I lay there watching the knitting and listening to the old lady and her daughter's talk. They had a consultation upon my safety, and it was decided that I should go to the daughter's house for the night. "It is off the road," they said, "and if they make an attack, we can send you word across the fields." But later, we learnt that two spies had passed the house that day, and it was decided I should be sent on that night. We were to start from the house of a son-in-law of Mr. Washam's, and he and his brother-in-law were to drive me. I walked up to the house, and found the wagon nearly ready. His wife was a young girl, with a sweet and gentle voice and manner. "It is too bad," she said, "too bad that you should go away so wounded and wearied. In peace, we would not let any one leave our home thus." Soon the wagon came to the door. "Mother," she said, "let us make up a bed in it." "Oh, no," I interposed, "I am not used to a bed; I have not had one in three months, and cannot put you to such trouble." "It is no trouble to us," she replied, so earnestly and kindly, that I could not doubt it; "do not think that of us." "But," I went on, "I assure you, some hay in the wagon is all I want, and much more than I am accustomed to. Besides, I am dusty and dirty, and shall certainly spoil your bed clothes." "If it had not been for you Union soldiers fighting for us," she answered, "there would be nothing in this house to spoil; and whatever _we_ have, _you_ shall have." Against such goodness and patriotism, who could raise objections? The bed was made in the wagon; they helped me up, and blessed by many good wishes and kind farewells, we started. For me it was so much more safe and comfortable than usual, that I soon fell asleep; but to my two young friends, it was an unusual and an anxious drive. Frequently I was roused by the wagon stopping. Sometimes they heard dogs barking--sometimes voices, and once a gun. At length I woke, to find the wagon standing in front of a house, and young Washam thumping on the door. Soon a man came out. "Why, boys," he said, "what on earth are you doing here this time o' night?" "Why you see, Mr. Derringer," said one of the "boys," "here's a wounded Union officer, hurt in the fight on the Obion. Joel Wade brought him to our house, and we've brought him here; and now we want you to take him to Paducah." "I'm really sorry," said Mr. Derringer, "that I've lent my wagon; but my neighbor, Purcell, is a good Union man, and he will do it. All of you come in, and I will go over and see him." I told Mr. Derringer to wait till morning; but he would not hear of it; and after seeing us comfortably in bed, he started off to walk a mile or two and wake his neighbor in the dead of night, to tell him he must come at break of day and carry on a stranger, of whom he had never even heard, for no other reason than that he was a wounded Union officer.