"Thus are poor servitors,
While others sleep upon their quiet beds,
Constrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold."
--Shakespeare.
When I lay down I was warm from walking, and went to sleep quickly. When
I awoke I was cold; in fact, the cold woke me.
I crept to the door of the stable and looked out; at my left the sky was
reddening. I aroused Nick, who might have slept on for hours had he
been alone.
The sun would soon warm us; but what were we to do for food? Useless to
search the house or kitchen or garden; everything was bare. I asked Nick
if he could manage in any way to get something to eat. He could not; we
must starve unless accident should throw food in our way.
A flock of wild geese, going north, passed high. "Dey'll go a long ways
to-day," said Nick; "ain't got to stop to take on no wood nor no water."
We bent our way toward the Warwick road. At the point where we reached
it, the ground was low and wet, but farther on we could see dryer
ground. We crossed the road and went to the low hills. From a tree I
could see the village of Warwick about a mile or so to the west, with
the road, in places, running east. There seemed to be no movement going
on. Nick was lying on the ground, moody and silent. I had no
more tobacco.
I came down from the tree and told Nick to lead the way through the
woods until we could get near the rebel pickets where their line
crossed the road.
About nine o'clock we were lying in the bushes near the edge of felled
timber, through an opening in which, ran the road at our left. At long
intervals a man would pass across the road where it struck the
picket-line.
Both from the map and from Nick's imperfect delivery of his
topographical knowledge I was convinced that the main rebel line was
behind the Warwick River, and that here was nothing but an outpost; and
I was considering whether it would not be best to turn this position on
the north, reach the river as rapidly as possible, and make for Lee's
Mill, which I understood was the rebel salient, and see what was above
that point, when I heard galloping in the road behind us. Nick had heard
the noise before it reached my ears.
A rebel horseman dashed by; at the picket-line he stopped, and remained
a few moments without dismounting; then went on up the road toward
Warwick Court-House.
At once there was great commotion on the picket-line. We crept up as
near as we dared; men were hurrying about, getting their knapsacks and
falling into ranks. Now came a squadron of cavalry from down the road;
they passed through the picket-line, and were soon lost to sight. Then
the picket marched off up the road. Ten minutes more and half a dozen
cavalrymen came--the rear-guard of all, I was hoping--and passed on.
The picket post now seemed deserted. Partly with the intention of
getting nearer the river, but more, I confess, with the hope of
appeasing hunger, Nick and I now cautiously approached the abandoned
line. We were afraid to show ourselves in the road, so we crawled
through the felled timber.
The camp was entirely deserted. Scattered here and there over the ground
were the remains of straw beds; some brush arbours--improvised
shelters--were standing; we found enough broken pieces of hardtack to
relieve our most pressing want.
I followed the line of felled timber to the north; it ended within two
hundred yards of the road.
"Nick," said I; "what is between us and the river in this direction?"
pointing northwest.
"Noth'n' but woods tell you git down in de bottom," said Nick.
"And the bottom, is it cultivated? Is it a field?"
"Yassa; some of it is, but mos' of it ain't."
"Are there any more soldiers on this side of the river?"
"You mean 'long here?"
"Yes."
"Well, I dunno ezackly; I reckon dey is all gone now; but dey is some
mo' up on dis side, up higher, up on de upper head o' de riber, whah
Lee's Mill is."
"How far is it to Lee's Mill?"
"Hit's mos' fo' mile."
"How deep is the river above Lee's Mill?"
"Riber is deep down below de mill."
"Is the river deep here?" pointing west.
"Yassa; de tide comes up to Lee's Mill."
"Are there no Southern soldiers below Lee's Mill?"
"Dey goes down dat-away sometimes."
"Are there any breastworks below Lee's Mill?"
"Down at de mill de breswucks straks off to de Jim Riber up at de Pint."
"Up at what Point?"
"Up at de Mulberry Pint."
"And right across the river here, there are no breastworks?"
"No, sa'; dey ain't no use to have 'em dah."
Feeling confident that the movements I had seen indicated the withdrawal
of at least some of the rebel outposts to their main line beyond the
Warwick, and that I could easily and alone reach the river and follow
it up--since the rebel line was on its other bank or beyond--I decided
to let Nick go.
"Nick," said I; "I don't believe I shall need you any more now."
"You not a-gwine to gimme dat yudda dolla'?"
"Oh, yes; of course I shall pay you, especially if you will attend
closely to what I tell you; you are to serve me till night, are
you not?"
