In Defense of the Flag: A true war story A pen picture of scenes and incidents during the great rebellion.--Thrilling experiences during escape from southern prisons, etc.

A True War Story. We did not get clear through to our friend John’s, but stopped after traveling about twenty-five miles or so. There were mile posts along this road, so that we could tell how far we were traveling in a day or night. After the second day had passed it found us again on the third night eating hard corn from the cob, as we had often done before, when it was not good for us to let ourselves be known along the way. We made up our minds to get to where John Coltraines lived this night if we could, for our old friend who had given us the direction of his abode, told us if we could only find him he would help us through to our lines without any trouble. We started with the full determination of getting through to our lines this night if the Lord was willing, and until midnight had past we had got out of the way and let squads of rebels pass and repass along the way and still we had made some headway. After about the midnight hour I had stopped several times to make some inquiries as to where John Coltraines lived, without apparently any success. I had also asked for hoecake, and in return I had a double-barreled gun pointed through the door at me. This kind of fare we had been receiving all along the way. Never on our whole journey did fate seem to be so much against us as it did at this place, for we had not obtained a bite to eat for most three days, except the first. I had began to get quite jealous of my dear friend Henry, for I had been stopping to enquire the way and he had not stopped, running the chances of being shot at, and I began to find fault, as every jealous person will, with my very best friend and comrade that I believe I ever met in this wide world. I do believe if I should meet him and he had but five dollars he would divide with me, and when Henry heard me talk to him about his being a little cowardly he felt very bad, and told me through his tears that he was no coward if I did think he was. This sad talk, and with such feeling, broke me up, and I caught my grieved old comrade by the hand and wanted him to forgive me for this unkind talk, which I promised would never again happen, and I wish to thank God that it never did. Henry was determined that he would show me that he was no coward and he told me that he meant to stop at the very next house. Now we had been told by our guide that we must not stop at William Coltraines’, or “Bill,” as he was commonly called, for he was captain of the rebel home guards, or of a band of guerillas. We had gotten very close to where John Coltraines lived, and it was best that we should go slow, as we had been told about the barn which was a very large one, on the west side of the road, and the big wood colored house on the other side located on a raised lawn. Several steps of square blocks led up to the house. We came to this place, and Henry, not heeding my warning, at once started up these steps. I continued to call to him to stop, but he would not. He went to the large piazza and knocked on the door. I still called to him, but he did not heed, so determined was he that he would demonstrate to me that he was no coward. I could see very plainly that this was the very house we had been warned not to stop at, yet Henry continued to knock. There was a gruff voice heard, which I will never forget until my dying day, asking who was there. Henry told him that it was a friend. He was not satisfied, but still insisted on knowing who it was. Then Henry inquired where John, his own brother, lived. The old captain told him he would soon let him know where he lived, so he came to the door and shoved out a double-barreled shot gun, and before poor Henry had time to dodge, shoved my poor comrade and friend to the ground. I thought when he struck the ground that he had been killed, but soon he rose to his feet and pleaded for the rebel to spare his life. Just at this moment I rushed up to the top of the lawn, or stone steps, when he caught sight of me, and just as he was about to level his gun on me I dropped backward and struck on all fours at the bottom of the steps. Just as I did so Henry took advantage of the situation and hurried behind the house. He ran clear around and down through a cane field in the direction we had been going, and as soon as I could gain my feet I started down the road as fast as my legs could carry me. The rebel by this time was also at the road side and sent another shot after me. The first shot came very close. Just as I fell to the ground the rebel turned his fire on my comrade just as he turned the corner of the house. Now as soon as the second shot was fired at me he hastened to the barn, no doubt to get some steed with which to pursue us. Just then there seemed to be a great stir at that plantation house. My desire was to again get with Henry, and stopping, I placed my fingers to my mouth and whistled the third brigade call. At the time of Henry’s capture he was despatch carrier for our brigade and also the bugler of our regiment. Now I had learned to give the call on my fingers. This is the call in words: “Dan, Dan Butterfield! Butterfield, get up you poor devil as quick as you can, and when you get tired I will rest you again.” This repeated in the first words on a horn or whistle is very interesting to anyone who has ever heard the call. Now to whistle this call right in the face of an enemy seemed a hard task, but it had to be done. Soon there came an answer, and within five minutes we were again on our way, but the thought of ever meeting with John Coltraines was now abandoned. We had to change our course and leave this road, never to travel it again. We struck out to the west of this road, the road, as I have stated, running north and south. We made as good time as we could in order to reach a forest that seemed to lay off to the west. By this time it was now well on toward two o’clock in the morning. We succeeded in getting into a thick swampy region which we had every reason to believe saved our lives, for from the sounds we heard we came to the conclusion that we were being looked after in this swamp, and that it was no desirable place to be in. It was a very bad quagmire swamp, with moss hanging from the trees, and a bad place to stop in at night, let alone the day. For the next few days and nights, without a smell of meat or hoecake, or any such thing, except hard corn, we had nothing more to eat, and our company day and night was moccasin snakes and other rattling and hissing reptiles. Still we traveled, not fearing the wild animals as much as we did the rebels with their horns and hounds. Well, I must say that, young as I was at that time, it was one of the worst and most dreary times in the lines of life’s pages. To even contemplate it now seems almost like a dream. Well, after sleeping and traveling almost night and day continually—cloudy weather some of the time and lost some of the time—we finally came out where there was a large plantation on this Shelterford road some sixty miles from where I had been shot at and to which I had been directed by hearing the dancing of two small negroes and the patting and singing of a large negro in one of the negro huts. Here we stopped and ate the last meal together and the last night that we ever traveled together in this southern country. Oh, how sad it makes me feel when I think back of the lonely nights that we both spent, traveling the balance of our journey! Well, as I was speaking of our last meal together: It was at the supper of two rebel bushwhackers, and these two rebels who were staying at this rebel plantation were men who would shoot down a poor fleeing prisoner on sight, and this made us uneasy to get away. This darkey had placed in the fire, in an old-fashioned fire place, a mess of large sweet potatoes for us to carry along with us, as he told us, but this he did intending to keep us until the two rebel guerillas came in on us. We had told this negro how well the old Quaker had used us during our stay with him, and I think that this darkey took advantage of this to fool us in telling us that one of these men staying here was a Quaker and he did not know what the other was. He