"Our scouts have found the adventure very easy."--SHAKESPEARE.
"Our scouts have found the adventure very easy."--SHAKESPEARE.
Soon the wagons turned sharply to the left, following, I thought, a new road cut for a purpose; now camp-fires could be seen again, and near by.
The cry of a sentinel was heard in front, and the wagons halted. I supposed that we were now to pass the camp guard, which, for mere form's sake, had challenged the Confederate teamsters; I crept entirely under the body of the wagon.
We moved on; I saw no sentinel; doubtless he had turned his back and was walking toward the other end of his beat.
The wagon, on its new road, was now passing to the right of an encampment; long rows of tents, with streets between, showed clearly upon a hill at the left. In the streets there were many groups of men; some of them were talking noisily; some were singing. It was easy to see that these men were in good spirits; they surely had not had a hard march that day. For my part, I was beginning to feel very tired; still, I knew that excitement would keep me going for this night, and for the next day, if need be.
The wagon passed beyond the tents; then, judging that it was to go on until it should be far in the rear, I stepped aside and was alone again, and with the Confederate forces between Jones and me.
I sat on the ground, and tried to think. It seemed to me that the worst was over. I was safer here than I had been an hour ago, while following up the picket-line--safer, perhaps, than I had been at any time that day. I was a Confederate surrounded by an army who wore the Southern uniform. Nothing less than stupidity on my part could lose me. I must still act cautiously--yet without the appearance of caution; that was a more difficult matter.
What I had to do now seemed very simple; it was merely the work of walking about and estimating the number of the rebels. To get out of these lines would not be any more difficult for me than for any other rebel.
But would not a man walking hither and thither in the night be accosted by some one?
Well, what of that? As soon as he sees me near, he will be satisfied.
But suppose some man asks you what regiment you belong to--what can you say?
Let me think. The troops here may be all Virginians, or all Georgians, and I am a South Carolinian.
The sweat rolled down my face--unwholesome sweat. I had allowed my imagination to carry me too far; I had really put myself in the place of a Carolinian for the moment; the becoming a Union soldier again was sudden, violent. I must guard against such transitions.
Seeing at last that hiding was not acting cautiously and without the appearance of caution, I rose and started for the camp-fires, by a great effort of will dominating my discomposure, and determining to play the Confederate soldier amongst his fellows. I would go to the men; would talk to them when necessary; would count their tents and their stacks of arms if possible; would learn, as soon as I could, the name of some regiment, so that if I were questioned I could answer.
But suppose you are asked your regiment, and give an appropriate answer, and then are asked for your captain's name--what can you say?
I beat off the fearful suggestion. Strong suspicion alone could prompt such, an inquiry. There was no more reason for these men to suspect my being a Union soldier than there was for me to suspect that one of these men was a Union soldier.
I was approaching the encampment from the rear. Two men overtook me, each bending under a load of many canteens. They passed me without speaking. I followed them--lengthening my step to keep near them--and went with them to their company. I stood by in the light of the fires while they distributed the canteens, or, rather, while they put the canteens on the ground, and their respective owners came and got them. The men did not speak to me.
I had hoped to find the Confederates in line of battle; they certainly ought to have been in line, and in every respect ready for action, but, instead, they were here in tents and without any preparation against surprise, so far as I could see, except the cavalry pickets thrown out on the roads. If they had been in line, it would have been easy for me to estimate the number of bayonets in the line of stacked arms; I was greatly disappointed. The tents seemed to me too few for the numbers of men who were at the camp-fires. I saw forms already stretched out on their blankets in the open air. Doubtless many men, in this mild weather, preferred to sleep outside of the crowded tents.
Hoping that something would be said to give me what I wanted to know, I sat down.
One of the men asked me for a chew of tobacco.
"Don't chaw," said I, mentally vowing that henceforth. I should carry some tobacco.
"Why don't you buy your own tobacco?" asked a voice.
The petitioner refused to reply.
A large man stood up; he took from his pocket a knife and a square of tobacco; he gravely approached the first speaker, cut off a very small portion, and handed it to him. The men looked on in silence at this act, which, seemingly, was nothing new to them. One of them winked at me. I inferred that the large man intended a rebuke to his comrade for begging from a stranger. The large man went back and sat down.
"Say, Doc, how long are we goin' to be here?"
"I wish I could tell you," said the large man.
There were seven men in the group around the fire; the eyes of all were upon the large man called Doc. He seemed a man of character and influence, though but a private. He turned to me.
"You are tired," he said.
