the hill beyond.  The column rises to its feet, and at the command, “Forward!” they start with a rush and a cheer.  Five hundred yards onward, and a solid mass of gray coats confront them.  A volley is fired and returned; the exulting Caribees, with two lines behind them, give a loud cheer and, in an instant, the gray mass has disappeared, as if the earth had opened.  The skirmish-line, advancing now, picks up a half-dozen or more wounded rebels, besides two or three who had become confused in the hasty retreat and run toward the “Yankees” instead of their own line.  Jack’s comrade held this conversation with one of the prisoners: 

“I say, reb, what place is this?”

“Mitchell’s Ford.”

“Much of your army here?”

“’Nuff to lick you uns out of your boots, I reckon.”

“What did they run across the ford for, then?”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough—­when our folks get ready.”

“Who’s in command here?”

“General Bonham, of South Carolina.”

“How many men, about?”

“Well, there’s right smart on to a million, I reckon.  They had to cut the trees down, yonder, to get room for ’em.”.

The man’s eyes twinkled as he gave this precise approximation; but Barney, who had brought the humorist in, whispered to the captain to let him have a moment’s speech with the man before he was sent away.  The captain nodded, and Barney said innocently: 

“Had anything to eat to-day?”

“Not a mouthful.  The trains were all taken up with soldiers coming from Richmond.”

“Have a bit of beef—­and here’s a cracker or two.  You can have some coffee if the guards will let you make it.”

“Old Longstreet himself would envy me now,” the rebel cried, his mouth stuffed with the cold meat and hard-tack, almost as fresh and crisp as soda-crackers, for the contractors had not yet learned the trick of making them out of sawdust, white sand, and other inexpensive substitutes for flour.

“Longstreet?” Barney said, carelessly.

“Yes, that’s the commander of the right wing, just below, at Blackburn’s Ford.”

“Blackburn’s Ford?”

“Yes, that’s a mile down, and really behind you uns, for the run makes a big elbow to the east.  I tell you what it is, Yank, you’ll see snakes right soon, for our folks are behind you.”

Sure enough, a crackling to the left confirmed this, and the captain, who had listened to Barney’s adroit cross-questioning, sent the man with a note to Colonel Sherman, a few rods in the rear.  Ten minutes later the column fell into ranks again and moved off swiftly southeastward.  A march of a mile or so brought them to a bold ridge cutting down almost aslant to the clear water of the run.  The skirmishers, for some reason, had not pushed ahead to explore the ground, and the regiments, marching in close masses, came out in a rather disorderly multitude on the ridged crest.  A hundred yards nearly below the water-course was fringed with thick copses of oak, and the gently ascending slopes on the western bank were completely hidden from the Union lines.  A few gaunt, almost limbless trees rose up spectrally on the ridge, offering the compact masses neither shelter from the sun nor security from the enemy—­if there were an enemy near.