seemed to be so uneasy that it aroused us, and we had just arose to go when the gate opened in front of the hut and the two little black darkies slipped out unbeknown to us. They had taken with them a ham that Henry carried along with him. Just at this time we did not know what to do, for an instant, but I had learned that my dear comrade was no coward, for here he showed the bravest thing that I had witnessed in a long time. I told the darkey that if he told of our whereabouts as we crawled under the bed, that we would kill him if it was the last thing we ever did. What my dear comrade did and which was his last brave act was to tell me to crawl under the bed and leave all to him. He thought he could get us out of the trouble all right. The two little darkies had already told the rebels of our eating up their supper, and one of these rebels, it seemed, went to the old planter’s house for a double-barreled shot gun and the other rebel came into the negro cabin. Now this cabin was like all other plantation huts. It had one door and one window on the east side, in the former of which a rebel stood, and a fire place in the north end, made of stone and sticks and daubed with red clay, and in the corner at the foot of the bed was a ladder. Between this ladder, close to the straw cot, lay my comrade, and just as soon as the rebel commenced to ask the negro what was the matter, and the darkey standing in the middle of the hut with mouth wide open, Henry arose to his feet and spoke to the rebel, bidding him good evening. It took the rebel so much by surprise it seemed as though poor Henry could have snatched one of his weapons from his scabbard and shot him with one of his own guns, but it seemed that the Lord had another way for us to get out of this dilemma. Henry was trying to find his cane that he had left in the corner that he might surprise the rebel still more, but the little darkies had made way with it. So after the first surprise the rebel began to think of his weapons, and drew them for the first time, asking Henry where he was going. Henry told him he was going north to a large river that we expected to cross. “Well,” said the rebel, “how many are there of you?” Henry told him there were two of us. Oh, how uneasy I was at this time, under a bed in a negro hut, betrayed, and, as I thought, almost in the jaws of death! Still he asked Henry where the other fellow was, and Henry told him I was out in the road. The rebel told Henry to go out and tell me to come in and he would fix him in about a minute. This was what Henry desired—to get out once for a start—so he went right off in a southern direction, and just as soon as the rebel started after him I got out of the hut as soon as I could. The darkey tried to stop me, but with one swing of my club I placed him out of my way. When I got to the road fence the rebels saw me running in the opposite direction. I made for the timber in a north-easterly direction as fast as I could, and very soon there was heard the blast of horns and the baying of hounds in pursuit of me. Oh, how gloomy and heart sick I was to find myself separated from my comrade, with hounds and rebels in pursuit of me. It must at this time have been about one o’clock in the morning. Soon thereafter it began to rain very hard. All at once the hounds came upon me, but they did not seem to be as fierce as the blood hounds of Andersonville. Shortly the blast of the horns ceased, and the hounds stopped following us. This was the last of our being together. Now, my travel the balance of the way to our lines, of over four hundred miles, was alone, and a sad and lonely journey it proved to be. Well, I have learned from Henry what he did after he ran south. The poor boy came back to the negro shanty after it sat in and commenced to rain, to find out, if he could, whether the rebels had captured me, or had, as he thought, shot me, for as he made away they turned their attention to me, and he heard them shoot at me as I left the negro shanty. Henry came back to this shanty. The negro had drank an apple jack and was so drunk in consequence that Henry could not wake him, although he hammered him with his cane. He then went to the encampment of a large band of guerillas, and here he whistled on his fingers the call of the brigade which we belonged to until he aroused the whole encampment. Well, dear reader, it is very seldom that one comrade will do this for another. On the banks of the Big Peedee river, after we had swam this stream three times in one day, and each time I had carried poor Henry on a cane across my left shoulder, we pledged ourselves that we would not forsake each other in life or in death. Now I remained in this timber, thinking that Henry might come this way and we would again get together, but I was destined to disappointment, though I continued to make the call on my fingers, yet did not give up in despair. If I had I could not have written this simple narrative. Well, I must hasten along. I lay by a good part of the next day in this forest. Then I kept on in a northern direction until I came to the river that Henry spoke to the rebel of. Now while crossing this river I had since learned that Henry and I might have gotten together again if we had only known each other, for below me, as I was told the story, there was a rebel, to all appearances, crossing the river about one hundred rods distant. We both told the same story, only he allowed the rebel was just such a distance above him, and right here, if we had understood, we could have gotten together again, but it seems our lives still laid apart from each other. I am in hopes that we may meet some day—if not in this world, that we will in the world to come. Praise God! My mind is continually trusting in Him that He will keep me in the truth in this narrative. Now, as I continue the sad tale of my life, I would not like to rehearse the tale that Henry revealed to me of his escape in an endeavor to get through to our lines after he left me. He had gone south a short distance and had come back to the plantation, not finding any clue as to my whereabouts. He had crossed the river, which I have already mentioned. He then concluded to go east, in the direction of Richmond, for he had learned that it was a great deal less distance to travel to get through to our lines in this way than to go west to Knoxville, Tenn. So he continued to travel for several days until he came to a plantation where there was no one at home. He said that he succeeded in getting into the plantation house, but he did not find anything to eat of any account. He found a ten dollar bill in an old pair of pants that he took possession of. He then continued to travel for some distance in the day-time, as well as night, and finally came to a small place where there was a log hut, and located in this hut was an old man, working at shoemaking. He went to the door of this hut and here he found, to his amazement, three rebels in full uniform, who invited him in, but he declined to go in, and remained at the door of the hut. There was some corn in a pile close to the door, and he got some of it and put it in the fire that was close at hand, and as soon as he stepped inside to help himself to the parched corn the enemy tried to get between him and the door, but he kept them back with a large club that he carried in his hands. These rebels, it seemed, had not brought any arms with them. Well, soon Henry left this place and went right back in a piece of woods in the same direction from whence he had come, and just as soon as he could he went straight back to the same house and this old man’s yard. He had a large rooster and some chickens running about. He killed the rooster and gave the old man the ten dollar Confederate bill and stayed right there, while the rebels took his back track. Henry started as soon as the old man had stewed this fowl for him. The only other incident that I remember was getting through the rebel picket lines on the James River, near Richmond, and his making a signal of distress to a gunboat and their coming ashore and getting him, while on the high banks there were lines of rebel pickets that he had succeeded in getting through. He was taken into our lines at City Point, and here he reported that he thought the rebels had killed me at the negro