he sky as they rustled in the breeze, and the craggy cliffs that showed their gray faces above the pines, were as pillars for the sky.
We must say that we were well pleased with our commander, General Manson, who took every thing with moderation.
In getting the wagons up the mountains, the General's shoulder was as good at a wheel as any man's.
October sixth, we lay in camp making amends for the wear and tear while crossing the mountains.
In the evening I obtained a pass of Major Alexander Magruder, a good officer and a gentleman, to go to Knoxville.
We found every thing in better condition than we had anticipated.
After riding about town a few minutes, to make a survey of its location, we inquired for the residence of Parson Brownlow, which we soon found on Cumberland street, just east of a bridge across First Creek, in the corporation designated as East-Knoxville.
We could but look upon the silent domicile with reverence, though it is but a plain two-story frame, with por