After I had made my report, the General turned to me and said:

"How many rebels are there at Bridgeport?"

I told him I did not know, but would go and see for him.

"That is just what I want you to do," he remarked; "go and see. But do you want any money, or disguise?"

"No, sir, I will go in uniform."

"Then," he continued, "I want you to use all diligence, and report as soon as possible; you will find our troops at Bellefonte, and then you will have seventeen or eighteen miles to scout alone; do this for me now, and when you return, you shall have a long rest."

I mounted my wild horse again, and was off at once. I had time to get to Maysville, a town twelve miles out, before morning, and there I stopped for breakfast. While I was staying there I was overtaken by Lieutenant Criss, of the 4th Ohio Cavalry, with about thirty men, who were going to Bellefonte, which is about ninety miles from Huntsville. We had no adventure on the route; but when we reached the place, we were surprised to find that it had been evacuated by our troops. Lieutenant Criss said that he must go back, as he had already gone further than he was ordered; and he turned toward Huntsville immediately. I dismounted, and as my horse could be of no further service, I sent him back to camp by one of the men. I was now alone, and nearly one hundred miles from our lines, and the little party which came with me was rapidly disappearing from view.

When they were out of sight, I walked into a little grocery to see what was in it and to hear the news. The room was literally packed with men—some dressed as citizens, but by far the greater number sporting the tawdry trappings of the rebel soldier. I scanned the crowd closely for arms, but could detect none. What the men were there for I could not tell, nor did I stay to inquire. My eye fell upon the landlord of the hotel, and I "saddled" him for a dinner, but he refused to get it, telling me it was after the usual time. I replied that I must have a meal, and that immediately; and he again began to make an excuse in return, and in an under tone muttered: "I do n't keep tavern to feed Yankee soldiers at," when I drew my pistol and told him to get out of that grocery and order my dinner at once, or he would be a dead man; and I was about to suit the action to the word when he darted out.

I then began to question the crowd to know how so many men should collect together in so short a time after the Yankees had left, but no one answered me. I knew that they were furloughed rebels, and professional bushwhackers by their appearance, and that they had just come down from the mountains, when they saw our men leave, in order to see what it meant. What they had done with their arms, or why they were unarmed, was a mystery to me. Their frightened appearance showed that they had just huddled into the little grocery when they saw our squad approaching; and nothing prevented their capture, in a body, but the fact that Lieutenant Criss had failed to search the town before he turned back.

Pretty soon the tavern keeper appeared at the door and invited me to dinner, which I found to be a very good repast, though it was cold. Some people would scarcely have relished a meal given under such circumstances, by an unwilling host, and it prepared behind their backs; but I never feared "pizen," and ate with a relish. While I was eating, a train whistled in the distance, and in a minute it dashed into town.

The crowd rushed out, and off into the mountains, at the first sound of the whistle; and I was happy to be thus suddenly relieved of my ill-looking neighbors. The train was loaded with troops, under command of the Lieut. Colonel of the Thirty-third Ohio infantry, and Major Driesbach, of the 4th Ohio cavalry.

The Major did not like to see me start out on foot, so, yielding to his advice, I took a horse that he provided for me. I did this against my better judgment, for I very well knew that I could not ride two days without detection. The Major then sent a detachment of men with me as far as Stevenson, under command of Capt. Crane, and on the route we were continually beset by high waters, which overflowed large sections of the country. It was dangerous to travel through the swamps, for it was impossible to know the moment we might be precipitated over a bank, into deep water, or the channel of a stream, so swift that it would carry us away in the current. However, after great labor, and several "duckings," we found ourselves in Stevenson, a little town in the Cumberland mountains, where the Memphis and Charleston railroad crosses the railway from Nashville to Chattanooga; and here we stopped at the "Alabama House," then a very good hotel. There was no enemy nearer than Bridgeport, which was ten miles away; and as it was my business to reconnoitre that town, and ascertain the strength of the garrison defending it, Capt. Crane retired from Stevenson to a post three miles out, and encamped, to await my return. I was favored by the darkness, and rode along the main road, while the rebels were extremely careless, not anticipating the presence of an enemy. As I approached the camp, I stopped a big booby of a boy, who had not sense enough to know one kind of soldier from another, and got him to tell me where the pickets stood, and all about the lay of the camp, which he could not help knowing, as he had just been there, and was on his way home; and he also gave me a very close estimate as to the force the rebels had in and around the place; and he further pointed out a railroad bridge across Widow's creek, which the enemy were rebuilding, or rather had rebuilt, but on the first trial the structure and locomotive were precipitated into the stream together.

