EXPERIENCES.
The next morning we started on our way and had a routine march for
several days, with no incidents worth mentioning until we began to meet
a stray soldier now and then. Our growing confidence in ourselves made
it easy for us to tell a satisfactory story in each case, and we learned
from these men that we were approaching Washington, where Magruder had
his headquarters.
From some negroes we got a full description of the town and a complete
line of directions as to what course to pursue in order to avoid
undesirable observation.
We had to be very careful, but boldness was an essential part of the
policy of being careful, and we walked through the outskirts of the town
as if we owned it, avoiding the traveled streets, but being as free and
as easy as possible.
It was impossible for Miller to be free and easy at any time in anything
partaking of deception, as he was too conscious and conscientious. No
amount of successful evasion of difficulties could make him forget for a
moment that we were escaped prisoners and should be locked up--from the
standpoint of the rebels; so he was continually imagining that he saw
detection in the eye of every person we met.
We were all nervous, but, with the exception of Miller, we made a fair
show of being self-possessed and independent. We walked through the town
as if traveling on eggs; every sound made him start; every person we saw
gave him a shock of dread and uncertainty, and if we had met anyone of a
suspicious nature we should have been closely questioned, at least. As
it was, we finally skirted the town and got into the main road again,
beyond, but we had to pass right through the soldiers' quarters to do
it. We went on the principle that they were ignorant as to us, and would
have no suspicions unless we created them by our actions, but only good
luck in not being observed closely saved us from capture, for poor
Miller scarcely touched the ground, and showed his effort at restraint
so plainly that anyone with half an eye would have known that he was
doing something wrong. We "herded" him between us as best we could, and,
not being critically surveyed, succeeded in passing on our way.
The next night we came to a blacksmith shop, where we had to take refuge
on account of a heavy rain. This shop was one of those old-fashioned
country forges, built by the roadside near some farmer's house, where he
or his neighbors tried their hands at smith work as occasion demanded.
The building was an old "shack," with a leaky roof, but it gave some
shelter, although we had to sleep on the forge as best we could, to keep
out of the puddles and mud on the earthen floor.
I know of no word better than _excruciating_, to describe the comforts
of that night. The forge was large, and we could lie upon it after
cleaning it off, but we had to squeeze together. The edges were rough
stones, and our feet hung over. If my readers will take the first
opportunity afforded them to occupy a similar position for several hours
they will appreciate my use of the above word. To enjoy fully the
situation, aside from the pains thereof, they should have a friend stand
by with some cold water and occasionally let fall a drop, or succession
of them, upon the face, neck or ears of the victim. As a choice of two
evils it was an admirable selection; as a matter of comfort it was a
failure.
We were not awakened by the daylight, for we were already awake, and,
when we could see that the rain had turned to snow, we started off
again, preferring the snow and mud in daylight. Coming to an open piece
of woods, and seeing a large tree which had been felled, we went to it
and found what protection we could in its thick top for the balance of
the day, the monotony of the stay being relieved by exchange from snow
to rain and from rain to snow every now and then.
Just before dark it cleared up, and we once more started on our way,
meeting with no obstacle until we reached the Little Missouri River
bottom, which was crossed by an old corduroy road, and then we had some
more fun.
For two miles and a half we blundered along on this road, in a gloomy
darkness, every few minutes coming to a spot where one or the other of
us would slip through between the logs and sink up to our knees in the
mud and water, which fact was generally communicated to the others by
harsh criticisms upon the efficiency of the county commissioners.
When we reached the river we were about as tired as men can be and stand
up, but we found that the ferry-boat was on the other side, and we had
to seek some place in which to rest for the night and await daylight.
Going back a short distance from the river we found an open space where
there were signs of a former camp, and we tried to build a fire.
Everything was soaking wet, and all our efforts ended in smoke, except a
few sulphurous remarks. There was no shelter to be had; we had to sleep
in the open, and the ground was too wet to be comfortable. After some
discussion, we decided to try standing up, which means of rest we
enjoyed for the balance of the night.
Did you ever try to find a place to rest when everything upon which you
could possibly sit or lie was soaking wet? If so, you can understand
why we chose to stand up. Did you ever try to sleep in a standing
posture, or to rest in like position for any length of time? If so, you
will appreciate the following:
Throwing my blanket over my head, I braced myself firmly against a tree,
closed my eyes, and--the next thing I knew I was in a heap on the wet
ground, wildly struggling with my blanket, my knees having relaxed as I
became unconscious. Now fully awake, I took a walk around to find a
better spot, but soon came back to my first location and tried it again.
This time I remained awake long enough to realize, by the time that the
comfortable feelings of drowsiness were again stealing over me, that the
air inside of my blanket was not pleasant to breathe, and, in throwing
the covering from my head, I became wide awake again. After another
interval of wakefulness, during which I realized keenly how tired my
limbs were, and after quietly enjoying some of the experiences of my
neighbors, the demands of nature again became paramount, and I dozed
off. With a sudden sense of a harsh scraping along the back of my head,
and a dim realization of the fact that my knees had again refused duty,
I came to myself just in time to keep from sitting on the ground, this
time sliding down the tree instead of pitching forward. After a walk
down to the river to view the situation again, I returned to my tree,
adjusted my position, to guard as well as I could against former
experiences, and gradually dozed off in the belief that I was this time
scientifically and safely propped. Suddenly I realized that I was
falling, and became conscious enough to make three or four rapid steps
forward, to save myself, before I stumbled over a log and went head
first to the ground. After this, I never went to sleep during the
balance of the night, but I contented myself with a succession of nods
between the intervals of knee-bendings and losses of balance. Try it and
see how it works.