I merely nodded assent. His remark surprised and disconcerted me, so that I could not find my voice. In a moment my courage had returned. The look of the man was the opposite of suspicious--it was sympathetic. He was not baldly curious. His attitude toward me might shield me from the curiosity of the others, if, indeed, they were feeling interest of any sort in me. I had been fearing that some one would ask me my regiment.
"I want to go home to my mammy!" screamed a voice at the next fire.
Nobody gave this yell the least notice. I supposed it a common saying with homesick soldiers.
I wondered what Doc and the other men were thinking of me. Perhaps I was thought a friend of one of the men who had brought the water; perhaps nobody thought anything, or cared anything, about me. Although I felt helpless, I would remain.
A torn envelope was lying on the ground, within a few inches of my hand. The addressed side was next the ground. My fears fled; accident had helped me--had given me a plan.
I turned the letter over. The address was:--
PRIVATE D.W. ROBERTS,Co. G, 7th N.C. Reg't,Branch's Brigade,Gordonsville, Va.
I rose. "I must be going," said I, and walked off down the street. The act, under the circumstances, did not seem to me entirely natural, but it was the best I could do; these men, I hoped, would merely think me an oddity.
In the next street I stopped at the brightest fire that I saw.
"This is not the Seventh, is it?" I asked.
"No," said one; "the Seventh is over there," pointing.
"What regiment is this?"
"Our'n," said he.
"Oh, don't be giving me any of your tomfoolery," said I.
"This is the Thirty-third," said another.
I went back toward the Seventh, passed beyond it, and approached another group. A man of this group rose and sauntered away toward the left. I followed him. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "Hello, Jim! where are you going?"
He turned and said, "Hello yourself, if you want anybody to hello; but my name's not Jim."
"I beg your pardon," said I; "afraid I'm in the wrong pew; what regiment is this?"
"The Twenty-eighth," said he, and went on without another word.
The nature of the replies given me by my friends of the Thirty-third and Twenty-eighth made me feel nearly certain that all of Branch's regiments were from one State. I was supposed to belong to the brigade; it was needless to tell me the name of the State from which my regiment--from which all the regiments--came. Had the brigade been a mixed one, the men would have said, "Thirty-third North Carolina;" "Twenty-eighth North Carolina"; that they did not trouble themselves with giving the name of their State was strong reason for believing that all the regiments, as I knew the Seventh to be, were from North Carolina.
I continued my walk, picking up as I went several envelopes, which I thrust into my pocket. It must now have been about ten o'clock. The men had become silent; but few were sitting at the fires. I believed I had sufficient information as to the composition of the brigade, but I had learned little as to its strength. I knew that there were five streets in the encampment, and therefore five regiments in the brigade. But how many men were in the brigade?
Behind the rear regiment was a small cluster of wall-tents, which I took for brigade headquarters. At the head of every street was a wall-tent, which I supposed was the colonel's. At the left of the encampment of tents, and separated from the encampment by a space of a hundred yards, perhaps, was a line of brighter fires than now showed in the streets. The dying out of the fires in the streets was what called my attention, by contrast, to these brighter fires. I walked toward the bright fires; to my surprise I found troops in bivouac. I went boldly up to the nearest fire, and found two men cooking. I asked for a drink of water.
"Sorry, neighbour, but we hain't got nary nother drop," said one.
"An' we don't see no chance to git any," said the other.
"Don't you know where the spring is?" I asked.
"No; do you?"
"I don't know exactly," said I, "but I know the direction; it's down that way," pointing; "I've seen men coming from that way with canteens. You are mighty late getting supper."
"Jest ben relieved; we tuck the places of some men this mornin', an' they jest now got back an' let us loose."
"What duty were you on?"
"On guyard by that battery way over yander; 'twa'n't our time, but we went. Say, neighbour, wish't you'd show me the way to that water o' yourn. Dam'f I knowed the' was any water'n less'n a mile."
"I don't want to go 'way back there," said I; "but I'll tell you how to find it."
"Well, tell me then, an' tell me quick. I reckin if I can git started right, I'll find lots more a-goin'."
"Let me see," said I, studying; "you go over yonder, past General Branch's headquarters, and go down a hill through, the old field, and--let me see; what regiment is this?"
"This'n's the bloody Forty-fifth Georgy," said he; "we ain't no tar-heels; it's a tar-heel brigade exceptin' of us, but we ain't no tar-heels--no insult intended to you, neighbour."
"Oh, I don't mind being called a tar-heel," said I; "in fact, I rather like it."
"Well, wher's your water?"
"You know where the old field is?"
"No, I don't; we've jest got here last night. I don't know anything."
"You know headquarters?"
"Yes."
