“If any man has a question, ask it now.”

No one spoke, although several moved uneasily, too nervous to remain still.

“Le Gaire, here, will go first, as he knows the way, and I will follow him; the rest drop in in single file, with the sergeant at the rear.  Keep close enough to distinguish the man in front, and be careful where you put your feet.  No noise, not a word spoken unless I pass back an order; then give it to the next man in a whisper.  Don’t fire under any conditions except by command.”  I paused, then added slowly:  “You are all intelligent enough to know the danger of our expedition, and the necessity of striking quick and hard.  Our success, our very lives, depend on surprise.  If each one of you does exactly as I order, we’ve got a chance to come back; if not, then it means a bullet, or a prison, for all of us.  Are you ready?”

I heard the low responses, and counted them—­ten, the negro not answering.

“All right, men,” then, my voice hardening into a threat:  “Now go ahead, Le Gaire, and remember I am next behind, and carry a revolver in my hand.  Make a wrong move, lad, and you’ll never make another.”

I could faintly discern the whites of his eyes, and heard one of the men snicker nervously.

“Lead off!  Fall in promptly, men.”

It was a rocky cleft through the hills, perhaps a hundred yards wide here where it opened on the river, with a little stream in its centre fringed with low trees, but narrowing gradually, and becoming blocked with underbrush as it penetrated deeper into the interior.  For a mile or more the course was not entirely unknown to me, although the darkness obscured all familiar landmarks.  The negro, however, apparently possessed the instinct of an animal, or else had night eyes, for he never hesitated, keeping close along the edge of the stream.  The tree-branches brushed our faces, but our feet pressed a well defined path.  Farther in, the shadows becoming more dense, this path wound about crazily, seeking the level spots; yet Le Gaire moved steadily forward, his head lowered, and I kept him within reach of my arm, barely able to distinguish the cautious tread of feet behind.  Clearly enough he knew the way, and could follow it with all the certainty of a dog.  Relieved as to this, and confident the fellow dare not play us false, I could take notice of other things, and permit my thoughts to wander.  There was little to be seen or heard; except for the musical tinkle of the stream, all to the right was silence, but from the other side there arose an occasional sound, borne faintly from a distance—­a voice calling, the blare of a far-off bugle, the echo of a hammer pounding on iron.  Once through the obscuring branches the fitful yellow of a camp-fire was dimly visible, but the ravine twisted so that I could not determine whether this was from Federal or Confederate lines.  Anyhow no eye saw us creep past, and no suspicious voice challenged.  Indeed we had every reason to believe the ravine unguarded, although pickets were undoubtedly patrolling the east bank, and there were places we must go close in under its shadow.