There was a piano in the parlor, as well as three or four persons who were able to spank it right well, so, between the recitations of our poet and the droll stories by Miss Maggie about the Rebels run back to town, we enjoyed a pleasant evening together, which will long be remembered by me as one of the many agreeable nights of my varied war experience.

One little story related by Mr. Craig, later in the evening, served to throw a mantle of caution about me, else I might have been tempted, under the jolly feeling existing among the company, and the influence in my own mind, as it was to be my last night, to make some "Union confessions" to Miss Maggie in confidence. Mr. Craig said in his slow, quiet way:

"There was a funny affair happened up-town to-day. You know there has been a daily prayer-meeting for some time which has been conducted here by the several ministers of the different churches, alternately. They have all along a little sign printed on card-board tacked against the wall, reading 'Union prayer-meeting; all are welcome.' Well," he continued, with a sly laugh: "There was a Georgia regiment came in here to-day from _Pensacola_, and a lot of them got too much whisky aboard, and seeing this sign, _Union_ prayer-meeting house, and probably having heard of the Unionists of East Tennessee, served to raise their bad blood at once, and for a while came near causing a small riot, until the matter was explained.

"Some who were too drunk or ignorant to be made to see that the word 'Union' was not always to be considered offensive to a Southern man, would not be satisfied until the card was removed."

This little play of the Georgia regiment on the word "Union," which serves to show the sentiment and feeling then, afforded this company some amusement, but to me, the one word "Pensacola" was far more significant than any other that Mr. Craig had spoken.

There was then a regiment in town from Pensacola. That town, nor any other, was big enough to hold me, at the same time, with anybody that had been to Pensacola. So that here was another inducement for me to get away toward home.

After leaving Richmond and the Texans in the lurch as to my whereabouts and destination, I had felt that in the mountains of East Tennessee I would be at least secure from any possible re-union with any former Pensacola or Fort Pickens associates, but it seemed as if this Florida experience, like Hamlet's ghost, would not down.

When we came away from Richmond so hurriedly, it will be remembered that Lieutenant Claiborne with a portion of our Battery had been left in Camp Lee. If I remember aright, they were either to recruit or perhaps they were to await the arrival of some English cannon which were expected via the blockade, and in that case it was probably the intention to order us _back_ there, to be sent as a solid Battery to Johnston's army in Virginia.

I was the least bit apprehensive, too, after I had been away some days, and had leisure to think over the matter more carefully, that Claiborne might in some way run across the Doctor through their mutual admiration of Capitola.

As I was "only a boy," as Capitola had so heartlessly said, I had been obliged to sorrowfully leave the Doctor and the Lieutenant to fight over Capitola among themselves, never thinking or caring much at the time whether I should become mixed up any further or not.

CHAPTER XXII.

CRUELTY OF GENERAL LEDBETTER--ANOTHER NARROW ESCAPE--ORDERED TO CUMBERLAND GAP--A WEARISOME JOURNEY--ARRIVED AT THE GAP--THE STOLEN LETTER--ALONE IN THE DARKNESS--THE NORTH STAR--DAY DAWN.

Most of the time in Knoxville I was sick and confined to the house, under the kind care of Mrs. Craig's family. Our company of Maryland Artillery, after a time, had been ordered away to Cumberland Gap, where they were to manage, if necessary, one or two old iron cannon that had been secured somewhere for them. Part of the refugees were left at Knoxville as part of the guard at Parson Brownlow's house. For this duty those were selected who had been sick, or who were thought to be "inefficient" for active field duty. I was among the number so detailed, because I certainly was the most "inefficient" Rebel soldier you ever saw or read about.

It will be remembered that in the opening chapter, while I was in Washington before the war began, I was accidentally, or, perhaps, providentially, introduced to Senator Andy Johnson through one of Senator Wigfall's Comanche Indian breaks in the Senate.

I flatter myself that the evidence I gave _then_--before Mr. Lincoln was inaugurated--shows that the great conspiracy was going on while the conspirators themselves were yet in the service of the Government, and under oath to support the same--therefore it was a "conspiracy."

This acquaintance with Mr. Johnson was recalled one day while in East Tennessee.

Mr. Craig said something one day about some letters that Mr. Johnson was charged with having written to some Abolitionist in Boston, proposing, or, in some way that I do not exactly recall, admitting that, for a certain large sum of money, he (Johnson) would use his influence in favor of the Union.

If Mr. Craig had any opinion as to the truth or falsity of the matter, he was careful not to let me learn it.

At the first opportunity, in order to get an opinion from a man who was not at all slow in furnishing that cheap article, in season and out of season, I interviewed Mr. Brownlow about the Johnson bribery to bring him out.

It brought the Parson out, and for a moment or two the air was thick with such elegant epithets as, "Hell-deserving scoundrels, white-livered villains," etc.

"I've not been on speaking terms with Johnson for thirty years, but I know it's a lie."

He was cautioned by his wife not to give expression to his views so freely. When I reminded them that the matter was public talk, and even printed throughout the South, the old fellow broke out in a new place:

"Oh yes, I know the Postmaster at Knoxville delivered the letters addressed to Johnson to a certain party here who is known to be in the employ of Wigfall of Texas."

That was enough for me. I was prepared to believe that Wigfall and his crowd would stoop to forgery, or anything else, to do a Southern Union man an injury. Wigfall was especially vindictive towards Johnson, as will be remembered.