"Well, just go on down the hill, and you'll find a path in the old field"
The man picked up two canteens, and went off. I remained with his messmate.
"What battery was that you were talking about? I haven't seen a battery with the brigade in a week."
"Wher' have you ben that you hain't seed it?" he asked.
"Off on duty," said I.
"No wonder you hain't seed it, then; an' you mought ha' stayed with your comp'ny an' not ha' seed itthen; you hain't seed it becaze it ain't for to be saw. They're put it away back yander."
"How many guns?"
"Some says six an' some says four; I didn't see 'em, myself."
"I don't understand why you didn't see the guns, if you were guarding the battery; and I don't see why the battery couldn't do its own guard duty."
"We wa'n't a-guyardin' no battery; we was a-guyardin' a house downbythe battery."
"Oh, I see; protecting some citizen's property."
"That's so; pertectin' property an' gittin' hongry."
"That's Captain Brown's battery, is it not?"
"No, sirree! Hit's Latham's battery, though some does call it Branch's battery; but I don't see why. Jest as well call Hardeman's regiment Branch's, too."
"Which regiment is Hardeman's?"
"Our'n; it's with Branch's brigade now, but it ain't Branch's regiment, by a long shot."
"I hear that more troops are expected here," said I, at a venture.
"Yes, and I know they're a-comin'; some of 'em is at the Junction now--comin' from Fredericksburg. I heerd Cap'n Simmons say so this mornin'."
"We'll have a big crowd then," said I.
"What regiment is your'n?"
"'Eventh," said I, without remorse cancelling the difference between the Eleventh Massachusetts and the Seventh North Carolina.
The man moved about the fire, attending to his cooking. The talk almost ceased. I pulled an envelope from my pocket and began tearing it into little bits, which I threw into the fire one by one, pretending mere abstraction.
The envelope had borne the address:--
CAPTAIN GEORGE B. JOHNSTON,Co. G, 28th N.C. Reg't,Branch's Brigade,Hanover C.H., Va.
I took out another envelope. It was addressed to Lieut. E.G. Morrow, of the same company--Company G of the Twenty-eighth. A third bore the address:--
CAPTAIN S.N. STOWE,Co. B, 7th N.C. Reg't,Gordonsville, Va.
More envelopes went into the fire. They bore the names of privates, corporals, and sergeants; some were of the Eighteenth, others of the Thirty-seventh North Carolina Volunteers. One envelope had no address. Another gave me the name of Col. James H. Lane, but no regiment.
"Time your friend was getting back," said I.
"Seems to me so, too," said he; "but I reckin he found a crowd ahead of him."
"How many men in your regiment?" I asked.
"Dunno; there was more'n a thousand at first; not more'n seven or eight hundred, I reckin; how many in your'n?"
"About the same," I replied; "how many in your company?"
"Eighty-two," he said.
The other man returned from the spring.
"Know what I heerd?" he asked.
"No; what was it?" inquired his companion.
"I heard down thar at the branch that the Twelf' No'th Ca'lina was here summers."
"Well, maybe it is."
"I got it mighty straight."
"How did you hear it?" I asked.
"A man told me that one of Branch's couriers told him so; he had jest come from 'em; said they is camped not more'n two mile from here"
"Only the Twelfth? No other regiment?" I asked.
"Didn't hear of no other," he replied,
"I wonder what we are here for?" I ventured to say.
"Plain case," said he; "guyard the railroad."
My knowledge of the situation had vastly increased. Here was Branch's command, consisting of my North Carolina regiments and one from Georgia, and Latham's battery; another regiment was supposed to be near by. What more need I know? I must learn the strength of the force; I must get corroboration. The man with whom I had talked might be wrong on some point. I considered my friend's opinion correct concerning Branch's purpose. The Confederate force was put here to protect the railroad. From the envelopes I had learned that Branch's brigade had recently been at Gordonsville; it was clear that it had left Gordonsville in order to place itself between Anderson's force at Fredericksburg and Johnston's army at Richmond, and thus preserve communications. Branch had been reënforced by the Forty-fifth Georgia on the preceding day, and seemingly on this day by the Twelfth North Carolina. I supposed that General Morell could easily get knowledge from army headquarters of the last positions occupied by these two regiments, and I did not trouble myself to ask questions on this point. All I wanted now was corroboration and knowledge of numbers.
The men had eaten their supper. I left them, giving but slight formality to my manner of departure. I had made up my mind to seek the path to the spring. From such a body, thirsty men would be going for water all night long, especially as there seemed little of it near by. By getting near the spring I should also be able, perhaps, to determine the position of the wagons; I had decided to attempt going out of these lines in the manner of my entering them, if I could but find a wagon going before daylight.