shanty. This story my comrade had told the captain of my company about and he had sent this word to my parents at home. I will continue my story. As I have already told you, dear reader, my journey lay in a northwesterly direction from Florence prison, and at the negro shanty where we were separated it was very much nearer to our lines at Richmond than it was to Knoxville, Tenn., but while we were together we thought it was more difficult than to try to get to our lines at Knoxville, but after we were separated Henry made up his mind to try the nearest point. So I continued on my sad and lonely journey, not knowing what there was in store for me. If I had known what was going to befall me, it is possible this story would never have been written. After I left the river and continued my journey I was now nearing the lines of West Virginia and the Blue Ridge mountains. I traveled a good many dark nights after I came in sight of the Blue Ridge before I came to them, and such nights—laying in swamps and the loneliest places that I could find—to avoid being discovered, and eating raw sweet potatoes and hard corn. It was very seldom I stopped to ask for anything to eat until I was starved into doing so. Oh, how often since have I learned to put all my faith in God! I have frequently thought of the passage of scripture where the Saviour said the foxes have holes and the birds have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head. How much I feel at this time that this was truly my condition. Soon I felt as I neared the mountains, and at this time near the lines of West Virginia, that I must have something besides the stuff that I had been subsisting on or I would have to give up. I finally came to an old deserted house and at this time there was snow on the ground, some two or three inches deep. Then imagine a poor starved skeleton, weighing less than one hundred pounds, traveling the forests and swamps without anything but a pair of drawers and an old shirt; no hat or cap, no shoes, nothing but old rags tied around the feet, thinking of home and its warm fireside. Well, dear reader, this was my sad plight! As I was saying, I had stopped at an old plantation to look around. Soon I saw a man about half a mile away toward the mountains, gathering corn from the field, with an old gray horse. I made myself known to him, for by this time I was getting very weak, not having had anything to eat since Henry and I had been separated at the negro shanty. If I remember right, there had been at least a week, if not better, since I had tasted food. When I got to the old man I gave him to understand that I was a fugitive and was on my way to Ash county, West Virginia. My way and manner of talking was not like that of the people here, so the old man told me he reckoned that I was a Yank from Salsbury prison, but he seemed to receive me so kindly that I told him who I was after he had told me that most of the people there were Union folks. This he did to win my confidence. Oh, how sorry I was as soon as I went to the house, for the old lady was, I believe, the hardest looking old woman, with a Roman nose, and such eyes I never saw, as she glared on me when I uttered the word that we were rebels. Here there was a son about thirty years old, seated in a chair, who was a sad sight, for he appeared to be perfectly helpless and he would repeat just like some parrot the same words, “Yes, we are rebels here,” and how simple he seemed to act. Now the old man told the old lady to give me some hoecake if there was any and he at this time showed his true colors, for he told me that there was a company being raised and I had better wait and eat some hoecake until he would return, and I would get a good suit of rebel gray, worth thirty or forty dollars a suit, and fifty dollars bounty. On saying this he left me, and jumping on the back of the old gray horse went off on the run to a small town four miles to the west and south of his place. This old man, I think, told me that he was eighty years old. As soon as he was gone I told the old lady if there was any hoecake in the house that I must have it. She still insisted that they were rebels and had nothing for a Yankee. Then I told her that I would have to help myself, for I was determined to have something to eat or die in the attempt. I had almost become mad on account of going so long and having so little to subsist on. You see the harvest had gone by and the cold, bleak rains and some snow would fall every few days. Now, kind reader, comes one more sad incident of my experience in life. I had finally started for the cupboard, when the old lady told me that she would give me some hoecake, and that I must not try to go until “Pa” came home, and if I did she would have to stop me. I sat and ate the corn cake, which was done very soon, and then I started for the door. It seemed so strange that every time the old lady would say anything the poor crippled young man would repeat most everything his poor old mother would say. When I started to go to the door the old lady stepped between me and the door and I told her if she did not step aside that I would have to use force enough to put her aside, for go I must. She had in her hand a fire poker and I felt afraid that I would have to war with a poor old woman. I told her that go I must, and she stepped aside, sending curses after me. I must say right here that I had at last reached the Blue Ridge mountains, or at least this old man’s place was less than half a mile from the foot of the mountains. Just before I could reach the foot of these mountains I had to cross a large, deep stream. I found that I could not get anything to cross on, though I looked diligently for a boat, and to cross a stream some one hundred rods or so across at such a time of year as it was then meant something. Believing it meant death or capture by the rebels, who would soon be on my trail, I nerved myself for this perilous undertaking. This was surely one of the coldest baths that I had ever before experienced. Now before me was one of the worst things that I had ever encountered in all my life, for if any of the readers of this story ever have been near the Blue Ridge mountains they know that unless a person finds a trail to cross the mountains with it is almost an impossibility to get over them. I knew nothing of any trail and knew from all appearances, and from what I could hear, that bloodhounds would soon be in pursuit of me, so I commenced to climb the side of the steep, rugged mountains, several hundred feet in height, which seemed to be almost perpendicular. After I had climbed for a long way up I could hear the hounds in pursuit of me way below, but I was sure that I had climbed where no human foot had ever been before. Well, I did not dare to look back. This reminds me of the time when two certain people were commanded to flee and not to look back. My position reminded me of those two. You cannot imagine my feelings when I would get hold of some large bush that grew in the crevices of the rocks to have them give way and seem as though they would tear loose and let me fall some three or four hundred feet below. Now, to tell the whole truth, dear reader, it was over half a mile or more, and nearly perpendicular. The hounds could not climb after me, and once more I was satisfied that I had escaped another Southern hell, or I might say, death. But what is death if the soul is in God’s care? Well, praise God, it does seem that His hand was with me and is still with me in this last sketch of my life. Still I continued to climb the mountain side until I got on top of one of the highest points before I dared to look down, and oh, what a sight you never have had, dear reader, being several thousand feet above the common level. Looking down you would be surprised at your enormous height. I must say that I believe I had climbed at least two thousand feet. At last I had gotten to where it was not so steep, yet it was still quite a distance from the top of the Blue Ridge mountains. After I had traveled some distance further I finally found it to be quite difficult to make much headway on a strange mountain, and that after night, and if, dear reader, you have ever been on any mountain you will find it more or less uneven and hard to climb, even in the daytime. As I