Bidding the boy good bye, I followed a road he described, and after traveling about four miles, I rode into the rebel camp. Up one way, and down another, I went swiftly, through the dark, without being once halted or disturbed by a Johnny. If they noticed me at all, they probably supposed me to be an orderly.

Having thus a good opportunity to judge of the number of their forces around me, I arrived at the conclusion that, on the north side of the river, there were about five thousand men, thus confirming the statement of a negro, who had visited us, some time before, and who also estimated that there were about three thousand on the south side. I saw two pieces of artillery near the river bank, above the bridge, but these were all the cannon I saw. Bridgeport was, as I discovered, a "flourishing village," consisting of one house—a well built one story frame, with two rooms.

Having reconnoitered to my satisfaction, I returned to Capt. Crane's camp, reaching it a little before daylight, when I found him in the act of starting again for Bellefonte. I gave him my report to deliver to the General, telling him that I would remain in the mountains, till our troops came up to take the place.

Parting from him, I climbed up into the mountain, with my horse, taking a route which would lead me toward Bridgeport. When I got to Widow's creek, again, I went down into the valley, passing the picket at the railroad bridge, and passing around by a ford, some distance below, and attempting to ride again into their camp, in broad daylight. I had proceeded about one hundred yards toward the camp, when I was halted by a picket, consisting of a Sergeant, and eight men. When I turned, they were standing at a "ready," and I saw that something must be done quickly, or it was all over with me; so, quietly wheeling my horse around, I made back toward them very quietly, and when within about thirty-five yards of the post, raised my gun quickly, leveled it at the Sergeant's breast, and fired; then spurring my horse well back in the flank, I started him off with a spring. I saw the Sergeant reel, but saw no more. At that instant they fired, but missed so badly that I did not even hear the whistling of the balls. Again they drew a bead on me, but I threw myself down on my horse's side, and went past them at a charge, and the missiles went far over my head, and I was safe. They had double barreled shot guns, and had each barrel loaded with a ball, and three buck shot; this I learned afterward.

I had to run, through a straight lane, about eight hundred yards; and while going down it, several bullets were fired, some of which passed near me; so I concluded that there must have been more rebs about than the eight at the picket post, though I did not see them. When I got to the end of the lane, I wheeled into the mountains, and for the first time looked back. Here I saw a squad of cavalry, just entering the other end of the lane.

When I got about half way up the mountain I had to dismount, as my horse was now thoroughly exhausted. Stooping down to take a drink of water at a spring, I distinctly heard the rebs at the foot of the mountain, yelling to an old miller whom I had passed, asking him which trail that bareheaded man had taken. I at once hurried on up the mountain, and when on the top, struck out on a path which rather led me back toward Bridgeport—a piece of strategy intended to deceive my pursuers, who would naturally conclude that I was heading for Bellefonte—something I should have done, had my horse been equal to a straight race. As it was, however, I had to rely on woodcraft alone.

The main body of them missed me at the spring, but a few held on the right trail, and we had it up and down five high mountains, and across a many valleys, back and forth through the different little trails, until we were overtaken by night. I now began to think my escape certain, but on coming down into the valley of Little Coon, I found every road picketed, and the citizens aroused; and I heard of several squads of cavalry scouring the country in search of me.

