He said that the guard had told him that we were to be taken to a point near that place, and we agreed that it was probably a new place of exchange.

A little later we passed through the town of Macon, Ga, and turned upon a road that led almost due south.
About midnight the train stopped, and we were ordered off.

We were in the midst of a forest of tall trees that loaded the air with the heavy balsamic odor peculiar to pine trees.

A few small rude houses were scattered around near.
Stretching out into the darkness was a double row of great heaps of burning pitch pine, that smoked and flamed fiercely, and lit up a little space around in the somber forest with a ruddy glare.

Between these two rows lay a road, which we were ordered to take.
The scene was weird and uncanny.