We scouted awhile for General Crook, then for Colonel Miller, and Gen. Logan; and upon orders from the last named, we burned up nearly all the distilleries in North Alabama; but when Gen. Garrard took command, as already stated, the scouts were disbanded, and I returned to Gen. Thomas again.

Nothing worthy of narration occured to me now, till the advance from Chattanooga upon Rocky-face Ridge, when I participated in part of one day's fight.

The project for the destruction of the railroad bridge at Augusta had been recently revived. If that structure could be destroyed, it could not be repaired for months, and the damage to the enemy's communications would be worth an immense amount to us. Could I slip around and burn it? And then amid the confusion resulting from it, would it not be possible to give a little attention to the powder mill, and blow it to fragments?

I started for Nashville at once for an outfit, consisting of matches of a peculiar manufacture, phosphorus and steel arrow heads for throwing it; and while in the city, I was joined by a man named Charles R. Gray, who volunteered to go with me. We set out from Nashville for the front, and arrived there during the battle at Rocky-face Ridge, and we both went in. It seemed to be a free fight, and every man I saw was doing something, and of course I could not be idle. The rebels had a decided advantage in position, being at the top of the ridge; and they wounded a great many of our men, by rolling huge stones down on them. But I did not get to see all of the battle, as early on the morning of the second day, we set out on our journey—Gen. Thomas having just commenced a maneuver to flank the enemy on the left, as stated.

We went to Chattanooga by railroad, riding on the General's "dummy" car, and from thence proceeded to Charleston, Tennessee, on a freight train; and from that point we were compelled to fall back on first principles—to travel on foot.

From Charleston we followed the Hiawassee some distance, and then leaving the river, crossed the Frog mountains again, and then returned to the river, at Murphy, in Cherokee county. On the way we encountered some tough times and some pretty merry ones. On one occasion we stopped with an old man, whose family consisted of himself, wife, three daughters, and a daughter-in-law, all of whom were Union, except the last named, who was secesh to the back bone, and was prepared at any moment to do anything in the world for the rebel cause. We were not in the house long before we made ourselves familiar—Gray, my partner, directing his conversation to the daughters, while I entertained the daughter-in-law, and soon had her convinced that we were rebels in disguise. She was pleased that we were devoting our attention to the Hiawassee valley, and wished us every success in our enterprise, whatever it might be; and when I told her my business was ferreting out deserters, who were secreted in that region by the Lincolnites, her admiration of our patriotism was unbounded.

After thus gaining her confidence, I began questioning her as to the different bodies of troops stationed higher up the river, and through which we were compelled to pass, and I found her thoroughly posted; and the information she gave me proved, on subsequent observation, to be correct. To my inquiry about the state of the country, and as to whether there were any lawless characters infesting the mountains, she replied:

"No; there are none now, nor has there been since last winter, when Old Spikes and a lot of Yankee bushwhackers came upon Persimmon creek and killed Colonel Walker. Ever since that time the country has been mighty quiet."

"Wasn't his name Pike, instead of Spikes?" I inquired.

"Yes, yes; that was it; and they say he was a mighty hard case—a perfect savage," said she.

"But what was our cavalry doing," I asked, "that they didn't pursue and capture the villains?"

"Well; a lot of Colonel Young's home guard did get after them," was the reply, "but they killed the colonel in the night, and took to the mountains right away, and our men never found them."

She was eyeing me curiously now, and presently she asked:

"Stranger; what is your name?"

"Frank Barton, madam," I replied, without hesitation.

"Where are you from?" she inquired.

"Waco, Texas," said I; and I launched off into a description of Texas and its people, stock raising, agriculture, etc., and soon got her thoroughly convinced that I was really telling her the truth.

We had an excellent supper here, and pushed on up the river. Whenever we found a friendly neighborhood we would stop at houses; but, when we wouldn't like the appearances, we would hide out in the woods. When we lay out we would steal chickens and take them into the woods with us; and if we failed on poultry, we killed a hog: and as for bread, we never thought of it. When we got into the neighborhood at the base of the Blue Ridge, we found the people very much exercised in regard to their stock. The rebels had sent them word to have their cattle gathered, as they would be after them in two or three days, to take them off to the army. It was Colonel Thomas—the notorious Bill Thomas, commanding a legion of Indians, who sent them the order; and the people were fully determined to resist the seizure of their stock, and sent Thomas word that if he got their cattle he must gather them himself. There were perhaps sixty able-bodied men, who were armed and willing to resist if the rebels came into their neighborhood to enforce the order; and Gray and I joined the insurrectionary forces and helped to promote the spirit of resistance among them. We waylaid the pass in the mountains, through which the rebels must necessarily come, for a couple of days; but Thomas must have learned, by some means, that the people were armed and awaiting for his arrival, as he did not come.