I have slept on the wet ground--slept soundly, and never taken cold from
it, but not in a boggy location such as that was on that night, and we
all stood up in preference, again a choice of the lesser evil.
It might be asked why we did not go back to the high ground instead of
remaining in the bottom. No one who has ever tramped over such a
miserable road as that by which we had reached the bottom--for two and a
half miles in the dark--will be likely to question why we preferred to
stay where we were. It is doubtful whether we would have undertaken to
retrace our steps over the corduroy road even if we had known in advance
just what our night's experience was to be.
The next morning when we went down to the river we found that it had
risen several feet during the night.
The road reached the river at a point of land which projected some
distance, and where the road had been comparatively dry the night
before, behind the point, we now had to wade in order to reach the ferry
landing.
It was useless to attempt hailing the ferry-boat, so we went back to our
stamping ground and breakfasted upon what corn we could pick out of the
ground around the spot where former campers had tarried. This corn was
the scaled or wasted kernels left by horses at their feeding places.
While eating we heard a noise of men talking on the river, and at once
assumed that the boat was coming over. We had no money with which to pay
for crossing, and my companions, Miller especially, were very much
excited over the question of what we were to do. Miller had a ring which
he wanted me to take for the purpose of paying the ferryman, but I would
not take it, and we nearly had a quarrel in consequence. My desire was
to go to the ferry and be governed by circumstances as to what we should
do, but the others wanted to have it all mapped out beforehand.
"What will you tell him, Swiggett?" asked Miller.
"How can I tell?" was my reply.
"But suppose he asks for money or is suspicious?"
"When he does or is I will meet him; but, boys, how on earth can you
tell what to do or say till you know what you have to overcome? Let's go
down there in a natural way and do what seems best when we get there.
Come on!"
We went, my companions following me reluctantly, and Miller all in a
flutter of nervous apprehension.
Reaching the landing, we found the boat nearly across, but the ferryman
had all he could do to make any progress. The rise in the river had made
a strong current along our shore. It was a hand ferry, and the rope was
fastened in a poor line for ease in ferrying at that stage of the river.
Calling out to the man, I got in a good position to jump aboard, and
said to my companions:
"Come on, boys! Can't you see that the man has his hands full? Let's
jump aboard and help."
Hearing this, the fellow increased his efforts, the boat approached
nearer, we made a big jump and got aboard, helping to haul the boat to
the land. Then we learned that he had come over to shift the rope, and
we helped him do this, after which he took us across.
Arriving on the other side I put my hand in my pocket as confidently as
if I had had a roll of greenbacks at my command, and asked the ferryman
how much we owed him. As I expected, he would not take a cent, but
thanked us heartily for our assistance, and we went on our way
rejoicing.
It is a fact worthy of note that the response of this man to my offer of
pay was almost as well known to me before he made it as after. Not on
the principle of natural results from given causes, as many men would
have asked either all or part pay. Nor was it from any particular
judgment of the individual, as I was unable to form any satisfactory
idea of his inclination from what could be seen of him. I simply _felt_
and _knew_ that he would refuse pay. Whether this was due to intuition,
instinct or some subtle principle of mind communication, I do not
profess to know and I do not say, but the fact was that I did not think
or believe--I _knew_, and those inclined to account for the fact will
find this point of interest to them.
"What would you have said, Swiggett, if he had named a price?" asked
Miller.
"But he didn't, Miller," I responded; "and he wasn't suspicious."
"But if he had been?"
"How can I tell? It would have depended on circumstances. My experience
is that one can never, or very seldom, carry out imaginary conversation,
and I never try to hamper myself unnecessarily by pre-arranged ideas."
[Illustration: CAPT. B. F. MILLER.]
These conversations are related simply to show how easy it is to
overcome many seeming difficulties. We can figure and calculate all
we will in advance, but it almost invariably happens that the details of
our plans must be changed on the scene of action, either to surmount
unexpected obstacles or to take the shortest and surest road to success.
The best way to dispose of obstacles is to go at them. Many and most
disappear before you reach them, while those which really have to be
surmounted are usually ridden over on lines suggested at the time of
meeting.
In crossing the river we had given the ferryman no time to ask
questions, even had he been disposed to do so, and I had asked the way
to Arkadelphia, learning the direction to take and that the distance was
fifty-two miles, on a plain road.
As usual, after the river was crossed, Miller was jubilant and happy
until he had time to begin worrying about the next river, which he soon
did. If my friend worries as much about crossing the final river as he
did about crossing earthly rivers in our travels together it may be that
he will have to cross much sooner than he otherwise would.
It must not be understood that my illustrations of Miller's
peculiarities are made in disparagement of the man. We all have our own
peculiar traits of character, and it merely happened that this journey
developed in Miller some phases of a disposition that in other things
would have had more than compensating merits. He was simply more
cautious than is usual in men, and so exceedingly honest that it was
impossible for him to dissimulate. A tall, fine-looking gentleman, with
dignified bearing, and the very embodiment of honor and
conscientiousness, one to whom recapture was certain if lies were
necessary to avoid it; this was Miller.