still continued to travel along, I soon came to a place which seemed impossible for me to get over. It was a very deep gorge or a cut, which seemed to be at least eighty or ninety feet from top to bottom, and over ten yards across. On either side it seemed to be perfectly straight up and down. Well, after some thought, I climbed down on what seemed to be a tall spruce tree, and after I got down in the bottom I found a stream of cold water which seemed to be running in the direction from which I had come. Here I was right under the solid rocks and in a cave immediately underneath from where I had climbed down. I had a curious desire, though it was very dark in this cave, to go in and see how far it extended under the rocks. I thought how much I would have given at this time for a torch. Upon the impulse of the moment, I started into this cave and wandered for several rods. I continued for some distance. I had several times stepped from side to side of this cave and fell on the slippery and slimy stones in the bottom. There were many leaves that would rustle under my feet, and, oh, the many thoughts that would pass through my mind of some deep, unknown space that I might step off into, fall on the rocks and be killed. And if I should lie down to sleep and never awaken again! Such thoughts would crowd themselves upon my mind until I finally concluded to go back and climb another tree on the other side of the chasm. As I turned to go, to my surprise I heard, further back in the cave, a hoarse growl. This seemed to come closer, and if ever anyone needed help it seemed I needed it just now, for I could see two bright orbs or eyes looking right at me, and it seemed that every minute that what I had at this time encountered would soon bounce upon me. I continued to look right at the object until I had backed myself nearly to the mouth of the cave, and I soon got out on the opposite side by climbing another tall evergreen. After having crossed these mountains and gotten on the other side I met with a West Virginian. He told me that he had been for many years an old trapper, and had killed bears in this part of the mountains that weighed fully four hundred pounds. Now, it might be if I had stayed in that cave that this tale would never have been written. I continued to travel until I came to a large farm on the top of this mountain, a farm of over one hundred acres, and all cleared. It seemed so funny to find a large farm away on top of such a large and high mountain. I went up to the house and found it to be very large and black in color, which had a large, old-fashioned, fire-place, made of stone and sticks. There was but one door and one window, but it was a large house. The roof ran very low on the north side, and on the south side was the door and window. I went to this door and looked in the window and saw three or four pairs of cavalry boots, with spurs attached to them, sitting by the fire-place on the hearth. I made up my mind that it was best not to disturb these folks, for I did not like the looks of those boots and spurs. I went around the house and found on the north side a mess of shelves and on them quite a number of old-fashioned crocks all full of nice sweet milk. I drank a sup of it and then went on and looked for a mountain trail that I knew must lead down off this mountain somewhere. Soon I found it and followed it until I arrived in the village below. I went but a very short distance before I came to a log house, and found myself so hungry and faint that I had to call on the occupants of this house for a bite to eat. This night’s travel had been well spent in getting over the mountains thus far. I went up to the door rather tremblingly and knocked for admittance, when a kind old man came to the door. I told him what I desired and he invited me into his house. This was about two o’clock in the morning. This proved to be one more hard spent night of travel. The whole family, composed of a very kind wife and a daughter, got up and in a very short time had a good breakfast. We all sat down and ate. It was about half past three o’clock. I told these people that I wished to go as soon as possible. I told them in as few words as possible how I had suffered and about the perilous times that I had experienced. He now told me that he had hunted in the mountains that I had just crossed and told about killing bears that weighed over four hundred pounds. Now when we all had eaten, I started again on my journey, and I felt anxious to get away, for I had great encouragement that I would soon get to our lines. As we parted, after so short a stay, the kind old lady and her daughter shook hands with me and bade me God speed. The kind old gentleman went with me some distance from their place to direct me to the line of Tennessee. Now this kind old man told me to keep in line with the Blue Ridge mountains and to keep them to my left and follow the Chestnut Ridge, along in range with the Blue Ridge. He told me to be sure and not leave this Ridge, and it would bring me to what was called the Iron and Doe mountain. This mountain I would have to cross in order to get into our lines in Tennessee. So after a kind greeting and a wish for God’s speed he parted with me. I have often wished that I could have kept a diary of the names of the people who had befriended me on my journey. How many times have I thought of God’s hand being in my travels. I was instructed to be sure and keep in range of the mountains—that is, the Blue Ridge—and I would be sure to go all right. As I have said before, I had no intention of doing any traveling in the daytime. Thus far it had all been done nights, but after the old man left me and I had got on the Chestnut Ridge I found some of the largest chestnuts that I ever saw in my life. So I thought that I would pick up some of them and carry them along with me, and as I was doing so I heard a man down in the valley calling hogs, and it seemed as though he was looking in the direction I was in. He seemed to be armed with a gun, so I got on the other side of the ridge and hurried along for some distance, when I again stopped where the nuts seemed to be very thick, when I looked up to find the object of my pursuit holding his gun on me and not over thirty rods away. This was the first time that I had been caught in so close a place. I had now got some five or six hundred miles from Florence prison. As soon as I saw the rebel I thought I would run. Then I started to walk very fast, and it seemed that he would soon shoot me, judging from the way he acted. So I turned and spoke to him, and he told me that he reckoned he would have shot me if I had not stopped. We sat on an old log and talked for a long time, and I must say that this was the first time in my life that I ever talked politics, but it seemed as though I never had such power of speech before, for I told this rebel plainly that the South had seceded and rebelled from the best government on earth, and if Jeff Davis was hung that the war would close. The rebel would say the same about our martyred Lincoln, and at last this rebel home guard, or guerilla, told me that I would have to go with him. This seemed hard after having suffered what I had to get away from those rebel hell pens to be taken back. It discouraged me so much that I concluded to die rather than go where he would turn me over to any home guards, for I knew it meant almost certain death to any Yankee to be retaken after trying to get away from prison. Oh, how I plead for him to let me go, and told him no one would ever know except God if he did. I plead as I never plead before in all my life, and shed fountains of tears, but still it seemed all in vain. The rebel told me that he would have to take me to a home guard about four miles distant, and he ordered me to get up and go with him. Now when I saw that my entreaties would not prevail, I concluded that I would get away from him some way or die in the attempt. So I pretended to be very lame and could hardly go, and as we traveled along told him that I would still live in hopes of getting through to our lines and to friends. He allowed me to walk a little in his rear, and still sobbing and pleading for him to let me go. I had my mind made up to get his gun out of his left hand as he seemed to be trailing it along and to