We practiced target-shooting, one afternoon, with several of these mountaineers, just for the sake of making a favorable impression among them. Gray held a cap box between his thumb and finger for me to shoot at, and to show the confidence we had in each other we exchanged positions, and I held the box as a mark for Gray's bullet. The distance was fifty yards.

Early on the morning of the 20th of May we scaled the Blue Ridge—a very severe undertaking, and one which caused us great labor and fatigue. When one stands at the foot of the mountain and looks up, the summit appears wrapped in a blue haze; and when on the top, looking down, the foot appears belted in blue, a shade or two deeper than azure.

From the summit of this ridge the view is indeed grand and picturesque. Other mountains rise up in every direction, to meet the vision—"Great Smoky," in East Tennessee, being among those distinctly visible from the point where we then stood. It is no unfrequent occurrence for it to be raining down in the valleys, while on the summit of the ridge the sky is perfectly clear and the sun shining. Going along the top of the Long Ridge, or as the natives call it, the Ridge Pole, we were astonished at its hight and singular formation—it being, I believe, the most elevated point of land in the Alleghany mountains, though my data on this subject is by no means positive. The summit of the ridge is extremely narrow—being not more, in many places, than six or ten feet in width—the descent on the west side being regular, but steep, while on the east it is little else than a precipice for a thousand feet down.

One particular feature of these mountains is the fact, that both sides and tops are covered with a deep, rich soil, of very dark, or black color, the tops, however, being so high as to be destitute of timber.

Descending to the foot of the ridge, on the eastern side, we came to the head waters of the Tallulah river—so called by the Indians, on account of its extraordinary falls, which are, perhaps, the highest in the country, though no single fall is as high as others which might be mentioned. There are five cataracts in a quarter of a mile, the water descending four hundred feet altogether. The roaring of the waters can be heard an incredible distance; and no wonder that the red men named it Tallulah—thunder river.

We followed the stream to its junction with the Chattooga, where the two form the Tugalo, being conducted on the route by a man named Ramy, whom we hired to pilot us through the most dangerous sections of the country, the distance being twenty-eight miles. He was a perfect specimen of a backwoodsman, and loyal, after the most rigid definition of that word. Near the mouth of the Chattooga a brother of his lived, who had a son in the rebel army and who was a violent secessionist. He was member of Young's Georgia cavalry, which was at Clayton, then only six miles away.

On the west side of the Blue Ridge, we had frequently passed off as rebel soldiers in disguise; but generally for Union men—always suiting ourselves to the company we were in, or as our interests demanded; but on the east side, we knew that we had nothing to expect from citizens if we claimed to be Yankee soldiers, as they were nearly all against us, and, therefore, we almost uniformly represented ourselves as rebels on our way to Augusta to join our regiments. We belonged, we stated, to the 4th (confederate) Kentucky Cavalry. But we had as little to do with the people as possible; but when we could not avoid meeting them, we told this simple story with occasional variations, to satisfy the curious and the doubting.

Young Ramy was at home when we reached his father's house, and in the morning we left early, telling the people we were going to Walhalla, to get on the morning train; but as soon as we were out of sight, we turned down the Tugalo, and stole a canoe, below the first shoals, and traveled constantly till we ran our boat aground on a shoal, and were compelled to abandon it and wade ashore, trusting to our chances to obtain another craft.

When daylight overtook us, we hid out in the mountains, on Brasstown creek—a stream noted for its high cascades. Traveling on the river by night or by day, as best suited our purposes, we finally reached the head of the canal, seven miles above Augusta; one day, at noon time, we passed through a section of the country where a large number of Col. Bill Thomas' Indians were quartered—some farming, some tending stock, while others were making baskets, and yet others were fishing. All appeared busy, in a lazy sort of Indian way; and most of them had been wounded in the rebel service. Being unfit for active duties, they had been sent to this part of South Carolina to recruit themselves, and to raise something to support the tribe who were entirely helpless. They were Cherokees, who have always lived on the Tuckasege river, and at Qualla town, on the Qualla river, in North Carolina. They were the saddest appearing Indians I ever saw, and seemed to have lost the last vestige of that firey independence which characterizes their race: and as far as I could discover, they had not been benefited by intercourse with the white race.

