"Our scouts have found the adventure very easy."--SHAKESPEARE.
Soon the wagons turned sharply to the left, following, I thought, a new
road cut for a purpose; now camp-fires could be seen again, and near by.
The cry of a sentinel was heard in front, and the wagons halted. I
supposed that we were now to pass the camp guard, which, for mere form's
sake, had challenged the Confederate teamsters; I crept entirely under
the body of the wagon.
We moved on; I saw no sentinel; doubtless he had turned his back and was
walking toward the other end of his beat.
The wagon, on its new road, was now passing to the right of an
encampment; long rows of tents, with streets between, showed clearly
upon a hill at the left. In the streets there were many groups of men;
some of them were talking noisily; some were singing. It was easy to see
that these men were in good spirits; they surely had not had a hard
march that day. For my part, I was beginning to feel very tired; still,
I knew that excitement would keep me going for this night, and for the
next day, if need be.
The wagon passed beyond the tents; then, judging that it was to go on
until it should be far in the rear, I stepped aside and was alone again,
and with the Confederate forces between Jones and me.
I sat on the ground, and tried to think. It seemed to me that the worst
was over. I was safer here than I had been an hour ago, while following
up the picket-line--safer, perhaps, than I had been at any time that
day. I was a Confederate surrounded by an army who wore the Southern
uniform. Nothing less than stupidity on my part could lose me. I must
still act cautiously--yet without the appearance of caution; that was a
more difficult matter.
What I had to do now seemed very simple; it was merely the work of
walking about and estimating the number of the rebels. To get out of
these lines would not be any more difficult for me than for any
other rebel.
But would not a man walking hither and thither in the night be accosted
by some one?
Well, what of that? As soon as he sees me near, he will be satisfied.
But suppose some man asks you what regiment you belong to--what can you
say?
Let me think. The troops here may be all Virginians, or all Georgians,
and I am a South Carolinian.
The sweat rolled down my face--unwholesome sweat. I had allowed my
imagination to carry me too far; I had really put myself in the place of
a Carolinian for the moment; the becoming a Union soldier again was
sudden, violent. I must guard against such transitions.
Seeing at last that hiding was not acting cautiously and without the
appearance of caution, I rose and started for the camp-fires, by a great
effort of will dominating my discomposure, and determining to play the
Confederate soldier amongst his fellows. I would go to the men; would
talk to them when necessary; would count their tents and their stacks of
arms if possible; would learn, as soon as I could, the name of some
regiment, so that if I were questioned I could answer.
But suppose you are asked your regiment, and give an appropriate answer,
and then are asked for your captain's name--what can you say?
I beat off the fearful suggestion. Strong suspicion alone could prompt
such, an inquiry. There was no more reason for these men to suspect my
being a Union soldier than there was for me to suspect that one of these
men was a Union soldier.
I was approaching the encampment from the rear. Two men overtook me,
each bending under a load of many canteens. They passed me without
speaking. I followed them--lengthening my step to keep near them--and
went with them to their company. I stood by in the light of the fires
while they distributed the canteens, or, rather, while they put the
canteens on the ground, and their respective owners came and got them.
The men did not speak to me.
I had hoped to find the Confederates in line of battle; they certainly
ought to have been in line, and in every respect ready for action, but,
instead, they were here in tents and without any preparation against
surprise, so far as I could see, except the cavalry pickets thrown out
on the roads. If they had been in line, it would have been easy for me
to estimate the number of bayonets in the line of stacked arms; I was
greatly disappointed. The tents seemed to me too few for the numbers of
men who were at the camp-fires. I saw forms already stretched out on
their blankets in the open air. Doubtless many men, in this mild
weather, preferred to sleep outside of the crowded tents.
Hoping that something would be said to give me what I wanted to know, I
sat down.
One of the men asked me for a chew of tobacco.
"Don't chaw," said I, mentally vowing that henceforth. I should carry
some tobacco.
"Why don't you buy your own tobacco?" asked a voice.
The petitioner refused to reply.
A large man stood up; he took from his pocket a knife and a square of
tobacco; he gravely approached the first speaker, cut off a very small
portion, and handed it to him. The men looked on in silence at this act,
which, seemingly, was nothing new to them. One of them winked at me. I
inferred that the large man intended a rebuke to his comrade for
begging from a stranger. The large man went back and sat down.
"Say, Doc, how long are we goin' to be here?"
"I wish I could tell you," said the large man.
There were seven men in the group around the fire; the eyes of all were
upon the large man called Doc. He seemed a man of character and
influence, though but a private. He turned to me.
"You are tired," he said.
I merely nodded assent. His remark surprised and disconcerted me, so
that I could not find my voice. In a moment my courage had returned. The
look of the man was the opposite of suspicious--it was sympathetic. He
was not baldly curious. His attitude toward me might shield me from the
curiosity of the others, if, indeed, they were feeling interest of any
sort in me. I had been fearing that some one would ask me my regiment.
"I want to go home to my mammy!" screamed a voice at the next fire.
Nobody gave this yell the least notice. I supposed it a common saying
with homesick soldiers.
I wondered what Doc and the other men were thinking of me. Perhaps I was
thought a friend of one of the men who had brought the water; perhaps
nobody thought anything, or cared anything, about me. Although I felt
helpless, I would remain.
A torn envelope was lying on the ground, within a few inches of my hand.
The addressed side was next the ground. My fears fled; accident had
helped me--had given me a plan.