"The Union pickets are at Wartrace," said Wilson, as they plodded down the
road.
"We ought to pass them tonight," Tom added. "Have we any way of identifying
ourselves?"
"No," replied Wilson. "We'd better try to avoid them."
"What I hope," remarked Shadrack, with a chuckle, "is that our pickets are
sleepy--dreaming of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keeping on the
alert. Whew! what a storm!"
The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road was
becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and they put
all their strength into the laborious task of walking. Finally, after an
hour, they stopped to rest.
"I don't think we've gone more than two miles," said Tom.
"The railroad track runs along here to the left some place," Wilson
remarked. "If we could reach it, we'd find better walking."
"You'll have to swim to get there," muttered Shadrack. "Those fields will
be mud up to our necks."
"Be quiet!" Tom whispered. "Someone's coming."
"Probably some of our own men," said Wilson.
They stood silently as two men passed them on the road. It was impossible
to see them in the darkness, but they caught a broken sentence, "...find a
barn ... too much mud...."
"That's about the best thing that we can do," said Shadrack, after the men
had gone by. "Find a barn some place, and stay there for the night."
"I'd like to push on," replied Tom. "What do you think, Wilson?"
"Let's try to reach the railroad."
"All right."
Shadrack grunted his assent, and they trudged along the road, looking for
an opening to the left. Presently a flash of lightning showed them a field.
They climbed the fence and started across. Their feet sank in mud that
seemed bottomless, and water oozed in over their shoe-tops.
"Can you make it?" asked Wilson.
"Yeh--go on," answered Tom, panting.
"I'm coming," muttered Shadrack.
It took them a half-hour to cross the field; then they sat on the fence
exhausted. No lightning came to show them the way, so they climbed the
fence, crossed another road, and entered a second field. The mud here was
worse.
"Bogged!" exclaimed Shadrack.
They retreated to the road.
"Let's follow this road," suggested Tom. "It seems to go in the general
direction of the railroad tracks."
"Probably goes to a farmhouse," replied Wilson.
"Suits me exactly," said Shadrack.
During the next twenty minutes they made their way slowly along the road,
slipping in the mud, sometimes falling. Twice Tom went down on his hands
and knees. Shadrack sprawled face downward, and got up muttering something
about "eating the filthy stuff."
Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark; then a door opened, and a man stood
looking out.
"Call your dog off," yelled Wilson.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the farmer. The dog continued
to bark, but he did not approach them.
"We're on our way to Wartrace," answered Wilson, "and we're lost in the
storm. Can you give us a place to sleep?"
"Are you soldiers?"