484 THE ALL-DEVOURING VERMIN. [1865. out of sight at once. Should I be discovered with you, it would be certain death to me. If found alone, I can tell some story about sickness in my family." We crept softly behind him for two miles. Then, leading us through a rocky pasture into the road, he said: "Thank God! I have brought another party of the right sort of people past Little Richmond in safety. My health is broken, and I shall not live long; but it is a great consolation to know that I have been able to help some men who love the Union made by our fathers." Directing us to a stanch Unionist, a few miles beyond, he returned home. At three in the morning, we reached our destination. Davis and Boothby did pioneer duty, going forward to the house, where they were received by a clamor of dogs, which made the valleys ring. After a whispered conference with the host, they returned and said: We "There is a Rebel traveler spending the night here. e are to stay in the barn until morning, when he will be gone." We burrowed in the warm hay-mow, and vainly essayed to sleep. The all-devouring vermin by this time swarmed upon us, poisoning our blood and stimulating every nerve, as we tossed wearily until long after daylight. XX. Friday, January 6. At nine o'clock this morning our host came to the hay-loft and awoke us: "My troublesome guest is gone; walk down to breakfast." He was educated, intelligent, and had been a leader among the "Conservative" or Union people, until com 1865.] MORE UNION SOLDIERS. 485 pelled to acquiesce, nominally, in the war. His house and family were pleasant. But while we now began to approach civilization, the Union lines steadily receded. He informed us that we would find no loyal troops east of Jonesboro, ninety-eight miles from Knoxville, and probably none east of Greenville, seventy-four miles from Knoxville. "But," said he, "you are out of the woods for the present. You are on the border of the largest Union settlement in all the Rebel States. You may walk for twenty-four miles by daylight on the public road. Look out for strangers, Home Guards, or Rebel guerrillas; but you will find every man, woman, and child, who lives along the route, a stanch and faithful friend." With light hearts we started down the valley. It seemed strange to travel the public road by daylight, visit houses openly, and look people in the face. Our way was on the right bank of the Watauga, a broad, flashing stream, walled in by abrupt cliffs, covered with pines and hemlocks. A woman on horseback, with her little son on foot, accompanied us for several miles, saying: "If you travel alone, you are in danger of being shot for Rebel guerrillas." In the evening a Union man rowed us across the stream. On the left bank our eyes were gladdened by three of our boys in blue-United States soldiers at home. on furlough. Seeing us in the distance, they leveled their rifles, but soon discovered that we were not foes. Our host for the night beguiled the evening hours with stories of the war; and again we enjoyed the luxury of beds. 486 A WELL-FORTIFIED REFUGE. [1865 XXI. Saturday, January 7. A friend piloted us eight miles over the rough, snowy mountains, avoiding public roads. In the afternoon, we found shelter at a white frame house, nestling among the mountains, and fronted by a natural lawn, dotted with firs. Here, for the first time, we were entirely safe. Any possible Rebel raid must come from the south side of the river. The house was on the north bank of the stream, which was too much swollen for fording, and the only canoe within five miles was fastened on our shore. Thus fortified on front, flank, and rear, we took our ease in the pleasant, home-like farmhouse. Near the dwelling was a great spring, of rare beauty. Within an area of twelve feet, a dozen streams, larger than one's arm, came gushing and boiling up through snow-white sand. By the aid of a great fire, and an enormous iron kettle, we boiled all our clothing, and at last vanquished the troublesome enemies which, brought from the prison, had so long disturbed our peace. Then, bathing in the icy waters, we came out renewed, like the Syrian leper, and, in soft, clean beds, enjoyed the sweet sleep of childhood. XXII. Sunday, January 8. A new guide took us eight miles to a log barn in the woods. After dining among, but not upon, the husks, we started again, an old lady of sixty guiding us through the woods toward her house. Age had not withered her, nor custom staled, for she walked at a pace which made it difficult to keep in sight of her. At dark, in the deep pines, behind her lonely dwelling, we kindled a fire, supped, and, with fifteen or twenty companions, who had joined us so noiselessly that they seemed to spring from earth, we started on. 1865] DAN ELLIS, THE UNION GUIDE. 487 CHAPTER XLVI. If I have wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. - FOR many months before leaving prison, we had been familiar with the name of DAN ELLIS-a famous Union guide, who, since the beginning of the war, had done nothing but conduct loyal men to our lines. Ellis is a hero, and his life a romance. He had taken through, in all, more than four thousand persons. He had probably seen more adventure-in fights and races with the Rebels, in long journeys, sometimes bare-footed and through the snow, or swimming rivers full of floating ice-than any other person living. He never lost but one man, who was swooped up through his own heedlessness. The party had traveled eight or ten days, living upon nothing but parched corn. Dan insisted that a man could walk twenty-five miles a day through snow upon parched corn just as well as upon any other diet-if he only thought so. I feel bound. to say that I have tried it and do not think so. This person held the same opinion. He revolted against the parched-corn diet, vowing that he would go to the first house and get an honest meal, if he was captured for it. He went to the first house, obtained the meal, and was captured. After we had traveled fifty miles,, everybody said to us, "If you can only find Dan Ellis, and do just as he tells you, you will be certain to get through." We did find Dan Ellis. On this Sunday night, one 488 IN GOOD HANDS AT LAST. [1865 hundred and thirty-four miles from our lines, greatly broken down, we reached a point on the road, waited for two hours, when along came Dan Ellis, with a party of seventy men-refugees, Rebel deserters, Union soldiers returning from their homes within the enemy's lines, and escaping prisoners. About thirty of them were mounted and twenty armed. Like most men of action, Dan was a man of few words. When our story had been told him, he said to his comrades: "Boys, here are some gentlemen who have escaped from Salisbury, and are almost dead from the journey. They are our people. They have suffered in our Cause. They are going to their homes in our lines. We can't ride and let these men walk. Get down off your horses, and help them up." Down they came, and up we went; and then we pressed along at a terrible pace. In low conversation, as we rode through the darkness, I learned from Dan and his companions something of his strange, eventful history. At the outbreak of the war, he was a mechanic in East Tennessee. After once going through the mountains to the Union lines, he displayed rare capacity for woodcraft, and such vigilance, energy, and wisdom, that he fell naturally into the pursuit of a pilot. Six or eight of his men, who had been with him from the beginning, were almost equally familiar with the routes. They lived near him, in Carter County, Tennessee, in open defiance of the Rebels. When at home, they usually slept in the woods, and never parted from their arms for a single moment. As the Rebels would show them no mercy, they could not afford to be captured. For three years there had |