When he left me I returned to the road, but came to three horses hobbled down, which, no doubt, belonged to the picket behind, and had to make another circuit to avoid driving them before me. Then I pressed on, hoping that some good chance, if not providence, might bring me to the steep banks of the Tennessee. Yet I was not sanguine, for the country was more open and level than I expected to find in the vicinity of the river. Very many miles—possibly a score, or even more, for my pace was rapid—were passed in this manner, but at last my visions began to fade. I was sorry to see them go, for they seemed like a good omen, and they had been cheerful companions. When the last form of beauty disappeared the chill horror of my situation froze into my veins; my strange strength also passed gradually away. I would find myself staggering along almost asleep,—would wander a short distance from the road to a secluded spot, throw myself on the flooded ground, and be instantly asleep,—then, in a few moments, awaken, almost drowned by the pitiless rain, and so weary, cold, and benumbed that I could scarcely rise and plod onward.
Thus the latter part of that dreary night wore on. It seemed an age of horror, and places a shuddering gulf between my present life and the past. At length the cold gray dawn of a clouded morning broke through the weeping sky. Day brought no relief. I had not yet any guide, and had not stumbled on the Tennessee. I feared to make inquiries. Every one I saw seemed a foe. Still, I did not avoid them, or leave the road for any great distance. Slowly a new plan formed itself in my mind, for, if the rain and clouds continued, I despaired of working my way to our lines. What this plan was will appear in due time. It will be enough to say here that I did not now think a capture would be fatal, if once far enough away from the place where the train was abandoned, to plausibly deny all knowledge of that raid. I hardly thought it possible that I could endure another day and night alone in the woods. To prepare for all emergencies, I carefully washed all traces of that terrible night from my clothes. The wet would not matter, for the falling rain accounted perfectly for that.
It was Sabbath morning, but it came not to me with the blessed calmness and peace that accompany it in my own far-off Ohio. I realized how sweet those Sabbath hours and Sabbath privileges had been, which I had never valued before. I saw the people going to church, and longed to go with them. Of course this was impossible, but with the thought came more of a feeling of worship and of desire for God's protection than I had ever known before. In that hour I believe His blessed Spirit was calling me; but I soon turned my mind in another direction, preferring to plan for my own deliverance, and to arrange the stories I would tell if arrested, or if I ventured to any house for food, as would soon be necessary.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE ENEMY'S POWER.
But I will dwell no longer on the miseries of this dreary morning. Its hours went tediously by, marked by no special incidents till about noon. Just beyond Lafayette, Georgia, I was observed by some one on the watch for strangers. A party of pursuit numbering twenty or thirty was at once organized. I knew nothing of my danger till they were within fifty yards, when I heard them calling for me to stop.
A single glance showed my helplessness. I laid my hand instinctively on my revolver, but knew that fight was useless. Neither was flight possible. The country was open and I was too weary to run, even if some of the party had not been mounted and others armed with rifles and shot-guns. It was time to see what could be made of my plans carefully contrived for just such an emergency. Therefore, making a virtue of necessity, I turned round and demanded what they wanted, though I knew only too well. They said courteously enough that they wanted to talk with me awhile. Soon they came up, and a brisk little man who had the epaulets of a lieutenant, but whom they called "Major," began to ask questions. He was very bland, and apologized profusely for interrupting me, but said if I was a patriotic man (as he had no doubt I was) I would willingly undergo a slight inconvenience for the good of the Confederacy. I endeavored to emulate his politeness, begging him to proceed in the performance of his duty, and assuring him that he would find nothing wrong. He searched me very closely for papers, and examined my money and pistol, but found no ground for suspicion.
He next asked me who I was, where I came from, and where I was going. I expected all these questions in about that order, and answered them categorically. I told him I was a citizen of Kentucky, of Fleming County, who had become disgusted with the tyranny of the Lincoln government, and was ready to fight against it; that I came to Chattanooga, but would not enlist there because most of the troops were conscripts, and the few volunteers very poorly armed. I told him where I had lodged in Chattanooga, and many things about the troops there, using all the knowledge I had acquired of that character while riding on the cars to Marietta the preceding Friday. I had also heard many words of praise spoken of the First Georgia Regiment, and now told the major that I wished to join that noble organization. This flattered his State pride, but he asked me one question more,—why I had not gone directly to Corinth, where the First Georgia was, without coming to Lafayette, which was far out of the way. The question conveyed much information, as I did not before know that I was near Lafayette, or out of the road from Chattanooga to Corinth. I answered as well as I could by alleging that General Mitchel was said to be at Huntsville, and that I was making a circuit around to avoid the danger of falling into his hands.
This seemed to be perfectly satisfactory to the little man, and, turning to the attentive crowd, he said,—