It took some little time to find the spring, which was not a spring after all, but merely a pool in a small brook. I hid myself by the side of the path and waited; soon I heard the rattling of empty canteens and the footsteps of a man; I started to meet him.
"Say, Mister, do you know whar that spring is?"
"I know where the water is," said I; "it's a branch."
"Gosh! Branch's brigade ort to have a branch."
"You must have come in a hurry," said I; "you are blowing."
"Blowin'? Yes; blowed if I didn't come in a hurry, and blowed if I did; you've hit it!"
"What regiment do you belong to?"
"Thirty-seventh."
"Is that Colonel Lane's?"
"No; Lane's is the Twenty-eight. Colonel Lee is our colonel."
"Oh, yes; I got Lee and Lane mixed."
"What regiment is your'n?"
"'Eventh,"
"That's Campbell's," said he.
"You know the brigade mighty well. Here's your water," said I, sitting down while the man should fill his canteens.
"Know 'em all except these new ones," said he.
"That's the Forty-fifth Georgia," said I; "but I hear that more are coming. I heard that the Twelfth North Carolina is near by, and is under Branch."
"Yes; an' it's a fact," said he.
"Your regiment is bigger than ours, I believe," said I.
"Well, I dunno about that; how many men in your'n?"
"About seven or eight hundred, I reckon."
"Not much difference, then; but, I tell you what, that old Twenty-eighth is a whopper--a thousand men."
I said nothing; I could hear the gurgling of the water as it ran down the neck of the canteen. The man chuckled, "Branch's brigade ort to have a branch; blowed if it ortn't." He was pleased with himself for discovering something like a pun or two.
For two reasons it was policy for me to go back, or start back, with this man; first, I wanted him to talk more; second, if I should linger at the water, he might think my conduct strange.
Going up the hill, he asked me to take the lead. I did so, venturing the remark that these two new regiments made Branch's brigade a very big one.
"Yes," said he; "but I reckon they won't stay with us forever."
"Wonder where they came from," said I.
"Too hard forme," he replied; "especially the Twelfth; the Forty-fifth was at Goldsborough, but not in our brigade."
We reached the street of the Seventh. I stepped aside. "I stop here," said I.
"Well," said he, "I'm much obleeged to you for showin' me that branch--that branch that belongs to Branch's brigade," and he went his way.
And now I tried to take some rest. I thought it more prudent to stay at one of the camp-fires, fearing that if I concealed myself I should be stumbled upon and suspected, so I went up to one of the fires of the Twenty-eighth, wrapped my gum-blanket around me and lay down. But I found it impossible to sleep. The newness of the experience and the danger of the situation drove sleep as far from me as the east is from the west. I believe that in romances it is the proper thing to say that a man in trying situations sleeps the sleep of the infant; but this is not romance. I could not sleep.
Some time before day a man lying near my fire stretched himself and sat up. I watched him from the corner of my eye. I wanted no conversation with him; I was afraid he might question me too closely, and that my replies would not prove satisfactory to him. I kept quiet; I knew enough--too much to risk losing.
Suddenly he looked toward me. I was afraid that he had become aware of a foreign element thrown into his environment. My fears were confirmed. He opened his mouth and said, "Who--in--the--hell--that--is." The utterance was an assertion rather than an inquiry. I made no response. He continued to look at me--shook his head--nodded it--then fell back and went to sleep.
To make sure that he was fast, I waited awhile; then I rose and made my way back to a spot near the wagon train, far in the rear. It must have been after three o'clock. The teamsters had finished feeding their mules. Soon two of them began to hitch up their teams; then, with much shouting and rattling of harness, they moved off. I stole along beside the second wagon for some distance, and had almost decided to climb into it from behind when I thought that possibly some one was in it. There seemed little danger in going out behind the wagons, especially as there was no light of day as yet, although I expected that the cavalry pickets on the road would be looking straight at me, if I should pass them, and although, too, I fully understood that these wagons would be escorted by cavalry when on any dangerous part of the road to Richmond. But my plan was to abandon the wagon before we should see any cavalry.
When my wagon had reached the thickest of the woods, and about the spot, as nearly as I could judge, where I had joined the other wagons on the preceding night, I quietly slipped into the bushes on the left of the road.
The light was sufficient for me to distinguish large objects at twenty paces, but the woods were dense, and I knew that caution must be more than ever my guide; now that I had information of great value, it would not do to risk capture.
For some time I crept through the woods on my hands and knees, intently listening for the least sound which might convince me whether I was on the right track. A feverish fear possessed me that I was yet in rear of the Confederate pickets. The east was now clearly defined, so that my course was easy to choose--a northeasterly course, which I knew was very nearly the exact direction to the spot where I had left Jones.
