“And there are none of our men beyond this point?”

“No—­nobody at all,” said he.

Jones had given the horses a mouthful of oats, and we had swallowed our breakfast, the lieutenant kindly giving us coffee.  For several reasons I thought it best to take the road to the left:  first, it was away from the river, which the rebels were supposed to be watching closely; second, the distance seemed not so great; and, third, it was said to traverse a less populous region.

I had now to determine the order of our advance, and decided that we should ride forward alternately, at least until we should strike the crossing of the Totopotomoy Creek; so I halted Jones, rode forward for fifty yards or so, then stopped and beckoned to him to come on.  As he went by me I told him to continue to advance until he should reach, a turn in the road; then he should halt and let me pass him.  At the first stop he made I saw with pleasure that he had the good judgment to halt on the side of the road amongst the bushes.  I now rode up to him in turn, and paused before passing.

“You have kept your eyes on the stretch, in front?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And have seen nothing?”

“No, sir; not a thing.”

“You understand why we advance in this manner?”

“Yes; I can watch for you, and you can watch for me, and both can watch for both.”

“Yes, and not only that.  We can hardly both be caught at the same time; one of us might be left to tell the tale.”

I went on by.  The road here ran through woods, but shortly a field was seen in front, with a house at the left of the road, and I changed tactics.  When Jones had reached me, we rode together through the field, went on quickly past the house, and on to another thicket, in the edge of which we found a school-house; but just before reaching the thicket I made Jones follow me at the distance of some forty yards.  I had made this change of procedure because I had been able to see that there was nobody in the stretch of road passing the house, and I thought it better for two at once to be exposed to possible view from the house for a minute than one each for a minute.

We had not seen a soul.

We again proceeded according to our first programme, I riding forward for fifty yards or so, and Jones passing me, and alternately thus until we saw, just beyond us, a road coming into ours from the southwest.  On the north of our road, and about two hundred and fifty yards from the spot where we had halted, was a farmhouse, which I supposed was the Linney house marked on the map.  The road at the left, I knew from the map, went straight to Mechanicsville and thence to Richmond, and I suspected that it was frequently patrolled by the rebel cavalry.  We remained in hiding at a short distance from the house, and consulted.  I feared to pass openly on the road—­two roads, in fact—­opposite the house, for discovery and pursuit at this time would mean the abortion