"Yassa."
"Well, I want you to go to the Union army at Newport News for me. Will
you do it?"
"Yassa."
"Now, Nick, you must look sharp on the road and not let the rebels catch
you."
"I sho' look sharp," said Nick.
"And look sharp for the Union army, too; I hope you will meet some Union
soldiers; then you will be safe."
"I sho' look sharp," said Nick.
"I want you to carry a note for me to the Union soldiers."
"Yassa."
I wrote one word on a scrap of paper that I had picked up in the rebel
camp. I gave the paper to Nick.
"Throw this paper away if you meet any rebels; understand?"
"Yassa."
"When you meet Union soldiers, you must give this paper to the captain."
"Yassa."
"The captain will ask you what this paper means, and you must tell him
that the Southern soldiers are leaving Warwick Court-House, and that the
paper is to let him know it."
"Yassa; I sho' do it; I won't do noth'n' but look sharp, en' I won't do
noth'n' but give dis paper to de cap'n."
"Then here is your other dollar, Nick. Good-by and good luck to you."
Nick started off at once, and I was alone again.
My next objective was Lee's Mill, which I knew was on the Warwick River
some three miles above. Without Nick to help my wits, my cautiousness
increased, although I expected to find no enemy until I was near the
mill. I went first as nearly westward as I could know; my purposes were
to reach the river and roughly ascertain its width and depth; if it
should be, as Nick had declared, unfordable in these parts, its depth
would be sufficient protection to the rebels behind it, and I would
waste no time in examining its course here. Through the undergrowth I
crept, sometimes on my hands and knees, and whenever I saw an opening in
the woods before me, I paused long and looked well before either
crossing or flanking it. After a while I reached heavy timber in the low
ground, which I supposed lay along the river. At my left was a cleared
field, unplanted as yet, and in the middle of the field a dwelling with
outhouses. I approached the house, screening myself behind a rail fence.
The house was deserted. I passed through the yard. There was no sign of
any living thing, except a pig which scampered away with a loud snort of
disapproval. The house was open, but I did not enter it; the windows
were broken, and a mere glance showed me that the place had
been stripped.
Again I plunged into the woods, and went rapidly toward the river, for I
began to fear that I had been rash in coming through the open. Soon I
struck the river, which here bent in a long curve across the line of my
march. The river was wide and deep.
At once I felt confidence in Nick's declarations. There could be little
need for Confederate fortifications upon the other side of this
unfordable stream.
It must have been about noon; I thought I heard firing far to my rear,
and wondered what could be going on back there.
Leaving the river, I directed my steps toward the northeast. So long as
I was in the woods I went as rapidly as I could walk, and the country,
even away from the river, was much wooded. My knowledge of the map
placed Lee's Mill northeast of Warwick, and northeast I went, but for
fully three hours I kept on and found no river again. I felt sure that I
had leaned too far to the east, and was about to turn square to my left
and seek the river, when I saw before me a smaller stream flowing
westward. I did not understand. I knew that I had come a much greater
distance than three miles; I had crossed two large roads running north;
this stream was not down on the map. Suddenly the truth was seen; this
stream was the Warwick itself, and above Lee's Mill; here it was small,
as Nick had intimated.
I turned westward; I had come too far; there must be a great angle in
the river below me, and that angle must be at Lee's Mill.
Not more than a hunched yards down the stream there was a dam, seemingly
a new dam made of logs and earth. At the time I could not understand why
it was there. On the other side of the water, which seemed to be deep,
though narrow; I could hear a drum beating. A road, a narrow country
road, ran seemingly straight into the water. Only a few steps to my left
there was an elbow of the road, I moved to this elbow, keeping in the
bushes, and looked down on the water. There was no sign of a ferry; I
could see the road where it left the water on the other side, and I
could see men passing back and forth across the road some two or three
hundred yards away.
For a long time I racked my brains before I understood the meaning of
this road's going into deep water. What could it mean? Certainly there
was a reason for it, and a strong reason. The ordinary needs of the
country would require a ferry, and there was no ferry. I had looked long
and closely, and was sure there was no ferry, and was almost as sure
that there never had been one. The road before my eyes was untravelled;
the ruts were weeks old, without the sign of a fresh track since the
last rains; the road was not now used, that was a certainty.
When was this road used? ... The whole situation became clear; the road
had been a good road before the rebels came; when they fortified their
lines they rendered the road useless. They destroyed the ford by
building the dam below.
