I felt that I could not come to the top again, and could not reach the bottom. I thought if I could reach the bottom I could crawl out by springing to the top now and then for breath. But I could not touch bottom. I then began to calculate the chances of their getting my body out in time to resuscitate it. I knew it would not take long to cut the dam and drain the pond; but, when I reflected that they had not the presence of mind to do anything, I lost all hope in that direction. I saw no chance for me, and regarded the end as come. The reflection that I had obeyed the gospel was intensely joyous. During the whole time I had not strangled, knowing that it would be fatal. A young man named Gipson--Sam Gipson--one of the owners of the mill, was some eighty yards away, filing the saw. When Sparks swam away and left me, Gipson saw they were going to let me drown, and ran to my assistance. He got on one of the large slabs, and came in to where I had gone down. I was still making some commotion in the water, and, guessing about where I was, he pushed a plank down that came just under my left arm. I knew what it was, and pressed it to my side. He then bore on the other end and brought me to the surface. He held on thus till others came and helped me upon the slab. As soon as I got breath a few times I appeared to be all right, and they thought I was only playing a trick on them; but in a few moments I tumbled over, became black in the face, and suffered intensely for several hours. On one occasion during the war I went into Floydsburg, on the morning after Christmas day. There was a little squad of Confederates there, belonging to the command of Col. Jessee, of New Castle, Ky. One of them was a boy, named Hall, who went from that neighborhood. The rest were strangers. I was introduced to the lieutenant in command, and had some talk with him. The main street of the town runs east and west. About the middle, the Brownsboro road comes in from the north, at a right angle. This comes down a "branch" which crosses the main street. At the east end of town the road descends into another hollow. Some of the soldiers were inside, some sitting outside, of a blacksmith shop, and some on their horses. I had walked near the east end, till I was just on the ridge between the two hollows. I was standing at the door of Col. Wilson, talking to his wife, when several companies of negroes, stationed at La Grange under the command of white men, came marching into town. They were a terror to the whole country. A little negro boy, chopping wood just at the east edge of town, informed the commander, who was riding in front, that the rebels were at the shop. Instantly everything was quieted, and a stealthy march for the shop began. From my position I could see both parties, and that the rebels were wholly unsuspecting. While they were nothing to me, and I had but little sympathy with them, for they were not in the regular service, I could