At every yard of progress my fear subsided in proportion; every yard was increasing my distance from Branch's encampment, and rendering probability greater in my favour; I surely must be already in front of any possible picket-line.
The light increased, and the woods became less dense After going a hundred yards, I ceased to crawl. From behind one large tree I examined the ground ahead, and darted quickly to another. Soon I saw before me a fallen tree, and wondered if it might not conceal some vedette. Yet, if it did, the sentinel should be on my side of the tree. I stood for a few moments, intently searching it with my eyes. It was not more than fifteen yards from me, and directly in my course. At last, seeing nothing, I sprang quickly and was just about to lie down behind it, when a man rose from its other side. I did not lie down. He looked at me; I looked at him. He was unarmed. We were about eight feet apart. He began to recoil. There was light sufficient to enable me to tell from his dress that he was a rebel. Of course he would think me a Confederate. I stepped over the log.
"What are you doing here, sir?" I demanded, in a stern voice; "why are you not with your regiment?"
He said nothing to this. He was abashed. His eyes sought the ground.
"Why don't you answer me, sir?" I asked.
He replied timidly, "I am not doing any harm."
"What do you mean by being here at all?"
"I got lost in the woods last night," he said, "and went to sleep here, waiting for day."
"Then get back to your company at once," said I; "what is your regiment?"
"The Seventh," he replied.
"And your brigade?"
He looked up wonderingly at this, and I feared that I had made an unnecessary mistake through over-carefulness in trying to secure another corroboration of what I already knew well enough. I thought I could perceive his idea, and I added in an instant: "Don't you know that troops have come up in the night? What brigade is yours?"
"Branch's," he said.
"Then you will find your camp just in this direction," said I, pointing to the rear and left. He slunk away, seemingly well pleased to be quit at so cheap a cost.
Fearing that our voices had been heard by the pickets, I plunged through the bushes directly toward the east, and ran for a minute without pausing. Again the cold sweat was dropping from my face; again I had felt the mysterious mental agony attendant upon a too violent transition of personality. Perhaps it was this peculiar condition which pressed me to prolonged and unguarded energy. I went through thicket and brier patch, over logs and gullies, and when I paused I knew not where I was.
After some reflection I judged that I had pursued an easterly direction so far that Jones was now not to the northeast, but more to the north; I changed my course then, bending toward the north, and before sunrise reached the creek which, on the preceding night, I had crossed after leaving Jones. I did not know whether he was above me or below, so I crossed the stream at the place where I struck it, and went straight away from it through the swamp.
After going a long distance I began to fear that I was missing my course, and I did not know which way to turn. I whistled; there was no response.
No opening could be seen in any direction through the swamp. My present course had led me wrong; it would not do at all to go on; I should get farther and farther away from Jones. If I should assume any direction as the right one, I should be likely to have guessed wrong. I spent an hour working my way laboriously through the swamp, making wide and wider sweeps to reach some opening or some tree on higher ground. At last I saw open ground on my left. I went rapidly to it, and found a field, with a fence separating it from the woods,--the fence running east and west,--and saw, several hundred yards toward the west, the corner of the field at which I had stationed Jones.
At once I began to go rapidly down the hill toward the place. As I came near, I saw both horses prick their ears. Jones was sitting on the ground, with his gun in his lap, alert toward the west; I was in his rear. Suddenly he, too, saw the movement of the horses; he sprang quickly to a tree, from behind which I could now see the muzzle of his gun ten paces off. I whistled. The gun dropped, and Jones advanced, frightened.
"I came in an ace of it," he said, in a loud whisper; "why didn't you signal sooner?"
"To tell you the truth, I did not think of it in time, Jones; I am glad to see you so watchful."
"I should never have recognized you in that plight," said he; "what have you done with your other clothes?"
"Had to throw them away."
"Well! I certainly had no notion of seeing you come back as you are--and from that direction."
This was the first time I had seen myself as a Confederate standing with a Union soldier. In the night, mixed with the rebels, I had felt no visible contrast with them. Since I had left the wagon I had had no time for thought of personal appearance. Now I looked at myself. My hands were scratched with briers; my hat was torn; a great hole was over one knee, which I had used most in crawling. I was muddy to my knees, having been more rapid than cautious in crossing the creek. For more than twenty-four hours my mind had been on too great a strain to think of the body. By the side of me, Jones looked like a glittering general questioning an uncouth rebel prisoner. He smiled, but I did not.
