and enjoyed themselves by running around in the house after each other, and the women would jump on my bed and trample over me. I thought at times I would be trampled to death, but I was pretty hard to hurt at that time and I was mad to the core.