That night, with light hearts, we started, bowled off the ten miles very quickly, and, by the execution of a brilliant flank movement, avoided the picket-post. As the eastern sky grew gray, we sought a hiding-place. Finding an empty barn we crept into its loft, and were soon fast asleep.
At sunrise, Randolph (the citizen) sallied forth to reconnoitre. He captured a contraband, who, without a word or a question, hustled us out of our loft, leading the way in great haste to the "quarters" occupied by the slaves.
The reason for this maneuvre was that our secure hiding-place was within "a biscuit-toss"' of the plantation mansion, whose hospitable doors were always open to the troopers and scouts of the enemy. We found ourselves, after this change, in the cock-loft of a slave's log hut: probably our first experience in such a habitation, and certainly the first time we had been the guests of any of the humble race, two fine specimens of which were now our host and _ hostess. The man, evidently a field- hand, was young, active, and intelligent. Not being bewildered by army correspondents, or driven into a maze of doubts by political discussions, he had a very clear idea of the character of the war and its probable results, and looked forward to the approaching day of his freedom with a confidence quite refreshing. The woman—his grandmother, probably—was still hale and strong. She was high authority for all that came under her roof; and many were curious enough to see the "live Yankee." They all paid the old "auntie" the greatest respect, and many of the young had good cause to retire, disconcerted by her sharp reproof or biting wit. She was the mother of twenty children, (she said) and they (her masters) had taken them all from her — not one left, in her old age. When, at
night, we were taking our leave, some one gave the old woman one or two col
ored silk handkerchiefs, such as soldiers usually possess, and with which we were well supplied. The trifling gift recalled the memory of better days, and we received an additional blessing. Again the moon lighted us on our journey, but the air was much milder than we had before experienced.
In crossing a lane, two horsemen came upon us so suddenly that we could only throw ourselves upon the ground by way of concealment. One of these troopers, evidently in a happy mood, was softly singing a very familiar college song— one that should always be sung by many voices —although, it is needless to say, we were not disposed to join on this occasion. When just abreast of us, his voice faltered. "'O, stay!' the maiden—{it almost died away ]—said, 'and— [the horse's pace was now checked to a walk]—rest.'"
No one dared to look, but each felt instinctively that the dreaded discovery had been made, and nerved himself for the moment when the shout to his comrade, and the rattle of the ready carbines, would call us to test our courage in a life-and-death encounter.
But whatever the nature of his discovery he kept it to himself, and, urging his horse forward, resumed the disjointed verse, "' U-pi-dee—u-pi-dee." We listened in great glee until Longfellow's "Excelsior" grew faint in the distance.
Some hours before day the little company reached the banks of the Pamunkey River. The door of a hospitable cabin swung readily open for the reception of such as we, and, soon snugly stowed away in a loft, we slept soundly on a high pile of rags. Another long day of waiting and watching—would the night never come? When the long twilight deepened, the four started again, with a fresh guide. At the river bank, our contraband drew from under a clump of bushes a long "'dug-out," or canoe; and, by means of this method of trans