If Brownlow had not been talking in the same strain to everybody about his Union sentiments, even while he was a prisoner, I should have felt from his free, outspoken manner toward me, every time I met him, that, by some instinct, he knew of my true character as a Union Spy who was about to return North, and would carry his messages home. I have often thought that Mr. Brownlow did divine my true character.

In this forged letter matter, if I am not greatly mistaken, Mr. Brownlow connected one of the present Senators from Tennessee, who was then Governor of the State. The Parson, in his odd way, had a name for everybody: Governor Isham Harris, was Eye-Sham Harris. Everytime I have looked at Senator Harris since he has been in Washington, and I have seen him almost daily, I have had this queer expression brought to my mind.

Rebel troops were being concentrated at Knoxville by railroad, to be marched thence to Cumberland and other gaps in the mountains. Something was up. Those who were on the Kentucky side about this time will know more about what caused the commotion than I who was on the inside and could only "guess," as the Yankees say.

The General in command of the forces in East Tennessee at the time was E. Kirby Smith. He was, I believe, a distant relative of mine.

Our Brigadier, and immediate commander, was General Ledbetter, a native of Maine, one of the meanest, most tyrannical and brutal men I have ever heard of, in either the Rebel or the Union Armies, or any place else. He had been an officer in the Regular Army before the War; and, as Parson Brownlow put it, "he had married a lot of niggers in the South." The Parson made this observation in the presence of his wife and the lady visitors who had accompanied me to the house one afternoon; though I did not exactly understand the drift of the expression at the time, I refrained from pressing the conversation just then. I learned afterward that he simply meant that Captain Ledbetter had married an Alabama lady, who owned sixteen slaves.

This General Ledbetter, from the State of Maine, was the willing tool selected by the Rebel officials to punish and abuse the Unionists--very much as Wirz was permitted to do at Andersonville. If I write harshly of this officer it will be accepted as an excuse from me to explain that I saw him do a great many mean acts, but that which turned my stomach worst were his roughly-spoken words to an old Unionist bridge-burner, a man with bushy, grey hair, who was at the time shrinking and cowering in a corner, looking at me with his frightened eyes like a crazy man at bay. His distress was being caused by the dreadful shrieks of his son, at that moment on the scaffold, to which the old father was led in a few moments.

"Get up here, you damned old traitor," while he deliberately tied the rope around the trembling old man's neck.

[Illustration: "GET UP HERE, YOU DAMNED OLD TRAITOR."]

It was a horrible, horrible sight--one that I shall never cease to remember. I wish it were possible for me to efface it from my memory.

After the delightful evening at the Craig's, part of which I have tried to describe here, because there was a short, sweet interview at the garden gate after most of the guests had retired, in which the readers are not at all interested, I went to bed, determined in my own mind that in the morning I should make the final break for home. I do not remember now whether I dreamed of the girl I was to leave behind me there, or that my visions were of "Home, sweet home." Of course, it was cruel to be obliged to tear myself away from them so ruthlessly, just when it was becoming interesting, but I consoled myself with the reflection that I had survived these heart-troubles before--several times.

In the first place I had deliberately separated from my really and truly girl at my own home, when I joined Patterson's army in Pennsylvania, but I had succeeded in finding another, in dark-eyed Capitola, at Richmond, who in turn had been almost forgotten, in the new-found treasure at Knoxville, from whom I was now to be estranged by the fortunes of war--perhaps forever. It was now time to return to the first love again; and that's the way it was "evolved" with me right along. I always managed to have a girl, to keep me from attending to business, and to get me into trouble, whether I was in the Rebel or Union armies, or lines.

I was being "recuperated" so pleasantly, that I enjoyed playing off sick after I felt strong and active enough to have undertaken to walk right through Tennessee and Kentucky to my home.

The greater part of our company being at Cumberland Gap, Captain Latrobe was somewhere near Knoxville with General Ledbetter. I can not definitely recall exactly how it was--only that in order to reach him, to report for duty, it was necessary for me to go out of town some distance, where I found him in a camp at Ledbetter's headquarters.

I was a little out of favor with the Captain about this time. His greeting was not calculated to make me feel exactly comfortable.

"You are never on hand when wanted, but eternally scouting around some private houses, sick."

When I told him that I was now ready and anxious to join the company at the Gap, he took my breath away by saying:

"You will be no use there."

Then, as if remembering something that he had forgotten, he put his hand in his pocket, drawing out a package of letters, and as he fumbled them over, said:

"Lieutenant Claiborne writes me something hereabout wanting you to go back to Richmond."

Luckily for me, he wasn't able to put his hand on the right letter at that moment, which gave me a little time to gather myself up, which I did with an ease that astonished myself afterward when I had a chance to laugh in my sleeve, as I thought to myself how perfectly natural it was becoming for me to tell a lie on so short notice. I said at once in reply, as if by inspiration:

"Oh, Captain, that's probably those fellows I owe some money to, who want to get me into trouble."

He seemed to be satisfied with this explanation, and to my great relief, he put away the letters.

Just what the letters from Richmond had to say about me I am unable to say, because I did not press the inquiry at that time. I left the Captain soon after the conversation (some twenty-five years ago) and have not had the pleasure of meeting him since. I had very decided impressions on the subject at that time, however, which were to the startling effect that some of those Texas fellows, whom I had run against in their camp near Richmond, not satisfied with my bluff reception of their overtures, had been hunting me up at our old camp.

Either that, or Lieutenant Claiborne had met with the Texas Doctor at Capitola's, where my double character would most likely have been discussed among them. In this one particular I should have preferred that Capitola had so far forgotten me as not to have mentioned my name again.