Some of the citizens were ready to befriend me, but others were shy; while one, and only one, shot at me, and he stood at least three hundred yards off, and as soon as he touched the trigger of his piece he wheeled and took to his heels, as if Old Nick was after him. After dark I thought I would have time to stop and get a bite to eat, as I was exceedingly wearied and nearly famished; and I accordingly stopped at the house of a man named Terry. He was moderately wealthy, but like a great many others in that section and at that time, was not bountifully supplied with provisions; but his daughter gave me some corn bread and milk, together with some fried bacon; and after eating what I wanted, I discovered that I was so exhausted from over exertion, that it was next to impossible for me to move. Rest was absolutely essential, and I threw myself down before the fire, putting my feet as near to it as I could bear, in order to take the soreness out of them.

I had been there, I presume, about half an hour when two men entered, whom I supposed, judging from their appearance, to be citizens; and our orders were to treat such with kindness, and not molest them unless they showed signs of hostility; and I accordingly used them politely when they entered. They told Terry that they were greatly wearied, and desired to stop for a while to rest; but they were scarcely seated, when a knock was heard at the door, and when it was opened a soldier, in full uniform, entered. In an instant I was on my feet, and clearing the space between us at a bound, leveled my pistol on him. We were but about two feet apart, and the muzzle of my weapon touched his breast, and I ordered him to put down his gun; and as he perceived no time was to be lost, he lowered his piece until it nearly touched the floor. This was done in much less time than it takes to tell it; but at this stage of affairs the other two sprang at me with pistols in hand and jammed them violently against my head on each side, and ordered me to surrender, and at the same instant they seized hold of my pistol-hand, and jerked it back over my head. Thus relieved, the soldier raised his double-barreled gun, and thrust it against my breast, and ordered me to surrender; and although further resistance was useless, I did not and could not speak. I was completely taken in, and it was all the result of my foolhardiness and carelessness. I could have done without anything to eat, and I might have abandoned my broken-down horse, which was, at best, but an incumbrance to me; and I might have concealed myself in the mountains till our army advanced on Bridgeport, which I very well knew would be in a few days; indeed, there were many things I could have done, and avoided my embarrassing situation; but it was then too late; I was a prisoner.

I was taken from the house into the yard, when, for the first time, I discovered that the place was surrounded. About two hundred yards from the house was the captain of the gang, and we marched out to him; he ordered me to be tied, and then I learned that my captors belonged to Stearns' battalion of Tennessee Cavalry.

The reader will be able to derive a faint idea of what I saw and suffered, from this time till I was exchanged, from the following report I made to Gen. Rosecrans, and which I extract from the "Annals of the Army of the Cumberland," and which was written just after I had been exchanged and had reported to my regiment for duty:

Murfreesboro', March 22d, 1863.

"On the 24th of April, 1862, I was taken prisoner near the town of Bridgeport, Tennessee, by a battalion of rebel cavalry under command of a Colonel Stearns. I was alone on a scout at the time, and fell in with nine of the enemy's pickets. I got the first shot and killed the sergeant, (so I was told by Captain Poe, who had command of the pickets.) I was pursued by five companies of cavalry. After running several miles I was obliged to stop and dismount at a house to get something to eat, and while there was surrounded by one of the pursuing companies and captured. I was then tied on a horse and carried over a mountain to where the battalion was camped; arriving there about nine o'clock P. M. When we got there I was immediately surrounded by about two hundred men, some crying "Hang him!" "Shoot him!" "Shoot the d—d Yankee!" and several of them leveled their guns on me; some of them being cocked. A Captain Haines told them I was his prisoner and under his protection, and he detailed twenty-four men to guard me, placing two men at each corner of my blanket. When we went to bed the Captain lay down on one side of me, and his first Lieutenant on the other; and in this way I was preserved from assassination.