"Now, let us mount and ride," said I; "we can eat as we go. The horses have had an all night's rest, and I can notify you that I need one, but it won't do to stay here. I know all that we need to know."
We decided that we should return to Old Church by the route which we had followed in coming. As we rode, I described to Jones the position and force of the enemy, so that, if I should be taken and he left, he could report to General Morell. We avoided the fields and roads, and stuck to the woods, keeping a sharp lookout ahead, but going rapidly. At the first water which we saw I took time to give my head a good souse.
Near the middle of the forenoon we came out upon the hills above Crump's Creek, and were about to descend when we heard a noise at our left, seemingly the galloping of horses. We dismounted, and I crept toward the road until I could see part of it winding over the hill. About twenty-five or thirty rebel cavalry--to be exact, they numbered just twenty-seven, as I counted--were on the road, going at a gallop up the hill, and apparently excited--running from danger, I thought. They disappeared over the hill. I thought it quite likely that some of our cavalry were advancing on the road, and that it would be well for me to wait where I was; if I should go back and call Jones to come, our men might pass while I was gone.
In a short time I saw in the road, going westward at a slow walk, another body of cavalry. These men, to my astonishment, were armed with lances. My surprise gave way to pleasure, for I remembered much talk in the army concerning a Pennsylvania regiment of lancers.
As I could see, also, that the men were in Federal uniform, I boldly left my place of concealment and walked out into the road. The cavalry halted. The captain, or officer in command, whom I shall here call Captain Lewis, although that was not his name, rode out a little to the front of his men, and said, "So you have given it up?"
"No, sir," said I; "to the contrary, I have made a success of it."
"Well, we shall see about that," he exclaimed; "here! get up behind one of my men. We want you."
For me to go with the cavalry and show them the plain road before their eyes, was ridiculous. As I hesitated, the captain cried out, "Here, Sergeant, take two men and carry this man to the rear!"
"Captain, please don't be so fast," said I; "one of my comrades is near by with our horses--" I was going to say more, but he interrupted me, crying, "We intend to pay our respects to all your comrades. No more from you, sir!"
As I showed no willingness to mount behind a man, the sergeant and detail marched me down the road. I endeavoured to talk to the sergeant, but he refused to hear me.
This affair had puzzled me, and it continued to puzzle me for a short while, but I soon saw what it meant, and saw why I had not understood from the first. My mind had been so fixed upon my direct duty that I had not once thought of my pretended character. For his part, the captain had supposed that I was a Confederate deserter coming into the Union lines. This was now simple enough, but why, under such circumstances, he had not questioned me in regard to what was in his front, I could not at all understand. I tried again to speak, but was commanded to be silent.
This was a ludicrous experience, though unpleasant. My only serious consideration was in regard to Jones. I feared that he would wait for me indefinitely, and would be captured. Although such a result could bring no blame to me, yet I was very anxious about him. Concerning myself, I knew that I could suffer restraint but a very short time; just so soon as I could get speech with any officer willing to listen, I should be set right.
The sergeant and his two men marched me back nearly to Hawes's shop, some two miles beyond Crump's Creek, where I was brought before Colonel Tyler, who was in command of two or three infantry regiments which had advanced from Old Church on that morning.
Colonel Tyler was the centre of a group of officers; the regiments were under arms. The sergeant in charge of me reported that I was a Confederate deserter, whom the Pennsylvania cavalry had found in the woods beyond Crump's Creek. Colonel Tyler nodded, and began to question me.
"When did you leave your regiment?"
"On the 22d, Colonel," I replied.
"That is a long time to lie out in the woods," said he; "now be sure that your memory is right. What day of the month is this?"
"The 24th, I think, sir."
"And it has taken you two days to come a few miles?"
"From what place, Colonel?"
"Why, from Hanover."
"No, sir; it has taken me but a few hours."
"What is your regiment?"
"The Eleventh Massachusetts, Colonel."
The colonel smiled. Then he looked angry. Then he composed his countenance.
"Have you any idea what is the matter with this man, Sergeant?"
The sergeant shook his head. "I don't know anything about it, Colonel. I only know that we took the man as I have said. He tried to talk to Captain Lewis, but the captain thought it best to send him back at once."
"You insist on belonging to the--what regiment did you say?"
"The Eleventh Massachusetts, sir," said I, unable to restrain a smile.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I was brought here much against my will, Colonel."
"But what were you doing when you were captured?"
"I have not been captured, Colonel; when I came to meet the lancers, I was returning from a scout."
"What brigade do you belong to?"
"General Grover's."
"What division?"
"General Hooker's."
"Where is your regiment now?"
