After leaving my camp, his party had followed various byways across the Cumberland Mountains to Crow Creek Valley, as instructed; but when nearing the railroad above Anderson’s Station, they were captured by some guerrillas prowling about that vicinity, and being suspected of disloyalty to the Confederacy, were carried to Chattanooga and imprisoned as Yankee spies.  Their prospects now were decidedly discouraging, for death stared them in the face.  Fortunately, however, some delays occurred relative to the disposition that should be made of them, and they, meanwhile, effected their escape from their jailors by way of one of the prison windows, from which they managed to displace a bar, and by a skiff, in the darkness of night, crossed the Tennessee River a little below Chattanooga.  From this point the party made their way back to my camp, traveling only at night, hiding in the woods by day, and for food depending on loyal citizens that Card had become acquainted with when preaching and peddling.

Card’s first inquiry after relating his story was for the youngest brother, whom he had left with me.  I told him what I had done, in my anxiety about himself, and that more than sufficient time had elapsed for his brother’s return.  His reply was:  “They have caught him.  The poor fellow is dead.”  His surmise proved correct; for news soon came that the poor boy had been captured at his father’s house, and hanged.  The blow to Card was a severe one, and so hardened his heart against the guerrillas in the neighborhood of his father’s home—­for he knew they were guilty of his brother’s murder—­that it was with difficulty I could persuade him to continue in the employment of the Government, so determined was he to avenge his brother’s death at the first opportunity.  Finally, however, I succeeded in quieting the almost uncontrollable rage that seemed to possess him, and he remained with me during the Tullahoma and Chickamauga campaigns; but when we reached Knoxville the next winter, he took his departure, informing me that he was going for the bushwhackers who had killed his brother.  A short time after he left me, I saw him at the head of about thirty well-armed East Tennesseeans—­refugees.  They were determined-looking men, seeking revenge for the wrongs and sufferings that had been put upon them in the last two years, and no doubt wreaked their vengeance right and left on all who had been in any way instrumental in persecuting them.

The feeding of our army from the base at Louisville was attended with a great many difficulties, as the enemy’s cavalry was constantly breaking the railroad and intercepting our communications on the Cumberland River at different points that were easily accessible to his then superior force of troopers.  The accumulation of reserve stores was therefore not an easy task, and to get forage ahead a few days was well-nigh impossible, unless that brought from the North was supplemented by what we could gather