The Tugalo is one of the most beautiful streams I ever beheld. Its banks are finely diversified with mountain scenery, generally in the distance; while the bottoms are in the highest state of cultivation—indeed, some of the finest plantations, and best built mansions in all the southern country, are on this river. At times, the water, which is always clear, runs smooth and deep, for some distance, when suddenly it is broken by shoals, miles and miles in length; the current roaring and dashing among the rocks, with astonishing velocity; so that to navigate the surging waves, required all the skill and presence of mind we could muster.

After the Tugalo makes its junction with the Seneca, the stream takes the name of Savannah, or as the mountaineers call it—the Sav-a-naw. Below the mouth of the Seneca, the river rapidly widens, and the water assumes a yellowish or muddy color, and it is full of wild and dangerous shoals. The bottoms, on either side, are wide and well cultivated; but on account of the fearful freshets, caused by the rising of the mountain streams above, there are no houses built near the river—they generally being from two to three miles back, and sometimes even farther than that; so that we seldom saw any one, save the slaves, and their overseers—the former being the most abject human beings I ever saw. Occasionally, the overseers themselves were black, and as far as I could see, they were equally severe on the laborers, with the white men.

There are no towns at all, immediately on the Savannah, above Augusta. Occasionally we would meet a keel boat coming up to the plantations after corn for the rebel army, they being propelled by poles, and manned by negroes—the man in charge occasionally being a white man; usually, however, he was as black as a crow. Almost every boat contained half a a dozen rebel soldiers as a guard; and these would sometimes hail us as we passed; but as they could not stop without "losing deal" with the current, we would not, for fear of losing deal with them, and therefore, our conversations were of brief duration. If we happened to meet on a shoal, they had always as much as they could do to climb up over it, and we had all we could do to keep from being dashed to pieces among the rocks, so we paid little attention to each other.

There appeared to be a continual falling of the river from the mountains to Augusta; but from there to the coast, I believe that the stream is exceedingly smooth and placid. Some of the shoals above, are miles in extent; and each is known to the keel boatmen by some significant name. Among those which we deemed from observation to be the most dangerous, are the Little river shoals, so called because they are just below the mouth of Little river; the Elizabeth shoals—but why so called I am not aware; and the Trotter shoals, named from the fact that on ascending them with a keel boat, the crew is compelled to trot with their poles to make headway.

This last named rapid is seven miles long, and is one continuous hill in the river, down which the current rushes with frightful velocity, the channel winding back and forth from shore to shore, while the stream itself winds around, with zigzag curves, and is thickly besprinkled with rocks; so that the water is lashed into white caps and foam—the waves rolling short, quick, and angrily, to an incredible hight.

Another dangerous rapid is the Ring Jaw shoal, not far from Augusta; the river here being almost dammed up by great rocks, among which the current forces itself with a short twist, from right to left, and back again with such power that the passing boat is nearly wrung in twain, as it proceeds. Another shoal, about the last in the river, is near the head of the canal, and is called Bull Sluice, and is somewhat after the fashion of Ring Jaw, and about as dangerous.

To add to the dangers we encountered in navigating the stream, we had to run over several mill dams, some of which were from six to eight feet in perpendicular hight; and there was but a single method of passing them, and that was to go over. These dams were invariably built of loose rocks, of great size, piled on the shoals, sometimes from shore to shore, but occasionally only forming a wing, partially across. These mills were almost the only signs of habitation; the structures being generally strong frames, and they were kept constantly running; but as they had all been seized by the rebel government, it was with the greatest difficulty that the people could get either meal or flour. Still the citizens of this section of South Carolina lived far better than did those of any other section of the South which I have visited during the war. They all seemed to enjoy plenty, and it was of the best quality; but the white women, as a general thing, were not good cooks—from a lack of practice, I presume—and the negroes were usually too careless to prepare a meal properly.