Just before the march began, while we were standing in line early the next morning, with the camp all broken up, our knapsacks swung, and our haversacks filled with rations, waiting only for the word "forward," Captain Mitchel came over to me and uttered a sentence, in a half whisper, that went through me like an electric shock. His message was simply this: "Mills is back, and has gone up to headquarters to report." While standing in my place in the ranks I could give no answer, nor could I ask any question, but my mind was full of surmises. Had the adventurers succeeded, and were we now on our way to do our part in the great plan,--to strike swift and far into the South, while the enemy's communications were broken? That would involve hard fighting and stirring scenes not far ahead. Had they failed? If so, there would probably be other attempts,--that is, if the secret had been kept,--and then I would have a part in the risk and the adventure. At any rate, I was exceeding glad of Mills's return, and I knew that I would find out all about it as soon as I could get to talk with him alone. As Company K--Mitchel's--was next my own in the line, that opportunity, even on the march, would not be long delayed. Soon the command to march was given, and the column moved southward towards Shelbyville, about twenty-five miles distant. Before noon I dropped out of my place, sought and found Mills, and as we plodded along, in the loose order allowed on long marches, we had no difficulty in remaining together, and yet far enough from other soldiers to talk in perfect security. The whole history of my relative's adventures was fully laid open before me. I found that all Mitchel had narrated was perfectly accurate, but the enormous obstacles to be encountered by such an expedition were now brought much more plainly into view. Mills said that he and his companions had first of all exchanged their uniforms for citizen's clothes, and made provision for the safety of their arms and personal effects in the camp. Then, under the direction of Andrews, they had scattered in the mountains, to the eastward of our camp, representing themselves as refugees from the oppressions of the Union troops in Kentucky, and had journeyed thus to Chattanooga. That town had been reached in about four days. My friend pictured in lively colors the manner in which he had been compelled to verbally abuse the Union cause, and join in praise of the leaders and principles of Secession. The squad to which he belonged had no particular difficulty in passing themselves as good rebels. The man who first returned had been less fortunate. At Chattanooga they took passage on the cars for Atlanta, and in due time reached that place, where they scattered themselves among the several hotels and lived plentifully (they had an abundant supply of money) for three days longer. Each hour Andrews anticipated the arrival of that Confederate engineer of whom Mitchel had spoken to me. But he did not come.