brain him and get away and leave his carcass on the Chestnut Ridge to feed the fowls, or to be found by some other home guards. Now, as I was contemplating this and still pleading for him to let me go, having already attempted to reach his gun, I spoke of my poor old mother, who was waiting at her sad fireside, after losing one of her boys in the Battle of the Wilderness, and whose bones were lying in the Alexandria cemetery, and who died before he was sixteen years old. When I spoke of this and my poor suffering mother at home it seemed to break him up and he turned around just as I was about to make the final attempt to snatch his gun. He looked very pale, and, sobbing, told me that he had a good mother once who used to pray for her wayward boy, but she was gone now. He said: “If you will promise not to tell who you are or where you came from we will go down to that house in the valley and get something to eat and you can go,” and then it was that my heart was lifted, for I could see that he meant what he said. Still I continued to be very careful not to trust him too far. Well, we went to the house and found two nice looking women there, one weaving the sheep’s gray cloth, and they asked me very kindly where I came from. I told them that I was only a refugee. That was all my guide allowed me to tell. Now the food that was set on the table for me to eat was something immense. The good hostess sat on the table one full old-fashioned gallon crock of milk and a nice dish of butter, a bowl of nice apple sauce, a plate of biscuits and a loaf of corn bread. Oh, how, I thought of my own home as I sat eating. It seemed that I never would get through. They all sat and gazed at me while I ate, and after eating nearly all that there was on the table—at least nearly a whole gallon of milk, and most all that I have mentioned—the rebel came to me and placed his hand on my shoulder and told me that he reckoned I had better stop eating if I did not want to kill myself. The two ladies of the house looked sadly after me when I started off, and as soon as we got out of the house the rebel told me to keep straight east and that I need not be afraid to stop anywhere. I concluded that he wanted some one else to take me, but did not go a mile before turning to the northwest, the same direction I had traveled all the way when the stars were my only guide. Henry and I had found on an old southern map where Knoxville, Tenn., lay from Florence prison. I had not gone over half a mile when I began to get sick, and I vomited all that I had eaten. It seemed as though it would kill me, eating so much milk and apple sauce. It caused gas in my poor, weak stomach. It came on foul, cold and rainy weather and traveling without the guide of the stars was very difficult. I traveled for several nights and parts of days, to find myself back to the very house that I had left, and to my joy found them good Union folks. The women received me kindly and concealed me in the loft of the small barn. The next night found me again on my way. It seemed as though I had traveled in the last preceding days, and had made no headway, over seventy-five miles. I got started again before night and came to where there was a large chestnut orchard, of over ten acres, and the limbs of the trees grew close to the ground. In this orchard there was a large drove of hogs fatting on the nuts that they got to eat, and right to the left of this was a large field of over one hundred acres of pasture and a vast herd of cattle was feeding in this field. Down to the north of the field I spoke of, in which the hogs were, was a large brick house and just south of the house stood several graycoats looking at me. The cattle were following me while I crossed this large field and their bellowing made me very nervous. Well, after I had traveled again for nearly three nights and days, in cloudy weather, I found myself crossing this same field, in the same place, going in the same direction. Now this kind of traveling nearly broke my heart. I saw the hogs, to make sure, and the chestnut orchard and the brick house. Oh, how I cried to see what a waste of time I had made. I came to the conclusion that I would not travel any more unless I had settled weather. This event caused me to shed bitter tears once more, and to recall this to my memory makes me feel extremely sad, but I do thank God from the depth of my heart that I have learned to trust Him under every circumstance, and when I look back over these scenes and memories of the past I feel to praise God for preserving my unprofitable life. Well, I crossed this field again, determined to lay by until clear weather, and when night sat in the stars and moon shone, which helped me along until in a few days I came to the Iron and Doe mountain. I had traveled for several days with nothing to eat but hard corn, and as another day began to dawn I came to a barn back in the field from the house that seemed to be near Iron mountain. I stayed here, intending to go again in the evening. I saw a boy about ten years old come near the barn to get an old gray horse. Then I saw a middle aged lady go with a cart to milk. Oh, how the pangs of hunger again bothered me. Well late in the afternoon, about four or five o’clock, I saw no one but the little boy and a girl about fifteen years old. They seemed to be afraid of me, and well they might be, for I had long, uncut hair of nearly half a year’s growth, and was a sad looking sight. These good children gave me a dish of bread and milk to stay my poor, weak stomach until their mother came home, and very soon I learned that this woman’s husband was in the Union army at Knoxville, Tennessee. I stayed here concealed in the corn husks for these days, and it was quite bad weather, but how many hours I sat in the house and told them of the suffering of prisoners in southern prisons. Now the time had come for me to again be on my journey. When I got ready to go it seemed hard to part with such kind friends who had done so much for me, and something that I felt I would never be able to repay in this world, but I bid them a kind farewell. This good lady told me to follow along the mountains until I came to the mountain trail and then I was to follow this across the mountain. She told me I would come to the trail in about four miles from her place. Then after I had crossed the Iron and Doe mountain it would take me into, I think, Johnson county, Tennessee. Well after leaving this place I thought that I had crossed one mountain on my own hook and could do so again. So after going about two miles came to the conclusion that I could turn to the right and climb up the mountain until I struck trail, and did so. I climbed one range after another, as I thought, when it began to get cloudy, and I well remember that the woman told me it was fourteen miles across this mountain. Now when the fowls were crowing for daybreak what was my surprise to find myself back to the very house that I had just left, and had to go clear up to the door before I could be convinced that it was the place I had left that evening. I did not want them to know that I did not follow their directions. So I just started off as fast as my poor weary legs could carry me, and before day had the satisfaction of knowing that I had struck the mountain trail. I will say right here that my kind friend told me to be sure to pass the third house before attempting to stop, and then I would find good Union people. As soon as I got to this mountain trail it commenced to snow and blow very hard, and oh, how I suffered. I am not able to describe here what I experienced and my tongue seems too short to tell it, but, dear reader, just imagine yourself in my stead, surrounded by rebels on every side, and in a strange country, and clad with an old woolen shirt nearly in tatters and your drawers with one leg gone to the knee, and you can form some idea of what I had to put up with in this cold storm, and a mere walking skeleton at that. I had an average weekly fare of corn hoecake and bacon, and that not averaging once a week. Well, I had been told when I got by the third house that it would be safe to stop. The storm was so severe that I made a mistake and stopped at the third house, and as fate would have it this was the very one that I should have shunned. Here I