the ruffians were not satisfied, and in a few days had him up again.
They tried hard to prove that he was opposed to the Confederacy, but he
had kept about his own business, had refrained from talking, and they
could not convict him. They allowed him to go for several months. One
day, in September, 1861, while at work in his field, the ruffians came
again. Their leader had a red face, bloated with whiskey, chewed
tobacco, had two pistols in his belt, and a long knife in a sheath. He
wore a slouched hat, and was a villanous-looking fellow.

"Come, you scoundrel. We will fix you this time," said the captain of
the band.

"What do you want of me?"

"You are an Abolitionist,--a Yankee spy. That's what you are. We'll make
you stretch hemp this time," they said, seizing him and marching him
into town, with their pistols cocked. Six or eight of them were ready to
shoot him if he should attempt to escape. They called all who did not go
for secession Abolitionists.

"I am not an Abolitionist," said Hurst.

"None of your sass. We know what you are, and if you don't hold your
jaw, we will stop it for you."

They marched him through the village, and the whole population turned
out to see him. He was taken to the jail, and thrust into a cage, so
small that he could not lie down,--a vile, filthy place. The jailer was
a brutal, hard-hearted man,--a rabid secessionist. He chuckled with
delight when he turned the key on Hurst. He was kept in the cage two
days, and then taken to Nashville, where he was tried before a military
court.

He was charged with being opposed to the Confederacy, and in favor of
the Union; also that he was a spy.

Among his accusers were some secessionists who owed him a grudge. They
invented lies, swore that Hurst was in communication with the Yankees,
and gave them information of all the movements of the Rebels. This was
months before General Grant attacked Donelson, and Hurst was two hundred
miles from the nearest post of the Union army; but such was the hatred
of the secessionists, and they were so bloodthirsty, that they were
ready to hang all who did not hurrah for Jeff Davis and the Confederacy.
He was far from home. He was not permitted to have any witnesses, and
his own word was of no value in their estimation. He was condemned to be
hung as a spy.

They took him out to a tree, put the rope round his neck, when some of
his old acquaintances, who were not quite so hardened as his accusers,
said