I made my way down the stream, little elated at my solution of what at
first had seemed a mystery, for I felt that Nick would have told me
offhand all about it.
In less than a mile I came to another road running into deep water. Now,
thought I, if my solution is correct, we shall shortly see another dam,
and it was not five minutes before I came in sight of the second dam.
I climbed a tree near by; I could see portions of a line of earthworks
on the other side of the river. The line of works seemed nearly
straight, at least much more nearly so than the river was. To attack the
Confederate lines here would be absurd, unless our troops could first
destroy the dams and find an easy crossing.
By this time the middle of the afternoon had passed, and I was
famishing. I believed it impossible that I should be able to get any
food, and the thought made me still hungrier; yet I cast about me to see
if there was any way to get relief. I blamed myself for not having
brought food from camp. I had made up my mind to remain this night near
the river, as I could not get back to camp, seeing that my work was not
yet done, until the next day; so I must expect many hours of sharp
hunger unless I could find food.
I now felt convinced that on the rebel left there was a continuous line
of works behind the Warwick, from Lee's Mill up to Yorktown, and all I
cared to prove was whether that line had its angle at the former place,
as Nick had declared, and as seemed reasonable to me from every
consideration. I would, then, make my way carefully down the river to
Lee's Mill, and if possible finish my work before sunset; but my hunger
was so great that I thought it advisable to first seek food. So,
deferring my further progress down the stream, I set out in an easterly
direction by the road which had crossed previously above the second dam,
in the hope that this road would lead me to some house where help could
be found, for I was now getting where risks must be run; food was my
first need.
However, I did not expose myself, but kept out of the road, walking
through this woods. My road was soon enlarged by another road joining
it, coming in from the north and seeming well worn from recent use. I
had been walking for nearly a mile when I heard a noise behind
me--clearly the noise of horses coming. I lay flat behind a bush which
grew by a fallen tree. Three horsemen--rebels--passed, going southward.
They passed at a walk, and were talking, but their words could not be
distinguished. The middle man was riding a gray horse.
About half a mile, or perhaps less, farther on, the woods became less
dense, and soon I came to a clearing; in this clearing was what the
Southern people call a settlement, which consisted of a small farmhouse
with, a few necessary outbuildings.
Hitched to the straight rail fence that separated, the house yard from
the road, were three horses, one of them gray, with saddles on their
backs. I was not more than fifty yards distant from the horses, and
could plainly see a holster in front of one of the saddles.
No sound came from the house. I lay down and watched and listened. The
evening was fast drawing on, and there were clouds in the west, but the
sun had not yet gone down, and there would yet be an hour or two of
daylight. I feared that my approach to Lee's Mill must be put off till
the morrow.
A woman came out of the house and drew a bucket of water at the well in
the yard. She then returned into the house, with her pail of water. Now
the sound of men's voices could be heard, and the stamping of heavy
foot within the house; a moment afterward three men came out and
approached the horses.
The woman was standing at the door; one of the men shaded his eyes with
his hand and looked toward the west, where a dazzling cloud-edge barely
hid the sun from view. He was looking directly over my head; dropping
his hand he said, "An hour high, yit." This man was nearer to me than
the others were. I could less distinctly hear the words of the others,
but when this one got near their horses a conversation was held with the
woman standing in the doorway, and the voices on both sides were raised.
"Yes," said one of the men, preparing to mount the gray horse, "yes, I
reckin this is the last time we'll trouble you any more."
"Your room's better'n your company," said the woman, whose words, by
reason of her shrill voice, as well as because she was talking toward
me, were more distinctly heard than the man's.
"Now don't be ungrateful," said the man, who by this time was astride
his horse; "you've not lost anything by me. If the Yanks treat you as
well as us, you may thank your God."
"Self-praise is half scandal," said the woman; "I'm willin' to risk 'em
if God sends 'em."
The man, turning his horse and riding after his two companions, shouted
back: "Hit's not God as is a sendin' 'em; hit's somebody else!"
"You seem to be mighty well acquainted!" fired the woman, as a parting
shot.
When the man had overtaken his comrades at the turning of the road, I
had but little reluctance in going into the house. The woman stared at
me. My gray civilian clothes caught her eye; evidently she did not know
what to think of me. She said nothing, and stood her ground in the
middle of the floor.
I first asked for a drink of water; she pointed to the bucket, in which
there was a common gourd for a dipper. I quenched my thirst; then I
said; "Madam, I will pay you well if you will let me have what cold food
you have in the house."
