To return, we made some thirty miles, and ascending the Cumberland range in the evening, we again sought rest among the rocks.  This we judged safest, since we knew not who might have seen us during the day, of an inquiring state of mind, as to our purpose and destination.

On the morning of June 4th, by a detour to conceal the course from which we came, and a journey of a dozen of miles, we reached the home of my wounded friend.  I shall not attempt to describe his tearful, joyful meeting with his mother and three sisters, and the pride of the good old father as he folded his soldier-boy to his heart.  My own emotions fully occupied me while their greetings lasted.  I thought of my own fond mother, who had not heard from me for more than a year, and was perhaps then mourning me as dead, perchance had gone herself to the tomb in grief for the loss of her first-born son; of my reverend father, whose wise counsel I had often needed and longed for; of my sweet sisters and little brother, who every day wondered if their big brother still lived and would ever come home.

After a kindly greeting to the stranger who had brought home their wounded son, for they never suspected either that he had deserted or that I was escaping to the hated Yankees, they introduced me to all the comforts of their pleasant dwelling; and for the first time for many months I began to feel somewhat secure.  Yet they were all Secessionists, and talked constantly of the success of the cause, and I must, of necessity, conceal my views and plans.

The day after our arrival, the wounded soldier took to his bed and never rose again.  The hardships he had endured in the journey home, acting upon a system enfeebled by his wound, terminated in inflammation of the lungs, which within a week ended his life.  I watched by his bed, nursed him carefully, and told him what little I knew of the better world, trying to recall all the sweet words of comfort I had heard pious people pour into the ears of dying ones in my childhood, when my father, as pastor, was often called to such scenes.  I was not an experienced counselor, but I knew there was One Name of sovereign power.  That Name I told him of as best I could.  About the 12th of June he passed into the Dark Beyond.

After the funeral ceremonies wore over, a letter came from the other brother, detailing the manner in which they had been compelled to swear in for the war, and saying that he would soon be home.  He had not reached when I left there.  I fear he failed in his attempt.

But one more step was needed to make me safe; that was, to get within the Federal lines, take the oath of allegiance, and secure a pass.  But how could this be accomplished?  Should the Federal authorities suspect me of having been in the Rebel service, would they allow me to take the oath and go my way?  I knew not; but well I knew the Confederate officers were never guilty of such an absurdity.  Judging