Cumberland and drive them, guarded by one of our regiments, to
Tullahoma. I have never understood how he expected us to be able, under
the circumstances, to collect the cattle, or the foragers to drive them
out. The commissaries did not attempt to carry out their instructions,
but followed us the entire distance and pulled up in prison. They were
gallant fellows and made no complaint of danger or hardship, seeming
rather to enjoy it.

[Illustration: THE FARMER FROM CALFKILLER CREEK.]

There was one case, however, which excited universal pity. An old farmer
and excellent man, who lived near Sparta, had accompanied us to
Burkesville; that is, he meant to go no farther, and thought we would
not. He wished to procure a barrel of salt, as the supply of that
commodity was exhausted in his part of the country. He readily purchased
the salt, but learned, to his consternation, that the march to
Burkesville was a mere preliminary canter. He was confronted with the
alternative of going on a dangerous raid or of returning alone through a
region swarming with the fierce bushwhackers of "Tinker Dave" Beattie,
who never gave quarter to Confederate soldier or Southern sympathizer.
He knew that if he fell into their hands they would pickle him with his
own salt. So this old man sadly yet wisely resolved to follow the
fortunes of Morgan. He made the grand tour, was hurried along day after
day through battle and ambush, dragged night after night on the
remorseless march, ferried over the broad Ohio under fire of the militia
and gunboats, and lodged at last in a "loathsome dungeon." On one
occasion, in Ohio, when the home guards were peppering us in rather
livelier fashion than usual, he said to Captain C.H. Morgan, with tears
in his voice: "I sw'ar if I wouldn't give all the salt in Kaintucky to
stand once more safe and sound on the banks of Calfkiller Creek."