"Did you see them men a-ridin' away from here jest now?" she asked.
"I heard some voices," said I; "who were they?"
"They was some of our men; three of 'em; they et up most ev'ything I
had, so I hain't got much."
"See what there is," said I, "and please be as quick as you can."
She went into another room, and speedily returned with a "pone" of
corn-bread.
"This is all they is," she said.
"Have you no potatoes? no bacon?"
"I've got some bacon," she said; "but it ain't cooked."
"Let me have a pound or two, anyway," said I.
She brought out a large piece of bacon. "My ole man's gone down to
Worrick to-day," she said, "an' won't be back tell night; an' you
soldiers, a-leavin' the country all at oncet, hit makes me feel kinder
skittish."
"Yes," said I; "I don't wonder at your alarm, for they say the Yankees
are coming. I don't suppose they will be here before to-morrow,
though--maybe not till the day after."
"Them other men said they was the last to go," she replied; "but I
reckin they didn't know you was a-comin' on behind 'em."
"No," said I; "if they had known I was coming, they wouldn't have run
off and left me so; I might have ridden behind one of them. I don't
suppose I can overtake them now, unless they stop again."
"That you can't," said she; "they won't have no call to stop tell they
git to the camp, an' hit's jest this side of the mill."
"How far is it to Lee's Mill?" I asked,
She looked at me suspiciously, and I feared that I had made a mistake.
"Hit's not fur," she replied; "hain't you never been thar?"
"Not by this road," I answered. "How much shall I pay you?"
"Well, Mister, I don't know; set your own price."
I handed her a silver half-dollar. Her eyes fastened on me. I had made
another mistake.
"If that is not enough," said I, "you shall have more," showing her a
one-dollar Confederate note.
"Oh, this is a plenty," she replied; "but I was a-wonderin' to see
silver agin."
"I have kept a little for hard times," I said.
"You have? Well, the sight of it is cert'n'y good for sore eyes."
"Can I reach Lee's Mill before dark?" I asked.
"Well, I reckin you kin, ef you walk fast enough," she said; "anyhow,
you kin git to the camp on this side."
"Well, good day, madam; I wish you well," said I.
"Good-by, Mister," she said.
I had already opened the gate, when I heard her come to the door; she
raised her voice a little, and said,--
"When you git to the big road, you'll be in a mile o' the mill."
So long as I was in sight of the house I kept in the road, but as soon
as I got through the clearing, I struck off to the right through the
woods. I was seeking some hiding place where I could eat and sleep.
When, early in the morning, I had seen the pickets retire from the post
near Warwick, I had thought that the rebels were all withdrawing to
their main lines; this thought had received some corroboration from the
firing heard in my rear later in the day; I had believed the Union
troops advancing behind me; but afterward I had seen other rebels at the
woman's house, and I now doubted what I had before believed. Besides, it
was clear from the woman's words that there was a rebel post this side
of Lee's Mill, and I was yet in danger.
The woods wore dense. Soon I saw before me a large road running west,
the big road of which the woman had spoken, no doubt. I crept up to it,
and, seeing no one in either direction, ran across it, and into the
woods beyond. I went for half a mile or more, in a southwest course, and
found a spot where I thought I could spend the night in safety. For fear
of being detected I dug a hole, with my knife, in the earth, and piled
the loose earth around the hole; then I lighted a fire of dry sticks at
the bottom. Night had not yet come, but it was very gloomy in this dense
thicket surrounded by woods; I had little fear that any reflection or
smoke would betray me, for the thicket was impenetrable to the view of
any one who should not come within two rods. I broiled my bacon and
toasted my bread, and though I fared very well, yet after eating I
wanted water and chose to remain thirsty rather than in the darkness to
search for a spring or a stream in the woods.
I quenched the fire with the loose earth; I raked up leaves with my
hands and made a bed. I had no covering, but the night was not cold,
threatening rain, and the thicket sheltered me from the wind.
Some time in the night I awoke to find that I had dreamed of lying in a
mountain brook with my mouth up stream and the water running through my
whole body. My mouth was parched. I must have water at any risk.
I set out in I know not what direction. I had put the remains of my
supper into my coat pocket, for my judgment told me that in all
likelihood I could never return to the spot I was leaving.
Before I had been walking ten minutes, I knew that I was completely
lost; I went through thickets and briers, over logs and gullies, round
and round, I suspect, for hour in and hour out, until just before day I
saw the reflection of fire through the woods, and at the same time
almost fell into a small pool. It was the reflection of the light by the
pool which at once showed me the water and saved me from finding it
with a sense other than sight.
