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I thrust my boat among some cypress trees and sat down to rest and conclude what was best to do while I was seated there. A boat came out through the swamp a little farther up the stream. There were two ladies and a gentleman in it. They proceeded downstream and I began to hunt my way for dry land after considerable trouble from my batteau's being stopped by cypress knees. I reached the dry land and stood in my boat concealed partially by the reeds that skirted the margin of the swamp. Here I saw the hog plow several rounds before I unclear courage enough to hail him as he was a white boy. At length I accosted him. He looked up somewhat surprised and asked me if I was a deserter. "I belong to the army but am not a deserter." "Are you going to town?" "Yes!" "What company do you belong to?" Company B 85th Georgia. What town did you mean? "Appalachia" "No I'm not going to Appalachia. The Yankees are down there. "Oh, I didn't know but you was a deserter."