that he was a bushwhacker. The man was
released. Subsequently, Ferguson said, after a long fit of silence, "I
have a great notion to go back and hunt that man. I am afraid I have
done wrong, for he is the best shot in this part of the State, and, if
he does turn bushwhacker, he will kill a man at every shot." Such
extreme nicety of conscience was not attributed to Beattie, nor was he
said to be as faithful to his friends as was Ferguson.

Such were the kind of men whom our friends, of the Subsistence
Department, would have had to encounter, if they had gone back. There
were, at the time, no Confederate troops in that country, and Champ
Ferguson was resting in inglorious ease at Sparta. Dave Beattie had
broken out of his cove, and was ready to hold "bloody assizes" as soon
as he secured his victims. Our friends were not accustomed to "raiding"
and to cavalry habits, but, after thorough reflection, they resolved,
with a heroism that would have done honor to the heavy artillery
service, not to return, but to face all the hardships and dangers of the
expedition. They were gallant men, and endured the tremendous fatigue,
and shared the hardships as cheerfully as if they had come legitimately
by them.

The chief of this party, Major Highley (from Mobile), was as full of
dash and as fond of adventure, as a man could be. He sought the front on
all occasions, and soon became a thorough cavalryman in all respects.
General Morgan placed him upon his staff and he proved a very efficient
officer, and seemed much gratified that his commissaries had been cut
off.

There was one case of almost abduction, however, which excited universal
regret and commiseration:

An old gentleman, from Sparta, had come with the division to Burkesville
to get a barrel of salt--as there was none to be had at Sparta. His
benevolent virtues had endeared him to all who knew him, and, so, when
it became apparent that he must go back, leaving behind him his
purchase, and at the risk of fearful dangers, or follow us through the
whole raid, he received much and unaffected condolence. He perfectly
realized his situation. He knew that, if he fell into "Tinker Dave's"
hands, he would be pickled without salt, and he had not the slightest
idea of trying it on. And yet he felt a natural sorrow at going so far
away from home. Some two weeks later, when we were in Ohio, and being
peppered by the militia, he said to an officer of the first brigade with
tears in hi