"The next day I was taken to Bridgeport. I fared very well at that place, but the day following I was taken to Chattanooga and confined in the jail, a two story building. The upper story, where I was confined, was about twelve feet square. Here were confined nineteen Tennesseeans, a negro, and myself. In the dungeon, which was only ten feet square, were confined twenty-one men, belonging to the 2d, the 21st, and 33d Ohio Infantry, who were charged with being spies. They were under command of a Captain Andrews, who was then under sentence of death by a court martial recently held at Chattanooga. They were waiting for the Secretary of War at Richmond to ratify the proceedings of the court martial previous to executing the Captain, and they said if they were ratified, the rest would certainly be hung. I was afterward informed by the rebels that Andrews and eight of the men were hung at Atlanta, Georgia. I was told subsequently by a rebel citizen, that they hung Andrews and seventeen men. I once went into the dungeon where these men were, and found them handcuffed and chained in pairs by the neck with a heavy chain, which was locked around each man's neck with a padlock that would weigh two pounds. These padlocks were larger than a man's hand. We were fed twice a day on tolerably good bread, spoiled beef, and coffee made of cane seed. There was no sink in the jail, and our offal stood in a bucket in the room where we were confined, day and night, and was only emptied twice a day, and of course the stench was intolerable. We were denied the privilege of washing our clothes, or of having it done. The jail was literally swarming with vermin, nor was it ever cleaned out.

"From Chattanooga I was taken to Knoxville, to another jail, and confined in an iron cage. Here I was told by a man named Fox, the jailor, that I was brought to Knoxville to be tried by a court martial as a spy, and that if I was tried I would no doubt be hung. This court martial adjourned without bringing me to a trial, as did the one at Chattanooga. From there I was sent to Mobile, where another court martial was in session. After keeping me about eight days at this place, I was next sent to Tuscaloosa, Alabama. From this city I was taken, in company with all the other prisoners at this post, to Montgomery, Alabama. The first day out I was taken sick with pneumonia and typhoid fever, but the rebel surgeons refused me any medicine, and even a bed, and I was left for twelve days lying upon the deck of the boat, with nothing to eat but corn bread and beef, which latter the rebels said had been packed five years. At Tuscaloosa they shot a federal soldier for looking out of a window, and wounded another in the face for the same offense. At Montgomery they refused to let me go to a hospital, although in an utterly helpless condition. Here they shot a federal Lieutenant under the following circumstances: he had been allowed to go out for milk, accompanied by a guard, and he was waiting for a woman to hand the milk out through a window, when the guard gave the order to 'come on.' 'Wait a moment, till I get my milk,' said the Lieutenant. The guard made no reply, but instantly shot him in the breast with a shot gun, killing him forthwith.

"From Montgomery I was taken to Macon, Georgia, in company with twelve hundred others. Here we were allowed seven pounds of corn meal and two and a half pounds of bacon of bad quality, for seven days. We were allowed two surgeons and but very little medicine. Our men fared very badly here, being punished severely for the slightest offenses. One man, named Cora, was kept tied up for three days by the wrists to a tree, so that his toes just touched the ground, because he helped kill a yearling calf that got into the camp. A Floridan and two Kentuckians, political prisoners, were confined in the jail at Macon on quarter rations for twenty-two days. The only offense they had committed was to attempt to escape from the prison lot. Our men were pegged down on the ground for any misdemeanor. This was done by stretching out the limbs and driving down a forked stick over them, and the operation was completed by driving one down over the neck. It would be impossible to tell all the hardships to which we were subjected, but I have endeavored to portray a few of them. They may be summed up thus:

"We were confined in bad quarters, and many were without any quarters. Our dead were left unburied for days together, and some entirely so—at least to our knowledge. We were denied medical attendance. Our chaplains were forbid preaching to us or praying with us, (by order of Major Rylander.) Our men and officers were shot without cause. An insane federal was shot at Macon, Georgia, for no offense. We were compelled to bury our dead in the river banks, where their bodies were liable to be washed out. We were beaten with clubs on board the steamer en route for Montgomery, Alabama. We were fed on foul and unwholesome diet, and frequently left without any rations for two or three days at a time. Our exchange was delayed as long as possible, and we were confined in camps surrounded by swamps, as the rebels said, that we all might die. I find it impossible to enumerate all the hardships put upon us, but have enumerated such as were the most intolerable."

"James Pike,"
"Co. A, 4th O. V. C."

While we were proceeding along through the mountains, we came to a narrow shelf, with a deep abyss on our right, and a perpendicular rocky ascent on our left; and along this I passed watched by five guards—two before and three behind. At some parts it was so narrow that it was almost impassable for one to walk along; and at one place, we came to a rock which almost blocked up the way. There was not room for a man to walk squarely between the rock and the cliff, while on the outside, the trail ran so close to the great precipice, that it was extremely dangerous to attempt to follow it, even on foot.

