The times., 1891-10-16
A REFUGEES STORY.

Hank Owings had in war times been
Union refugee.
was on his circuit, and had gone to
his home for the night, where, after the
supper things had been put away, he
fold his story of the days when that part
Of the country was common forage
ground for all the outlaws and guerril-
las of East Tennessee.
EAST Tennessee was Union, and
mostly mountains. There weren't many
Shareholders hereabouts, so the folks
didn't care to fight, and kept out of it as
best they could.
81 had just turned nineteen, and was
strapping fellow. tall like am now
hain't shortened up much." with a soft
laugh.
Father and l had started for the
cornfield, just around that knoll over
there in the meadow, when troop of
guerrillas rode down the road to halt in
the old door yard. They wanted to
know where the men folks were, when
they'd be back, how many boys belonged
to the place, how old they were, and all
that. Then, with most of the poultry
slowed in their saddlebags, they rode
sway laughing saying as how they'd be
back after the boys some day.
after that it was settled I'd better
get to Nashville than be conscripted by
the rebs. ! reck'n there were a dozen
boys that We're Union in the neigh5or-
hood. We had agreed upon the night,
for all there weren't one Of us who had
been any way from home, but we got a
map from one of our old school books.
and, after studying it a bit, lowed we
could get there.
''The old church at the mouth Of the
Post Oak road was the rendezvous.
When the night came around the boys
were ON TIRE ground ana lmpatlenr TO De
off. Crossing the valley single file we
crept up the side of Walden Ridge, to
throw ourselves on the grass at it's top
just at the edge of Lookout Rook. With
one long, lingering look we plunged into
the wilderness that makes the great
Cumberland plateau, and that covers a
third almost of the state of Tennessee.
"a wild, mountainous region now, it
was wilder then, and whichever way
one might turn might be into guerrilla
VI dStlHSL Ouc VI bIclI plCkclS. - ..
''The third night out we struck Dad
dy's creek. The trail westward, de-
scending sharply into deep ravine,
brought us to a broad, shallow stream.
There was an opening in the woods so
we could see the sharp roof of a building
against the sky. Along the edge Of this
stream was jungle of laurel, into which
the boys crept, while went forward to
reconnoiter. Keeping in the shadow of
the laurels l forded the creek to find
myself beside a broad, level stretch Of
highway. The fresh hoof marks in it
startled me, and made me more careful
in my movements. The building was
an old deserted sawmill. There were
holes in its roof through which the
moon shone. which. by the way, was in
its second quarter. | approached the
mill over the logs which once supported
its clumsy fume. Nearer and nearer
crept, feeling each piece of timber
that was likely to feel a pound of my
weight
Crack
"'Who goes thereY
II had barely time to drop among the
foundations of the hume when the figure
of man was dimly outlined in the gable
of the mill. Standing there some time
he afterward withdrew, reluctantly, 1T
seemed to me, into the deeper shadow,
yet felt his eye was still on the broken
fume.
~ peered over the log, and in the
gable again stood the gray, ghostly
vision had before seen. 1t was motion
less, yet dared not move, for saw the
CLINT of a rifle against the black back
ground.
at was sentry-a guerrilla no doubt.
"There was little chance OF getting
ont of those logs without discovery, with