This was not much of an opening. I managed to respond, "Don't see it,
myself."
"Look at that big pine up yonder," said he.
"Be another hot day," said I; "wish I was up there."
"What for?"
"So I could get some sleep."
"You won't git any down here in this old field; that's shore."
"That's what's a-troublin' me," said I; "and I've got to take care of
myself."
"Ben sick?"
"No, not down sick; but the hot sun don't do me any good."
"Bilious, I reckon," said he.
"No," said I, "not bilious; it's my head."
"Bet I'd go to the surgeon, then, ef it was me," he said.
"Wish I _could_ see the Doctor," I replied, spelling the word, mentally,
with a capital.
"Well, why don't you tell your captain to let you go back?"
"You don't know my captain," said I.
"Hard on you, is he?"
"Well, hard ain't the word; but I wouldn't risk asking him out here."
"Bet _I'd_ go, anyhow, ef it was me," said he.
"If he should see me going, know what he'd do?"
"What?"
"Send a man after me."
"Well, you jest come along with, me. Bet _our_ men won't stop you; you
don't belong to _them_."
This was just what I wanted; but I was afraid to show any eagerness. We
were almost at the picket-line, and I had no doubt that my friend was
marching straight toward his own rifle-pit; he was surely on the left of
his company--he was such a small man.
"Stop," said I.
He halted, and turned to me. He was a good-looking young fellow. He had
the palmetto button on his coat. Our eyes met.
"You won't give me away?" I said.
"What do you take me for?" he asked.
"Oh, you're all right; but if you should happen to say anything to
anybody, it might get out. If you won't tell any of your men, I'll go."
"Oh, come along; you needn't be afeared of my tellin' on you. I don't
know your name, and--not to cause hard feelin's--I don't want to know
it; come on."
He stopped at the pit on the edge of the gully. I passed on. I saw men
lying, sitting, and a very few standing down the line at some of the
other pits. I heard no talk. The men at the pit where my friend had
halted did not speak to me. There was nothing to cause them to speak. He
handed his canteen to one of the men; even this man did not speak;
he drank.
I walked up the hill, going straight toward the big pine. The sun itself
could now be seen. What I have narrated had not taken five minutes, for
the pits were not more than a hundred yards from the edge of the swamp.
Now, once out of sight of the picket-line, I should feel safe. How far
in the rear the Confederate fortifications were, I could not yet
tell--but that mattered little; I should have no fears when I
reached them.
As long as I thought it possible that I could be seen from the pits I
went toward the big pine; soon I knew that I was hidden by bushes, and I
went as rapidly as I could walk in a southeast direction for nearly an
hour. I passed in full sight of the picket-line in many places, and
fortifications far to my right could be seen upon the hills. My purpose
was to enter the main Confederate entrenchments as nearly as possible
opposite New Bridge--opposite the position from which, I had started on
the night before.
The sun was an hour high. I had come three miles, I thought; I sat in a
shady place and endeavoured to think what course was best. I believed I
had come far enough. I had nothing to do but go forward. I could see
parts of fortifications. No one would think of hindering my entrance. I
would go into the lines; then I would turn to the right and follow out
my instructions.
Again I started, and reached the brow of the hill; it was entirely bare
of trees. Three or four hundred yards in front were lines of earthworks.
I did not pause; I went straight ahead.
A body of men marched out of the breastworks--about a company, I
thought. They were marching forward; their line of march would bring
them near me. I held my course. I judged that the company was some
regiment's picket for the next twenty-four hours; they were going to
relieve the last night's pickets.
The last man of the company had hardly appeared: suddenly I heard a
cannon roar, apparently from a Federal battery almost directly in my
rear, and at the instant a shell had shrieked far above my head.
At once the Confederates replied. I did not think that I was in any
danger, as the shells went high in the air in order to attain their
object on the other side of the Chickahominy.
The company of infantry had countermarched, and was again behind the
line of earthworks.
I looked around for shelter from the Federal cannon; although the shells
went high, it would be folly for me to go forward into the place of
danger. The hill was bare. There was no depression, no tree, no fence,
nothing but the open wind-swept hill--desolate and bare. I was on this
bare hill.
A man passed me from the rear. He was armed. He, too, like myself, had
no doubt come from the picket-line.
"Better leg it!" he cried--and I legged it with him, making for the
breastworks.
The shells from the rear seemed to fly over at a less height.
One of the shells burst over my head.
Suddenly I saw my companion throw up one hand--his left hand--with great
violence, and fall flat; hardly was I conscious that I saw him fall; at
the instant there was a deafening noise, and I was conscious of nothing.