found a rebel captain from the Eleventh Virginia Cavalry, home on a furlough, and when I knocked and he let me in it must have been three or four o’clock in the morning. I told him I had been directed there by a friend and he seemed to be all right, and placed a feather bed on the hearth of an old-fashioned fireplace, or close to it, and it was not many minutes before I was fast asleep, and really I imagined that I was at home on one of my own mother’s cots, but what was my surprise when I awakened to find myself in the hands of a rebel captain, in full rebel uniform, with bars on his collar. Truly I felt surprised. His wife told me as soon as I arose that I ought to have gone to the next house and there would have found her own folks, who were good Union people. Her husband, the old captain, tried to stop her talk, but it seemed of no avail. She told him if he did not let me go that she would go home. He told me to sit and eat some hoecake and bacon, for he was going to turn me over to the home guards. I felt so bad to think that I was again in the hands of my enemy. I told him that I could not eat, but he commanded very fiercely for me to come, and the look of his wife told me that he needed petting. So I went and ate my supper—not my supper, but dinner, I might choose to call it—but could not eat much, and drank a little corn coffee, and how many tears and such pleading, both on my part and the part of his kind wife, to let me go! At last when pleading ceased and his wife told him that if he did not let me go that she would go home and there remain, with many bitter curses on his lips he started off, with me tagging along after him, down again toward the foot of the mountain. I looked over his side arms and it occurred to me that he had no gun of any kind, nothing but a sword to guard me. So I lagged behind, pretending that I could hardly walk, and I took a good look at his long legs, for he was over six feet tall, and then I started up the side of the mountain with the rebel in full pursuit. I still continued to run the best I could up among the rocks and brush that grew thick on this mountain side. Still the rebel continued to pursue me for some time, when finally he went back. Well I kept on for some length of time, until it had gotten to be nearly night. I finally came to the mountain trail that I had been on when I stopped at the rebel captain’s place. I had in all of this day’s rambles traveled in no direct line, but had put in a good part of the day. I had not gone far before I came to a log cabin, and here found two women. It had snowed two or three inches the night before, and during the day the sun had come out warm, and in the woods a man could be tracked. It seems that the rebel captain had gone back and got help to pursue my trail, and when I stopped at the log cabin and asked for something to eat they gave me a lunch and told me that the captain’s place was not more than six or seven miles from where I was, and they told me that I had better go to a barn which was back in the lot just a short distance from the house and conceal myself in a large quantity of straw that was in the barn. This barn was built of logs. So I went and crawled down in the northeast corner, clear down to the bottom. Now I had heard of crawling into a hole and drawing the hole in after you, so I tried to fill the hole up after me the best I could, and none too soon either, before there came three mounted men, one the captain. They tried to make these two women tell where I had gone. These women had husbands in our army at Knoxville, Tennessee, and I think these Union women would have died before they would have revealed my whereabouts. Soon these men came to the barn, looked all through it, and it seemed as though they would dig in the corner where I was and find me, but they went away without finding me, and again tried to find out for certain from these women whether they had seen me, for they had tracked me through the timber to the clearing, but when they came to the clearing the snow was gone. These rebels soon went back in the direction that I had come, and I went to the house and again started on my way, it now being dark, to see if I could not succeed in getting across this mountain. It did seem as though this was the hardest part of my journey, for after traveling all night until nearly morning, I lost a good share of the time from the mountain trail. What was my surprise to find myself again in the hands of a rebel guerilla. I had come around in front of a newly constructed log building, and just as I did so I saw a man in full rebel uniform seated on an old box mending a pair of boots. He perceived what a plight I was in for dress, and as he heard me talk he began to ask me a good many questions in regard to where I was from, and he told me about his being in the rebel army and deserting, and about his parents being good Union people. After he had talked for some time I really thought he was a good Union man, and told him of my escape from prison. Then I told him where I was from, and that my birth place was in Erie county, Pennsylvania. After we had talked some little time he wanted to know if I ever worked at shoemaking. I told him that I had, and that my father worked at the trade as long as I could remember. So he had me mend up his boots, which I did, thinking that his wife would soon be home and get something to eat. Now this was one of the worst sights for poverty that I had seen in all my travels, for it did not seem as though this man had five pounds of corn meal in this newly built hut. In one end there was a very rudely constructed fireplace, and I failed to find anything inside of the place to answer for a bed, except some old rags and a little straw in one corner. The day was nearly half gone when I had finished mending his boots, and he seemed to be very well pleased, when I told him that it did not seem as though his wife would be back very soon, of whom he had spoken. He had told me that as soon as she came she would get something for us to eat, but I still insisted on going. So I started to go, and just as soon as I made away he reached behind the door and got out a double-barreled shot gun and brought it to bear on me. He told me to stop or he would have to shoot. I thought how soon my friend had turned to a foe. I found that I was again in the hands of an enemy. As soon as I went back to him he called very loudly for his mother to come up to his place. It seemed that his folks lived about a hundred yards or more away, just across the woods. Soon his poor old mother came running up to the house and asked him what was the matter. He wanted her to stay with the children while he went away with me. Then she looked at me and wanted to know where he was going. He told her that I was a Yankee, right from Pennsylvania and that he was obliged to take me and turn me over to the home guards. He would shoot or hang me without any trial whatever. Then she told him that he had deserted from the Confederate army himself and would be just as liable to arrest as I was, but he didn’t seem to care how much she talked to him. Oh, so selfish was he to accomplish his end! He wanted his mother to stay with the two children while he went away with me. Then his mother wanted to know who I was and I told her all I had done for her son, and how I had waited after mending his boots, and how he was inclined to want to shoot me for the kind act I had shown him. “Well, mother,” he said, “will you stay here with the children until I come back?” “No sir, I will not do it, nor will I ever do anything for you if you do not let this poor starving creature go,” she said. “No, mother, I could not do it, but if you will take the children home with you I will go down and let father see my prisoner, so come along,” and he made me walk right in front of his double-barreled shot gun, and was very careful to tell me if I undertook to run that he would have to shoot me. In this way we went to a corn field, about a half mile from his father’s place, and here we found about eight or ten women and men husking corn. Advancing up to his father this “William,” as they called him, said: “Father, here is a real Yankee, right from Pennsylvania.” “What part of Pennsylvania are you from?” asked the father. I told him from Erie