discovered the party alone in this edifice of worship, nursing sundry bruises and abrasions, and feeling that probably he was of the Church Militant, held him for the pleasure of his company. Stone, Michels, return to the front; now, Sergeant, you may take the prisoners."
"Just a moment, Lieutenant," and I faced him squarely, ignoring the grip of Wharton's hand on my arm. "There is no reason to hold us prisoners; all there is Yankee about me is this uniform. I have just escaped from the Federal guard at Lewisburg."
His eyes laughing, yet suspicious, swept our faces.
"I'm not easily fooled," he said, "but ready enough to learn. Who are you?"
"Thomas Wyatt, Sergeant, Staunton Horse Artillery."
"Who is your captain?"
"Philip Lavigne."
"Good; and your first lieutenant?"
"George E. Whitehouse."
"Ah! you know the battery, all right. When were you with them last?"
"Ten days ago, in camp at Front Royal."
"By all the gods, it soundeth strange but true. Come, clear up the mystery—how came you here?"
"On Jackson's orders. I was born in this county, and because of that he chose me to find out the
