My companions were quite talkative, and I responded as well as I could. They even tried to make me think that the extraordinary manner in which I was tied and guarded--with which I reproached them--was a compliment, showing that they had formed a high opinion of my daring character! Their conversation was pleasant and courteous enough, except that when they passed houses they would cry out, "We've got a live Yankee here!" Then men, women, and children would rush to the door, staring as if they saw some great monster, and asking,-- "Whar did you ketch him? Goin' to hang him when you get him to Chattanooga?" and similar expressions without number. I cared little for this at first, but its perpetual recurrence was not without its effect in making me think that they really would hang me. In fact, my prospects were far from encouraging; yet I considered it my duty to keep up my spirits and hold despair at arm's length while any possible ground for hope remained. The afternoon wore slowly away as we journeyed amid grand and romantic scenery that in any other circumstances would have been enthusiastically enjoyed. But now my thoughts were otherwise engaged. I was not so much afraid of death in itself as of the manner in which it was likely to come. Death amid the smoke and excitement and glory of battle never had seemed half so terrible as it now did when it stood, an awful spectre, beside the gallows! And even sadder it was to think of friends who would count the weary months, waiting and longing for my return, till hope became torturing suspense, and suspense deepened into despair. These and kindred thoughts were almost too much for my fortitude; yet, setting my teeth hard, I resolved to endure patiently to the end.