county. “Well,” he said, “my boy here was born in that state, in Crawford county. Well, how do you do? I am very glad to see you. William, what have you got that gun for?” “Why, father, don’t you know that I took a hard oath to serve my country?” “Yes, you took an oath, my poor boy, but deserted the Southern service, knowing that your poor father was a Northern Union man. Yes, yes, you took a wonderful oath, but, William, you must let this man go.” All the talk the poor old man could say to his son was of no avail, and now his kind brother plead with him. This boy was only seventeen years old. He had lost his right arm above the elbow. Then came, last of all, his sisters, and if ever I have heard pleading for one’s life it seemed that these poor souls did it. It seemed that all this man’s aim was to try his firearms on me, for after a long talk with his young brother and sisters, the brother came to me and told me that the only way that William would release me was for me to start off a little distance and then run. He said William would probably shoot at me and that he was afraid it would mean death to me very soon. The brother and his two sisters came back shortly, and the former told me what he had concluded to do. He allowed that he would just get off a short distance and then I must get up and run. Then William would turn and shoot at me, and I must run all the faster. He started and walked off about ten rods and I saw that he did not intend to go any further. So I arose as quickly as possible from a shock of corn I had been husking and started for a very steep bluff which was almost straight down, and it did seem as though I fairly flew down this hill so rapid was my flight. Dear reader, if you was never compelled to flee from a foe with a gun and then to be shot at, you can imagine the plight I was in. Now I want to say right here that in eternity I expect to meet this same man, and I don’t want him to come up before me and say: “You wrote a tale, away back there, against me that you scattered broadcast which was untrue.” Now if I never complete this tale of my sad life, or if I do, I just ask God to direct my pen that I might not purposely insert one word that is not true, to the best of my knowledge. I do praise God from the depth of my heart that my faith is in Him. As I was saying, I ran down this steep bluff, and just before I reached the foot of it there came the discharge of my pursuer’s gun, and a rain of buckshot flew all around me. I was very thankful that they did not hit me. William, as they called him, told me that he just fired at me so as to clear himself from the hands of the rebels. It did seem as though he should have given me some food before putting me up for a target. His deceiving me while fixing his footwear seems to convince me all the more that he meant to do me harm. After firing the shot gun at me he buried his brother’s side arms, which consisted of a large horse pistol, which he carried with him. After firing two shots from the shotgun, he still continued to follow me for at least a mile and a half, until I hid in a thick foliage of laurel brush. He came within twenty yards of my concealment, calling for me to show up and it would be all right. I could not believe him, for I had lost all confidence in him. Now that night about nine o’clock I had to pass this same man’s house. I found him singing and rocking his little “Jeff”—his boy whom he told me he had named after Jefferson Davis. Oh, how the pangs of hunger commenced to tell on me at this time! Right here I would like to say that during the conversation I had with the younger brother, who had lost one of his arms, he told me how he had been taken prisoner near Big Round Top at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and of being in the care of men belonging to the Fifth Corps, and how well he had been cared for. He told me that his arm was amputated at this place. As I was saying, the traitor was singing and rocking his little “Jeff” as I passed by his place. I remember that he told me about his brother living about a mile ahead on the mountain trail. So when I came there I thought I would stop and let myself be known, but I did not do so. I went to a cool spring house near by and found there some nice milk and a piece of corn bread which I was very thankful to take possession of. After this I started along, and instead of keeping the mountain trail I took a cow trail that led far up on the mountain. It seemed that I never, in all of my journey, traveled harder to reach our lines or to get into the state of Tennessee than I did this night. After traveling all night, until it broke day, I found myself on one of the highest pinnacles of this mountain, and, as I supposed, was looking down into Tennessee, for at a distance I could see a log house, so in this direction I made my course. After some traveling I came to the house, and what was my surprise to find myself back to the very house that I had stopped at and drank the milk. This place proved to belong to the father-in-law of the man who had done the shooting at me the day before. So I thought I could do no better than to stop, for at this time I had become very hungry. So I went in, and as I was seated at the table talking and telling of what had happened to me the day before, we heard the discharge of a gun several times, and these good people told me that the man who had betrayed me told them that he had wounded me, and intended to capture me the next day, and had started very early that morning to complete his work. While still eating, we could hear the discharge of his gun every little while. It made these people laugh to know that I was sitting at their table while my pursuer was on those high bluffs, pretending to be hunting to death that runaway Yankee. Now, after I had finished eating I started once more to follow the mountain trail, as far as I dared to, and then laid by until night set in, for I had not traveled very much by day. After bidding these kind friends good bye I started, hoping to get across these mountains without any very serious trouble. I had got where the mountain began to descend, when I began to have hopes that I would soon arrive where I could be safe in our lines. Oh, how I longed to be at my own father’s fireside! These thoughts would, in my state of mind, cheer me up. After laying by until night set in I again started down this mountain side. The distance, I think I had been told, down this rugged Iron and Doe mountain was about eight miles. About one or two o’clock I found myself at the foot of the mountain and about a mile from it. I came to quite a respectable looking farm house and barn. Here I stopped and was told that I was now within the lines of Tennessee. This caused me to believe that my troubles were nearly at an end. But, alas! they were not. I will soon tell you, dear reader, what occurred to me when I went to this house. They received me very kindly and after eating something they had me go to the barn and there remain until about noon. When the man wanted to know if I did not want to go to a corn husking bee, I told him that I did not dare to. He insisted on it so hard and my thinking that getting into Tennessee meant I was practically into our lines, or at least into a Union state, I made myself quite free, after some persuasion, to go with him. As soon as we arrived at the place, about two miles away, we found a great company of people there. They seemed to come and consult with my friend a good deal, and when supper was announced I told my friend that I must leave, for there were at least two rebels there who were home from the Southern army, and who seemed to be very inquisitive as to where I had come from. So I started back to my friend’s place and he stayed to see what he could learn in regard to what they intended to do. He came home about seven o’clock and came to the barn and called to me, but I was concealed in the straw in the barn loft and did not answer, for the reason that he told me not to reply to any one until I was sure that it was him. As soon as I knew it was him I came down and he told me that he had overheard the two rebels talking together and that they were coming to his place to capture me. He had a small lunch for me and I found to my sorrow that my troubles were not ended. From this