When we reached this place I asked the guards to untie me, so that I could keep my feet from being hurt by the rock.

"No," said the sergeant, in a rough way; "ride on and hold your feet up."

"You forget, sergeant," said I, "that my feet are tied under the horse, and that I can not raise them."

"Well, ride on," he replied in a tone of command, "or you may fare worse."

"Let me ride on the outside of the rock, then," I requested, "or my feet will be jammed against the rocks."

He now turned partly round in his saddle, and drawing his pistol, said: "Look'ee here now, sir, you ride right through thar whar I did, or I'll shoot you."

Seeing that expostulations were useless, I rode into the narrow channel, although I saw I should be hurt. Turning to one of the guard, I said:

"Guard, will you untie my feet till I get through this place?"

"No," he said, with a horrid oath, "we've got orders from Colonel Stearnes to keep you tied till we get you to Bridgeport; he says you are a mighty hard case, and he gave us orders to shoot you if you didn't go along willingly, so you had better ride in."

My right foot caught on the top of the rock in the trail, and my left against the side of the cliff; and for about three steps down the mountain the whole weight of the horse's fore parts rested on my ankles by the rope under his belly. The torture was excruciating, but acting on Indian principles, I uttered no complaint. The horse lunged forward three times on his hind feet, until he dragged my foot over the rock to the end of it, when I was released, and the horse's fore feet came down to the ground again. The rebels seemed to enjoy my sufferings, but otherwise they treated me well enough.

My imprisonment was not entirely without its sources of amusement. Everything was not tragedy, but I was delighted by occasional comedy. One circumstance, in particular, may be worthy of a rehearsal. When they were taking me from the Chattanooga jail to Knoxville, I was kept in the depot about an hour, awaiting the departure of the train; and as was natural, the citizens who were lounging around, had a great many questions to ask me, and my answers gave them evident satisfaction. Two young officers and a lawyer came up and engaged in a conversation with me, and attempted to turn my arguments by ridiculing my cause, being particularly severe on Yankee prowess. I at once waived all further conversation by remarking that I had taken them for gentlemen. They at once whirled away through the crowd, exceedingly indignant, and I thought no more of the matter, when in a short time in came Colonel Bibb, post commandant, or provost marshal—I believe the latter, and shouted:

"Where is that Yankee? Where is the sergeant of the guard?"

"Here I am," said the sergeant.

"Mr. sergeant," added the Colonel, "if you allow the people to talk to that man any more, I will put you in irons, sir;" and then turning to me, with a fierce gesture, he fairly screamed; "and you, sir, Mr. Yankee, if I hear another word out of you, I will put you in double irons."

"Crack away, sir," was my response, "there is nobody afraid but you."

He immediately whirled around, and left the depot, trembling with rage; and I expected every minute to see a guard come in with the irons; but the train was soon after ready and I was put on board.

When I was in Ledbetter's camp, they put me under a guard of eight men in Colonel Stearns' tent, as he was not in camp; and while there, the Major of the battalion came to me and told me that General Ledbetter would have me released and commissioned, and put in command of a company of conscripted men if I would renounce my cause, and take the oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy; but I declined, telling him I would rather be a private in the Union army than a Brigadier in theirs. He then left me and did not renew the proposition.

Next morning I was turned over to the provost marshal, and put in the guard tent, along with two other men who "wouldn't soldier." The Johnnies crowded around to see me, sometimes passing into the tent, past the guard, contrary to all order and discipline. The Lieutenant of the guard, a fine portly fellow, finding that it would do no harm to let them in, came and sat down by me on my blanket, in the most social manner possible; and we passed some time in friendly conversation, when an Indian adjutant forced his way into the tent. He began to boast of the prowess of the southern troops and decry the pluck of the Yankees, affirming that the latter would not stand the bayonet.

