could see the distant smoke arising from the ruins.
Where the river flowed out of the mountains were extensive iron-works,
the property of a loyal citizen, and in front of his house we halted for
consultation. He regretted that we had shown ourselves so soon, as the
rear-guard of the marauders had passed the night within sight of where
we now stood. Our nearest pickets were at Loudon, thirty miles distant
on the railway, and for this station we were advised to make all speed.

[Illustration: THE MEETING WITH THE SECOND OHIO HEAVY ARTILLERY.]

For half a mile the road ran along the bank of the river, and then
turned around a wooded bluff to the right. Opposite this bluff and
accessible by a shallow ford was another hill, where it was feared that
some of the Rangers were still lingering about their camp. As we came to
the turn in the road our company was walking rapidly in Indian file,
guide Edmonston and I at the front. Coming around the bluff from the
opposite direction was a countryman mounted on a powerful gray mare. His
overcoat was army blue, but he wore a bristling fur cap, and his rifle
was slung on his back. At sight of us he turned in his saddle to shout
to some one behind, and bringing his gun to bear came tearing and
swearing down the road, spattering the gravel under the big hoofs of the
gray. Close at his heels rode two officers in Confederate gray uniforms,
and a motley crowd of riders closed up the road behind. In an instant
the guide and I were surrounded, the whole cavalcade leveling their guns
at the thicket and calling on our companions, who could be plainly heard
crashing through the bushes, to halt. The dress of but few of our
captors could be seen, nearly all being covered with rubber talmas; but
their mounts, including mules as well as horses, were equipped with
every variety of bridle and saddle to be imagined. I knew at a glance
that this was no body of our cavalry. If we were in the hands of the
Rangers, the fate of the guides and refugees would be the hardest. I
thought they might spare the lives of the officers. "Who are you? What
are you doing here?" demanded the commander, riding up to us and
scrutinizing our rags. I hesitated a moment, and then, throwing off the
blanket I wore over my shoulders, simply said, "You can see what I am."
My rags were the rags of a uniform, and spoke for themselves.

Our captors proved to be a company of the 2d Ohio Heavy Artillery, in
pursuit of the marauders