These were my companions.

The rain had begun to fall slightly as we walked out the railroad, on our route, and soon it increased to torrents. The night was pitchy dark, and we stumbled along, falling into gutters here, and nearly sticking in the mud there, until midnight, when we resolved to seek shelter from the storm.

For a long time we could find no indication of a house, until, at last, the barking of a dog gave us a clue. After some dispute as to which side of the road it was on, we struck off over a field. Our only guide were the random flashes of lightning that gave us a momentary view of the country around. The better to prosecute our search, we formed a line within hearing distance of each other, and thus swept around in all directions. At last we found a barn, but were so wet and chilly that we resolved to hunt on, in the hope of finding a fire and a bed.

After a still more tedious search, we found the goal of our wishes. It was a rude, double log-house. Here we roused up the inmates, and demanded a shelter for the night. The man of the house was evidently alarmed, but let us in, and then commenced questioning us as to who we were.

We told him we were Kentuckians who were disgusted with the tyranny of the Lincoln Government, and were seeking an asylum in the free and independent South.

"Oh," said he, "you come on a bootless errand, and had better go back home, for I have no doubt the whole of the South will soon be as much under Lincoln as Kentucky is."

"Never!" we answered, "we will fight till we die first!"

At this the old man chuckled quietly, and only said, "Well, we'll see; we'll see," which closed the discussion.

We were truly glad to find a Union man under such circumstances, but did not dare to reveal our true character to him, and he probably believes to this day that he harbored some chivalric Southerners. However, he provided us with a good supper and a comfortable bed, promising, also, not to inform the Federal pickets on us. The next morning, the sky for a time was clear, but it soon became overcast, and we were again compelled to suffer the inevitable drenching that befel us every day of this dreary journey.

We reached Wartrace in the midst of a pelting storm. At first we intended to go around the town, as it was the last station on our picket line. It was raining so hard that we thought we would not be interrupted in passing through it, but our guards were too vigilant for us. They stopped us, and after being for some time detained, and trying to play off the innocent Southern citizen, as hundreds do, we were obliged to reveal our true character to the commanding officer of the post, which, of course, secured our release.

Then again, we traveled onward for a time, wading the swollen creeks, and plodding through the mud as fast as we could. We were now outside of our lines, with nothing to trust to but the tender mercies of the rebels. Soon after, we found what a slender ground of trust that was, but now we were safe in the completeness of our disguise.

We met many others of our party, and trudged along—sometimes in company with them, but oftener alone. Toward evening, we reached Manchester, crossed Duck river, which was at flood hight, and entered the town.

Here we found the population in a wild ferment, and on inquiring the cause, learned that some of the citizens had reported an approaching band of Yankee cavalry, and that they were even now visible from the public square. We repaired thither with all speed to witness the novel spectacle of the entrance of National troops into a hostile town, from a Southern point of view. Mingled were the emotions expressed; fear was most prominent, but I thought I could detect on some countenances a half-concealed smile of exultation. Soon the terrible band loomed up over the hill which bounded the view, when lo! the dreaded enemies were seen to be only a party of negroes, who had been working in the coal mines in the mountains somewhere. Some of Mitchel's men had destroyed the works, and the contrabands were brought here for safe keeping. The feelings of the chivalry may be better imagined than described, as they dispersed with curses on the whole African race!

We here obtained from some of the citizens the names of the most prominent secessionists along the route we were to travel, who would be most likely to help us on to that blissful land where we might enjoy our rights in peace (?) undisturbed by even dreams of Abolitionists. These names were a great advantage to us, because always having some one to inquire for, and being recommended from one influential man to another, it was taken for granted that we were trustworthy characters, and few questions asked. That night we were within a few miles of Hillsboro', but so much were we delayed by the rain, that we began to fear we could not reach our destination in time. My feet, too, were sore from the gravel and dirt that filled my shoes in crossing the creeks, and wading through the mud, and already we were weary and stiff from traveling in the wet. But we resolved to press on, and, if necessary, to travel in the night, too, rather than miss our appointment.

Where we stayed that night, I first heard from the lips of a slave-owner himself of hunting negroes with bloodhounds. Our host said he had seen some one dodging around the back of his plantation, by the edge of the woods, just as it was getting dark, and in the morning he would take his bloodhounds, and go to hunt him up, and if it proved to be a negro, he would get the reward. He said he had caught great numbers of them, and seemed to regard it as a highly profitable business.

We, of course, had to agree with him; but I well remember that the idea of hunting human beings with bloodhounds, for money, sent a thrill of horror and detestation through my veins. Not long after, we found that bloodhounds were not for negroes alone.

The next morning, we continued our journey, and after walking three miles, found a man who agreed, for an exorbitant price, and for the good of the Confederacy, to give us conveyance in a wagon for a few miles. This was a great help to us, and as we trotted briskly along, we soon came in sight of the Cumberland Mountains.

Never did I behold more beautiful scenery. The rain had for a short time ceased to fall, and the air was clear. The mountains shone in the freshest green, and around their tops, just high enough to veil their loftiest summits, clung a soft, shadowy mist, gradually descending lower, shrouding one after another of the spurs and high mountain valleys from view. But the beautiful scene did not long continue. Soon the mist deepened into cloud, and again the interminable rain began to fall. To add to our discomforts, our wagon would go no further, and once more we trudged along afoot.

At noon we stopped for dinner at a house belonging to one of the "sand-hillers." This is the general name applied to the poor class of whites at the South. They have no property of their own, and live in small hovels, on the worst portions of the lands of the rich. Here they lead an ignorant, lazy life, devoting most of their time to hunting and fishing; only raising a little patch of corn to furnish their bread. They are almost as completely owned by their landlords as the slaves, and are compelled to vote as their masters choose. In the social scale they are no higher than any slave, nor do they deserve to be, for their intelligence is less. The term "sand-hiller," or "clay-eater," is a terrible one of reproach, and is applied unsparingly by the aristocrats. Of course, our entertainment here was composed of rather rude fare, but we ate the half-ground and half-baked corn bread, with the strong pork, and went on our way rejoicing.

CHAPTER III.

Crossing the Mountains—Playing Hypocrite—Legend of Battle-Creek Valley—Lodged with a Secessionist—Strategy—A Welcome but Fatal Delay—Exaggerated Accounts of Shiloh—Prevented from Crossing the Tennessee—In the