place I traveled all that night and so on until some days had passed, when I came at last to a northern range of the mountains. Now in Tennessee there are a great many ranges of mountains, one range after another. Well, I stopped at this man’s place and found a very warm friend and a good whole-souled Union man. If I have not forgotten, it was about three days from the time I left the barn, of which I have spoken. The man’s name was John Robertson, and it appeared that he had a niece whom he told me he desired to send home across the mountains, over into what is called Carter county, Tennessee. Beyond Carter lay Knoxville, which I had been nearly forty days trying to reach. In the morning, in my sad condition of dress, I started across this mountain, with the young lady to guide me. On the way we sang national songs, and for about nine miles we spent the time very pleasantly. Long before night we came to the settlement on the other side of the mountain. This place is now called Carter county, Tennessee. Here at the first place we came to were Anderson’s two or three men in blue clothes. This young lady had not explained that there were eighteen of our soldiers cut off from our army at Knoxville, and when I saw them standing in front of the house I was about to flee to the mountains again, but the young lady just insisted that they were Union soldiers. So I went up to the house and was very kindly received, and here I must say I had one of the greatest experiences that I ever had in all my life. The next day after my arrival the Anderson people thought they would clean me up somewhat. So they had me take off my old drawers and shirt and placed on me some old twilled pants and a shirt, and I was set to work building a fire to clean and scald the old clothes that I had taken off. I say clothes—nothing but a part of a pair of drawers and a shirt that had seen more than six months’ service. Then talk of pleasure in a soldier’s life! When I had just fairly got the water and the fire agoing there came up the main road, just a few rods away, the sound of many horsemen and the clatter of hoofs and a motion from the house for me to flee in the direction of the mountains. I started, not knowing whether to ever come back or not. I ran about a mile along the foot of the mountains, when I came to a man by the name of Sampson Robertson. I found that he was one of our men, but had been conscripted into the rebel service. He never went into the Southern army, but skulked for a living among his friends. He told me for the first time that this dash of rebels numbered over one hundred men, and that they had come over the mountain from the west, from Sullivan county, to capture our eighteen Union scouts, and that they intended to intercept them, for these rebels had already robbed the poor people of everything, even their bedding and household goods, and had killed an old man some sixty-two years old and burned the grist mill. If ever I wanted to help a handful of our poor soldiers, cut off from our army, it was now. So I went along to where I fell in with about seventeen of our men and boys, all told, and nine of the very best of these men allowed me to go along with them upon a bluff overlooking a run called Stony Creek, traveling down through the valley. This run was very deep and at least sixty yards across, and there was a small foot bridge, made of hewn timber, on small abutments . Just opposite this foot bridge there was a very large bluff or mountain, some three hundred feet high, and on this high elevated ridge these nine scouts had located themselves. I had the honor of being one to help in the little battle that was soon to come off. I had one of the old hero’s muskets. Now we could see the Johnnies coming. They had divided their force of one hundred men and were advancing right up to this foot bridge and began to cross it, when our boys opened fire on them from five shooting carbines. They told me to load the old musket well with buckshot and let them have it. Well, to tell the truth, I took too much powder from an old powder horn, for I put in nearly a handful, and also about a handful of buckshot. When this gun did go it would kick right smart, I reckoned, but still kept on loading and firing it, to the merriment of the other boys. But, oh, such fun! In a short time the rebels turned back and went away faster than they came. The Union boys, some of them, went on the mountain trail as the rebels were on their way back, and while they were leading or riding their horse the Union boys opened fire on them and nearly stampeded the whole force. There were only six or seven of our boys. We succeeded in escaping while they were trying to capture us. We had it from their own men that there were seven, I think, wounded and two killed. If I am not mistaken, this is what the rebels reported. They could not reach us from where they were. Now after this great share in the battle I went back to the place that I had left, and stayed with a woman by the name of Urie Low. At this place I stayed for some four or five days. I made while here, I think, three pairs of shoes out of almost raw hide, working the hide just long enough to get the hair off and left them tan color. So ends my first introduction into Carter county, Tennessee. After this I stayed at Mrs. Low’s place for some time. Then I went to Lieutenant Housley’s, one of our men, and a commander among the Union boys. I went to Housley’s place to stay, and would go to a mountain cave to sleep nights, for it was very dangerous to stay at the dwellings any more. There was one thing that happened soon after I went over to Lieutenant Housley’s place. I was requested to stay at a place called Sampson Robertson’s. All the boys had gone to the cave and I stayed at the house a short time to finish a pair of shoes for one of Mr. Robertson’s daughters. I had just got seated near the fireplace and was telling some of the exciting times I had in making my escape. Time passed along very pleasantly, when there came a stern command from the door for the women to clear away from the hearth of the fireplace so they could end that Yankee talk. If ever I felt afraid in all my life I did just now, and if I ever needed help it was now. The good woman had me sit clear down on the hearth, and if ever I felt myself under petticoat government or protection it was now. Here I sat while the daughter of Mr. Robertson entertained these two rebels and gave them apple-jack, or what was sometimes called apple brandy. The women got a large amount of walnuts and butternuts for them to crack, and for over two long hours I sat on the hearth and took the cursing of those two rebels. I can tell you if I ever had to be placed in the same position again I would say let me stand before the belching cannon and the rattle of small arms rather than to be cooped up in a log hut on the stone hearth surrounded by the breastworks of brave women! How often have I thought of this place in my life and what a delicate position it was. Well, it seemed as though the time had passed the slowest it ever did in all my life. While these two rebels began to be fired up with drink they began to make threats about what they would soon do to the Yankee, and I began to whisper to the women to let me slip out and make one dash by those two blood thirsty rebels. There was but one door and they told me to sit very quiet. Soon the wife of Lieutenant Housley’s father-in-law slipped by those two rebels and went over a mile and a half to the cave where the Union boys were staying, and very soon there came dashing down from the mountain cave the brave Lieutenant Housley and the husband of this brave and heroic woman. She had to climb over one hundred and fifty feet, where the edges of rocks were not more than three feet in width, and on a very dark night at that. Once more I had great reason to thank God and these kind ladies for saving me from blood thirsty villains. In about an hour there was a stern command for those rebels to surrender, and they arose to their feet and ran, but soon the lieutenant stopped them with a shot or two, wounding one of them in the arm. The two Union men made the two rebels take the oath of allegiance to our government and then they were allowed to go.

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