We had been in confinement _fifty days_, and before I could reach the army it would be more than a hundred miles from Lagrange. It was a great undertaking to leave the guard-house without authority, and, without rations, to run a gauntlet of that distance, through Federal pickets and railroad guards, stationed at frequent intervals along the whole route, every one of whom would halt me to examine my pass, or would turn me back if without one. Sergeant T. J. Watson volunteered to go with me. _How_ we got out of the guard-house it is not necessary for me to mention. From Lagrange we took a south-east course, across the country toward Davis' Mills; we struck the railroad where the wagon road crosses it. There we found some pickets, belonging to a detachment of five companies stationed at Davis' Mills, under command of a Major, and charged with guarding a portion of the railroad. At the time we approached them, they were all, except the sentry, engaged in cooking a part of a fat porker that they had confiscated during the night. We halted and entered into conversation with the boys, as though we had no intention of going on. Having finished their cooking, they asked us to eat with them, which we were no way backward about doing. We finished our breakfast, and were about starting on, when the sentry, who had been more attentive to duty than we had hoped, asked us if we had passes. I told him we had not, and that we were on our way to the front, and had not been asked for passes before, and did not know as it was necessary to have them. With that explanation, the sergeant of the guard let us pass, but told us that it would not do to let the Captain in command see us. Not liking to run our chances with him, we crossed the railroad and left it to our right, and crossed Davis Creek on a log, and, a short distance from the creek, turned to our right, so as to reach the bridge across Wolf River, near Davis' Mills. As we were passing through the cleared field, I discovered to my left, on a rise of ground, a squad of guerrillas, mounted on horses. We were within easy shot of them. We were then within half a mile of the detachment camped at Davis' Mills; they probably did not wish to alarm the Federal pickets. They had evidently discovered us first, and were watching for an opportunity to "gobble us up." "Tom," said I to the Sergeant, "what kind of soldiers do you call them?" "What kind are they, Bunker?" "They are a band of guerrillas, and they will have us in less than a minute, if we don't get away from here." Just then the guerrillas started for us. "Come on, Bunker; for God's sake, let us run!" said Tom. "They are coming now!"