It was about nine o’clock in the morning when he brought the men to his place, and at noon the “dinner” was ready. I got the men in line, and Walker passed the buckets along. As the men had no knives, forks or spoons, they had to use their hands, and some of them were so hungry that they burned their fingers in their eagerness to partake of the delicious and inviting repast. Our generous host continued to supply them until all was consumed. The men were so famished that while he was cooking the apples and potatoes they peeled the bark off all the little trees and ate it. The whole thicket, about an acre, looked white after the trees had been thus denuded of their bark. By this time it was two o’clock in the afternoon, and I told the men to lie down and try to sleep, for we had to cross the “Dead Line” and Powell’s Valley that night, and get into Cumberland Mountain, for I knew the rebels were on our trail. While we were lying on the ground about three hundred yards from the main road, we could hear the rebels riding up and down the road. No man was allowed to make any noise. They obtained a few hours of sleep and rest, which was very much needed. I had two men detailed to keep them from snoring, for some of them you could hear a hundred yards. These men would go around and when a man would snore they would shake him or give him a kick. When night came, the perilous task of crossing the “Dead Line,” which we had dreaded from the start, was before us. Several men had been killed at this place during the preceding ten days. I asked Walker if he knew a good Union man who could be relied upon to guide us to the road. He said there was a man in the neighborhood who had helped men to Powell’s Valley, and he would send a colored girl to see if the man could be found. By the time we were ready to start, about nine o’clock, he came. I questioned him and he seemed to be all right, so we started, he in the lead. I had been on the trail before, and after travelling about a mile I became a little suspicious and stopped the men. I thought we were too far West. I formed a hollow square, with this man in the center. I questioned him and found we were a mile off the trail. We put the man under arrest, and went back to where we had started and took up the right trail. I do not think this man intended to lead us into the rebels’ hands, but he became bewildered and scared. [Illustration: CAPT. R. A. RAGAN AT HIS HOME AFTER ARREST. See page 8.] We reached Powell’s Valley about three o’clock in the morning, and halted on a little bank about ten feet above the level of the main road leading up and down the valley, which was called the “Dead Line.” I remember this experience as vividly as if it were but yesterday. The woods in which we were concealed were as dark as hell, and hell was in front of us. There were about one hundred and thirty men standing in single file, and I could not hear a man move or breathe. Even death itself could never be more still.