"Near Bottom's Bridge, Colonel," I said; then added, "it was there on the 21st; where it is now I cannot say."
The colonel saw that I was a very remarkable Confederate deserter; he was beginning to believe my story; his tone altered.
"But why are you in Confederate uniform?"
"Colonel," said I, "I have been sent out by order, and I was just returning when our cavalry met me. I tried to explain, but they would not listen to me. The officer threatened me and would not let me speak."
The colonel looked puzzled. "Have you anything to prove that you are a Union soldier?"
"No, sir," said I, "not a thing. It would be dangerous for me to carry anything of that kind, sir. All I ask is to be sent to General Morell."
"Where is General Morell?"
"On the reserve line near New Bridge."
"Why send you to General Morell?"
"Because I must make my report to him."
"Did he send you out?"
"Yes, sir."
"How is it that you are attached to General Grover and also to General Morell?"
"Well, Colonel, that is something I do not like to talk about, but it is perfectly straight. If you will send me under guard to General Morell, the whole matter will be cleared up to your satisfaction. I beg you to do so at once. I know that General Morell will consider my report important, and will be disappointed if it should be delayed, sir."
"Not yet," said he; "but I will send him a description of your person. I shall want you here in case General Morell does not claim you and justify your claims."
"But if General Morell does not justify me, I am a rebel, and what would you do with me?"
"If you are a rebel, you are a deserter or a spy, and you say you are not a deserter; if you are either, General Morell does not need you."
"Colonel," said I, "would not a rebel spy be an idiot to come voluntarily into the Union lines dressed as I am dressed?"
"One cannot be too careful," said he. "You claim to be a Union man, but you cannot prove it."
"Then, Colonel, since you refuse to send me back to General Morell, I beg that you at once send back for my companion."
"What companion?"
"His name is Jones. He was chosen by General Morell to accompany me. He is near the spot where I met the lancers. He has both of our horses, and I fear he will wait too long for me, and be captured."
"By the lancers?"
"No, sir, by the rebels. He has on his own Federal uniform."
"But why did you not tell me this before?"
"Because I wanted you first to consent to send me to General Morell; you refuse, and I now tell you about Jones. He can justify me to you; but time is lost in getting to General Morell, sir."
Colonel Tyler wrote something and handed it to the sergeant, who at once went off, accompanied by his two men.
"What force of the enemy is in our front?" asked the colonel.
"My report is to be made to General Morell, Colonel."
"But if I order you to report to me?"
"Do you recognize me as a Union soldier, Colonel?"
"What has that got to do with it?"
"You would hardly have the right to command a rebel spy to betray his cause," said I.
"But you may be a rebel deserter," said he, smiling.
"If I were a rebel deserter, why should I not claim to be one, after having reached safety?"
"But you may have intended to go home, or you may have been lost, and if so you are properly a prisoner of war."
"How should a lost rebel know what I know about the composition of the Union army?"
"I know your case seems pretty strong; but why not give me the benefit of your knowledge? Some of my men are now almost in the presence of the enemy."
"General Morell advised me to report only to him, unless our advanced troops should be in any danger."
"Then I tell you that we are in danger. We contemplate attacking a small force, but we don't want to run our heads into a hornet's nest."
"Well, Colonel, since you put it so, I will answer you."
"What force is in our front?"
"There are six or seven regiments of infantry and a battery. There are cavalry, also; several hundred, I presume."
"And where are they?"
"The cavalry?"
"The whole force of which you speak."
"They were at Hanover Court-House all last night, and until day this morning, I cannot say that they have not moved since."
"Do you know who commands them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who is it?"
"General Branch."
"Did you see him?"
"No, sir."
"How then do you know that he is in command?"
"I see that I misunderstood your question, Colonel. I do not know that General Branch is present with his brigade, but I do know that the troops at Hanover compose Branch's brigade."
"How did you learn it? A man told you?"
"Three different men, of different regiments, told me."
"Well, that ought to be accepted," said he.
I was allowed to remain at my ease near the circle of officers. It was easy to see that Colonel Tyler was almost convinced that I was telling the truth.
In about an hour the sergeant returned without the two men, and accompanied by Jones, who was leading my horse, and who at once handed the colonel a paper. I was immediately released, and in little more than two hours reached the camp of General Morell, and made my report.
General Morell expressed gratification at my quick return with valuable results. He told me that General Hooker's command had not moved, and that he would gladly send a statement of my work to General Grover, and would say that I would be found with Dr. Khayme until actually ordered back to the left. He then told me to go back to my quarters and rest; that I must get all the rest I could, and as quickly as possible.