I drank and drank again; then I wondered what the fire meant. Although
it seemed far off, I was afraid of it; likely enough it was some rebel
camp-fire; I had no idea whither I had wandered, I turned my back on the
light, and walked until I could see it no more; then I stretched myself
under a tree, but could not sleep. Day was coming.
After a while it began to rain, and I had a most uncomfortable time of
it. It required considerable effort of will on my part to determine to
move, for I did not know which way to start. I set out, however, and had
gone a short distance, when I noticed the green moss at the root of a
large tree, and I remembered that I had read in stories of Indians and
hunters that such moss always grows on the north side of the trees. So I
then turned westward, for I knew that I had crossed no road in my
wanderings of the night, and I also knew that the main road from Warwick
Court-House to Lee's Mill was at the west. A little at my left I saw a
great tree with a sloping trunk, and I went to it for shelter; it was
raining harder. When I reached the tree I saw a road just beyond. I sat
under the tree, the inclined trunk giving me shelter from the rain and
hiding me from the road. While eating the remains of my supper, I heard
the tramp of horses, and looking out cautiously, saw a company of rebel
cavalry going northward at a trot. At the same time I could distinctly
hear skirmish firing behind me, not half a mile off, seemingly. The rain
still fell and I held my place.
All at once I saw two men in the road; they were Union
soldiers--infantry--skirmishers.
Before I could speak to them I was aware of the fact that an advancing
line of our skirmishers was on either side of me.
"Hello, here!" cried one of them; "who are _you?_"
"Keep your place in line, Private Lewis," said an officer, coming up,
"I'll attend to that man."
"Privates Jones and George, halt! Skirmishers, fill intervals to the
right!"
Two men came to the lieutenant.
"Who _are_ you, sir?" asked the lieutenant.
"Private Berwick, Eleventh Massachusetts," said I.
"Do you know anything of the enemy? Speak quick!"
"They are this side of Lee's Mill, Lieutenant, but I got lost in the
night, and I don't even know where I am now. About fifty of their
cavalry went by ten minutes ago."
The line went on in the rain.
The lieutenant placed me in charge of the two men, ordering them to take
me at once to the rear, and to report to General Davidson. I have never
learned the name of that lieutenant; he had some good qualities.
Meanwhile a sharp skirmish was going on in front, and our line did not
seem to advance. A section of artillery dashed by. I began to understand
that, if I had gone on a few hundred yards, I should have run upon the
enemy in force.
I was brought before General Davidson. He was on horse, at the head of
his brigade. He asked me my name.
"Jones Berwick, General," said I.
"What is your business?"
"I am a private, sir, in the Eleventh Massachusetts."
He smiled at this; then he asked, still smiling, "Where is your
regiment?"
"It is in camp below Washington, General, I suppose; at least, it had
not reached Newport News on the evening of the day before yesterday."
"How is it that you are here while your regiment is still near
Washington?"
"I had surgeon's leave to precede my regiment on account of my health,
General."
"And this is the way you take care of your health, is it, by lying out
in the woods in the rain?"
"It was a month ago, General, that the surgeon dismissed me, and I am
now fully recovered."
General Davidson looked serious. "You were at Newport News on day before
yesterday?"
"I was near Newport News, sir, at the Sanitary camp. General McClellan
had just arrived at Fortress Monroe; so I heard before I left."
"And what are you doing here? I think you have the Southern accent."
"I have been told so before, General; but I am not a Southerner; I came
out to observe the rebel lines."
"By whose authority?"
Now, I could have told General Davidson that I had had a pass, signed by
such an officer; but I feared to do so, lest some complication should
arise which would give trouble to such an officer, for Dr. Khayme had
not fully informed me about my privileges.
"It was only a private enterprise, General."
"Tell me all about it," he said.
I said briefly that, on the day before, I had passed up the Warwick
River; and that the main line of the enemy lay behind it; that the fords
had been destroyed by dams, and that there were no rebels on this side
of the river now, in my opinion, except pickets, and possibly a force
just in front of Lee's Mill.
"But do you not hear the rebel artillery now?" he asked.
"I think, General, that the rebel artillery is firing from the other
side of the river, but I admit that I am not sure of it. Night came on
me yesterday before I could reach Lee's Mill, and I have nothing but
hearsay in regard to that place."
"What have you heard?"