"You are a liar, sir," I fairly shouted. He was on his feet in an instant, as well as myself; he reaching for a pistol, while I raised my fist to knock him down. At this juncture, however, the lieutenant of the guard stepped between us, and taking the adjutant by the collar with one hand, and the seat of the pants with the other, raised him on one knee, and tossed him headlong out of the tent; then turning to me, in a good natured manner, he resumed his seat and the conversation.

The men asked me in the presence of this lieutenant how to get to our lines, and I told them; and he then informed me that, if I were only outside of their pickets, under his charge, he could turn me loose, and go with me to our army, and deliver himself up. He then remarked in a whisper: "I'll bet there will not be less than fifty of our men leave this camp to-night, and go to your lines."

While I was in this camp, the Major of Stearns' Battalion told me that ten of his command had been detailed and sent down to Steveson to arrest or shoot me, but that when they started toward me, they became frightened, and came back on the run. That same day I had shot a rebel near that place, but whether or not he was one of the ten I do not know. He was on the run and refused to stop, as I ordered him, and I shot him while running, and he sprang as high as a man's head in the air, and fell on his face, when I went back to them, and told some citizens where he could be found.

While at the Chattanooga depot, and after Col. Bibb had threatened the sergeant so severely, a stout, heavy man, of very pleasing appearance, came in. He was clad in a plain suit of blue homespun, without a single mark or strap to show military authority. He walked past the guard without a word, apparently in search of some one, and then suddenly turning toward me, said: "Oh! this is that Yankee, is it?" and walked directly to me and extended his hand in a most friendly manner.

The sergeant of the guard, without a word, ran at him, seized him by the arms, and clasping both of them down to his sides with the grip of a vice, he stooped under him, and threw him clear across the railroad track. He did not touch the ground, till he reached the opposite rail. The man then walked out of the depot as quietly as he entered it, but did not utter a syllable. After he had left, an officer on the platform said:

"Do you know who that man was?"

"No, I don't," was the surly answer.

"It was Major General Ledbetter," said the officer.

The sergeant dropped his head a moment, when he looked up in a resolute way, and said:

"Well, I don't care a cuss; I won't be punished for every man's misdoin's."

While on the route to Knoxville, my guard was under the charge of the very Indian who had been so unceremoniously thrown out of the guard tent for insulting me; and he now exhibited all that spirit of revenge inherent in his race. I was subjected to every annoyance that his malice or his caprice could invent, or he dare inflict. On my arrival at Knoxville, I was put in an iron cage in the county jail, and fed twice a day, on good bread and beef, and some seed coffee; and when taken out, I was placed in charge of the Eufaula Light Artillery from the State of Alabama, and taken to Mobile, and thence to Tuscaloosa by railroad, and from there to Montgomery by river.

While at Selma, I was once more solicited to take charge of a company of rebel cavalry; and was tendered the influence of Gen. McTyre; the offer of the general being made through his son, who was the lieutenant in charge of me.

It would scarcely interest the reader to give a more extended account of our sufferings; and I will only add, that they were of the most horrid character, and thousands upon thousands died beneath their crushing weight. At Macon, I escaped in company with Lieut. Ford, of the 8th Iowa infantry, but was recaptured six days afterward, so weak and sick that I could scarcely stand alone. Ford was only out one day, when he was recaptured, having been run down by bloodhounds. When I was recaptured, I was saved from punishment by the adjutant of the battalion of guards; but the lieutenant was ironed, and kept in that condition, till sent off to be exchanged.

While in prison, we owed much to the care and kindness of Dr. Hezekiah Fisk, surgeon of the 8th Iowa infantry, who was a prisoner with us.

We were sent off for exchange in October, 1862, going by way of Savannah, Augusta, Columbia, Raleigh, Petersburg and Richmond. On the trip we suffered fearfully; men were left dead at nearly every station on the entire route. I finally reached my destination safely, and, on the 18th of October, 1862, was exchanged. The officers on the flag-of-truce boat, and especially the surgeons, exerted themselves to their utmost, to save the men; but a large number had suffered so much that human skill was unavailing, and died before reaching Washington City. For my part, I was reduced to a mere skeleton, and was sent to the Cliffburn Hospital—an institution in the care of the Sisters of Charity, and received every attention that could be bestowed, until I became well once more.