Although the day was quite warm, I put my gum-blanket over me, to shield my gray clothes from the gaze of the curious. I was soon at Dr. Khayme's tent. Without thinking, I entered at once, throwing off the hot blanket. Lydia sprang up from a camp-stool, and raised her hands; in an instant she sat again, trembling. She was very white.
"I did not know you," she said; "yet I ought to have known you: Father prepared me; but we did not expect you before to-morrow, at the earliest." She was still all a-tremble.
"I am sorry that I startled you so; but I was so eager to hide from all eyes that I did not think of anything else. Where is the Doctor?"
"He had a case to attend to somewhere--I don't know where it is; he said he should be back to supper."
Lydia was getting ready to leave the tent. "I suppose you have had hard work," said she, "and I shall leave you, yet I so wish to know what success you have had."
"Then stay, and I will tell you about it," said I.
"Only tell me whether you succeeded," she said.
"Yes, I succeeded. I went into the rebel camp and remained all night with a brigade of them. I know all that I was sent to learn."
"Oh, Father will be so glad!" she said; "now I will let you rest till he comes, although I should like to hear all about it."
"But you will not hinder me by remaining," I exclaimed; "to be plain with you, I had to throw away my uniform, and you see me with all the clothes I've got."
She laughed; then, hanging her head a little, she said, "You need rest, though, and I'll see if I cannot help you while you get some sleep."
When she had gone I lay down and closed my eyes, but sleep would not come. After a time I heard voices, and then I saw a black hand open the tent door and lay a package on the ground. I got up, and saw my name on the package, which proved to contain a new uniform. I dressed and went out. The Doctor's negro servant was cooking supper. I asked him who gave him the package he had put into the tent. He said, "Miss Liddy she done sont me wid a note to de ginnle en' de ginnle he gimme anudda' note en' dat man he gimme de bunnle."
The Doctor came while the table was being spread. I gave a detailed account of my work, his little eyes twinkling with interest as I talked, and Lydia saying not a word.
When I had ended, I said, "And I have to thank Miss Lydia for her interest in a ragged rebel; she had the forethought, while I was trying to sleep, to make a requisition in my behalf; see my new uniform, Doctor?"
"I'll give her a kiss for showing her good sense," said her father.
Lydia smiled. "You looked so forlorn--or so tattered and torn--that I pitied you; I wrote a note to General Morell, not knowing what else to do."
"Did he reply?" I asked, thinking wildly, at the time, of the conclusion of the celebrated romance called "The House that Jack Built."
"Yes," said she; "you may keep the uniform, and I'll keep the note. I am thinking that I'll become a collector of autographs."
"Why didn't you let that Confederate, whom you found behind the log, come with you?" asked the Doctor; "do you not think that he was trying to desert?"
"I thought so, Doctor," said I; "but I feared to be encumbered with him. Speed was what I wanted just then."
"I suppose you were right," said he; "if he wants to come, he can come."
"I don't think such a man should have been trusted at all," said Lydia; "if he would betray his own people, why should he not betray us?"
"Let us not condemn him unjustly; possibly he was telling the simple truth," said the Doctor.
"In that case," said I, "I should have caught a Tartar if I had accepted his company."
"One more thing," said the Doctor; "in talking to Captain Lewis,"--the Doctor did not say Lewis, but called the officer by his name,--"in talking to Captain Blank, why did you not raise your voice loud enough for Jones to hear you? That would have relieved you at once."
"That is true, Doctor; but I did not understand the situation at all. Yes, if I had known what he was driving at, a call to Jones would have settled matters."
"I doubt it," said Lydia; "the captain might have thought you were Roderick Dhu."
"That man must be somewhat idiotic," said the Doctor; "in fact, all those lancers are what we mildly term unfortunates. I suspect that the captain had begun to realize the impotency of his command in front of Enfield rifles. I fancy that he was frightened, and that he blustered to hide his scare."
It was getting late. Lydia retired to her own apartment. The Doctor had smoked and smoked; his pipe had gone out, and he did not fill it again. He rose. "You can get sleep now, my boy; you have done a good day's work, or rather a good night's work sandwiched between two days. General Morell ought to reward you."
"I do not want any reward," said I.
"You would not like a commission?" he asked.
"I don't know what good it would do me," said I.
"It would do you no harm," he said; "it would be an advantage to you in many ways. You would fare better; your service might not be really lighter, but you would command more respect from others. That captain of the lancers will not think of apologizing to you; but if he knew you as Lieutenant Berwick, he would be quick to write you a note. If promotion is offered you,--and it ought to be offered,--you ought not to refuse it."
"Doctor," said I, "I am not ambitious--at least, in that way."