492

REJOINING DAN AND HIS PARTY.

"I heard him say something about Barnet's."

[1865.

"That is a ford only five miles from here. Barnet is one of the right sort of people. This road will take you to his house. Good-by, my friend. and don't get separated from your party again."

I certainly did not need the last injunction. Reaching the ford, Barnet told me that our party had spent several hours in crossing, and was encamped three miles ahead. He took me over the river in his canoe, my mule swimming behind. Half a mile down the road. I met Ellis and Treadaway.

"Ah ha!" said Dan, "we were looking for you. I told the boys not to be uneasy. There are men in our crowd who would have blundered upon some Rebel, told all about us, and so alarmed the country and brought out the Home Guards; but I knew you were discreet enough to take care of yourself, and not endanger us. Let us breakfast at this Union house."

XXIII. Monday, January 9.

To-day," said Dan Ellis, "we must cross the Big Butte of Rich Mountain."

"How far is it?" I asked.

"It is generally called ten miles; but I suspect it is about fifteen, and a rather hard road at that."

About fifteen, and a rather hard road! It seemed fifty, and a very Via Dolorosa.

We started at 11 A. M. For three miles we followed a winding creek, the horsemen on a slow trot, crossing the stream a dozen times; the footmen keeping up as best they could, and shivering from their frequent baths in the icy waters.

We turned up the sharp side of a snowy mountain. For hours and hours we toiled along, up one rocky,

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A TERRIBLE MOUNTAIN MARCH.

493

pine-covered hill, down a little declivity, then up another hill, then down again, but constantly gaining in hight. The snow was ten inches deep. Dan averred he had never crossed the mountain when the travel was so hard; but he pushed on, as if death were behind and heaven before.

The rarity of the air at that elevation increased my pneumonic difficulty, and rendered my breath very short. Ellis furnished me with a horse the greater part of the way; but the hills, too steep for riding, compelled us to climb, our poor animals following behind. The pithy proverb, that "it is easy to walk when one leads a horse by the bridle," was hardly true in my case, for it seemed a hundred times to-day as if I could not possibly take another step, but must fall out by the roadside, and let the company go on. But after my impressive lesson of last night, I was hardly likely to halt so long as any locomotive power remained.

Our men and animals, in single file, extended for more than a mile in a weary, tortuous procession, which dragged its slow length along. After hours which appeared interminable, and efforts which seemed impossible, we halted upon a high ridge, brushed the snow from the rocks, and sat down to a cold lunch, beside a clear, bright spring which gushed vigorously from the ground. I ventured to ask :

"Are we near the top?"

"About half way up," was Dan's discouraging reply.

"Come, come, boys; we must pull out!" urged Davis; and, following that irrepressible invalid, we moved forward again.

As we climbed hill after hill, thinking we had

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A STORM INCREASES THE DISCOMFORTS.

[1865, nearly reached the summit, beyond us would still rise another mountain a little higher than the one we stood upon. They seemed to stretch out to the crack of doom.

To increase the discomfort, a violent rain came on. The very memory of this day is wearisome. I pause, thankful to end only a chapter, in the midst of an experience which, judged by my own feelings, appeared likely to end life itself.

As I toiled, staggering, up each successive hill, it seemed that this terrible climbing and this torturing day would never end. But Necessity and Hope work miracles, and strength proved equal to the hour.

At 4 P. M. the clouds broke, the sun burst out, as we stood on the icy summit, revealing a grand view of mountains, valleys, and streams on every side.

After a brief halt, we began the descent. Our path, trodden only by refugees and prisoners, led by Dan Ellis, had been worn so deep by the water, that, in many places, our bodies were half concealed! How Dan rushed down those steep declivities! It was easy to follow now, and I kept close behind him.

Twilight, dusk, darkness, came on, and again the rain began to pour down. We could not see each other five yards away. We pressed steadily on. We reached the foot of the mountain, and were in a dark, pine-shadowed, winding road, which frequently crossed a swollen, foaming creek. At first Dan hunted for logs; but the darkness made this slow work. He finally abandoned it, and, whenever we came to a stream, plunged in up to the middle, dashed through, and rushed on, with dripping garments. Our cavalcade and procession must have stretched back fully three miles; but every man endea

496

PROSPECT OF A DREARY NIGHT.

[1865.

vored to keep within shouting distance of his immediate predecessor.

"We shall camp to-night," said Dan, "at a lonely house two miles from the foot of the mountain."

Reaching the place, we found that, since his last journey, this dwelling had tumbled down, and nothing was left but a labyrinth of timbers and boards. We laboriously propped up a section of the roof. It proved a little protection from the dripping rain, and, while the rest of the party slowly straggled in, Treadaway went to the nearest Union house, to learn the condition of the country. In fifteen minutes we heard the tramp of his returning horse, and could see a fire-brand glimmering through the darkness,

"Something wrong here," said Dan. "There must be danger, or he would not bring fire, expecting us to stay out of doors such a night as this. What is the news, Treadaway?"

"Bad enough," replied the lieutenant, dismounting from his dripping horse, carefully nursing, between two pieces of board, the glowing firebrand. "The Rebel guerrillas are thick and vigilant. A party of them passed here only this evening. I tell you, Dan Ellis, we have got to keep a sharp eye out, if we don't want to be picked up."

All who could find room huddled under the poorly propped roof, which threatened to fall and crush them. Dan and his immediate comrades, with great readiness, improvised a little camp for themselves, so thatching it with boards and shingles that it kept the water off their, heads. They were soon asleep, grasping their inseparable rifles and near their horses, from which they never permitted themselves to be far away.

With my two journalistic friends, I deemed rest