We plodded onward through the deep mud and splashing roads, and were now outside our own lines. Our only safety, from this time, lay in our disguise and in our false tongues. We felt not unlike the landsman who for the first time loses sight of the shore, and feels the heaving of the broad ocean under his feet. To the average Northern citizen a vague mystery and terror had rested over the whole of the Southern States, even before the beginning of the war. During the existence of slavery no Northern man dared make his home in the presence of that institution and express any views unfavorable to it. Many tales of violence and blood were reported from that region long before hostilities began, and as the passions which led to the contest grew more fierce, the shadows still deepened. When war began the curtain fell, and only reports of wild and desperate enthusiasm in behalf of the cause of disunion and slavery, with stories of the most cruel oppression of the few who dared to differ with the ruling class in still loving the old flag, reached Northern ears. No doubt there were many exaggerations, but there was a solid basis of fact. The South was swept with a revolutionary frenzy equal to any that history recalls, and the people were ready to sacrifice any one whose life seemed dangerous to their cause. Even exaggeration was potent as truth in aiding to invest the region beyond the Union lines with mysterious horror. Into this land of peril and fear and frequent outrage we were plunging as the secret but deadly enemies of the whole people. Now, when Chattanooga and Atlanta are brought into such easy communication with Northern cities, it is difficult to recall the feelings with which they were regarded in the dark days of eighteen hundred and sixty-two. But hope and courage outweighed apprehension in our hearts, and we pushed rapidly forward. Others of our party were occasionally seen trudging along in the dreary rain, and sometimes we went with them a little way, but mostly we kept by ourselves. Shortly after noon we crossed Duck River, and entered Manchester, stopping just long enough to get the names of some of the prominent secessionists along our proposed route, that we might always have some one to inquire for, and be recommended from one influential man to another. Nightfall this evening (Tuesday) found us still several miles from Hillsborough, and we began to fear that we would be behind time in reaching our destination. Each one was weary and stiff, but we resolved to make every effort, and, if necessary, travel a whole night rather than be too late. I have always been sorry that this night journey was not required of us.