fence along the line of the
road. I, too, stopped and we remained there until the cool of the
afternoon, and then rode into Memphis.

The gentleman with whom I had stopped twenty miles from Memphis was a
Mr. De Loche, a man loyal to the Union. He had not pressed me to tarry
longer with him because in the early part of my visit a neighbor, a Dr.
Smith, had called and, on being presented to me, backed off the porch as
if something had hit him. Mr. De Loche knew that the rebel General
Jackson was in that neighborhood with a detachment of cavalry. His
neighbor was as earnest in the southern cause as was Mr. De Loche in
that of the Union. The exact location of Jackson was entirely unknown
to Mr. De Loche; but he was sure that his neighbor would know it and
would give information of my presence, and this made my stay unpleasant
to him after the call of Dr. Smith.

I have stated that a detachment of troops was engaged in guarding
workmen who were repairing the railroad east of Memphis. On the day I
entered Memphis, Jackson captured a small herd of beef cattle which had
been sent east for the troops so engaged. The drovers were not enlisted
men and he released them. A day or two after one of these drovers came
to my headquarters and, relating the circumstances of his capture, said
Jackson was very much disappointed that he had not captured me; that he
was six or seven miles south of the Memphis and Charleston railroad when
he learned that I was stopping at the house of Mr. De Loche, and had
ridden with his command to the junction of the road he was on with that
from La Grange and Memphis, where he learned that I had passed
three-quarters of an hour before. He thought it would be useless to
pursue with jaded horses a well-mounted party with so much of a start.
Had he gone three-quarters of a mile farther he would have found me with
my party quietly resting under the shade of trees and without even arms
in our hands with which to defend ourselves.

General Jackson of course did not communicate his disappointment at not
capturing me to a prisoner, a young drover; but from the talk among the
soldiers the facts related were learned. A day or two later Mr. De
Loche called on me in Memphis to apologize for his apparent incivility
in not insisting on my staying for dinner. He said that his wife
accused him of marked discourtesy, but that, after the call of his
neighbor, he had felt restless until I got away. I never met