We supposed that we were almost half a mile from the road, and that we were in no pressing danger.  When we had gone north about a quarter of a mile we dismounted, and while Jones remained with the horses, I crept through the woods until I could see the road.  It was deserted.  I crept nearer and nearer until I was almost on its edge; sheltered by the bushes I could see a long distance either way.  At my left was a house, some two hundred yards away and on the far side of the road.  I watched the house.  The men I had seen in the road might have stopped in the house; there might be—­indeed, there ought to be—­an outpost near me, and this house would naturally be visited very often.  But I saw nothing, and at last crept back into the woods for a short distance, and advanced again parallel with the road, until I came, as I supposed, opposite the house; then I crept up to the road again.  I could now see the yard in front of the house, and even through the house from front to back door; it was a small house of but two rooms.  It now began to seem as though the house was an abandoned one, in which case the rebels would likely never stop there, unless for water.  I saw no well in the yard.  There was no sign of life.

I turned again and sought the woods, and again advanced parallel with the road, until, in about three hundred yards, I could see a field in my front.  This field ran up to the road, and beyond the road there was another field, the road running between rail fences.  I returned to Jones, whom I found somewhat alarmed in consequence of my long absence, and we brought the horses up to the spot to which I had advanced.  It was now about four o’clock, and we had yet three hours of daylight.  Hanover could not be much more than two miles from us.

The field in front was not wide; it sloped down to a heavily wooded hollow, in which I judged there was a stream.  As I was yet quite unsatisfied in regard to the house almost in our rear, I asked Jones to creep back and observe the place thoroughly.

He returned; I could see news in his face.  “They are passing now,” he said.

No need to ask who “they” meant.  We took our horses deeper into the woods.  There Jones told me that he had seen some thirty men, in two squads, more than a hundred yards apart, ride fast toward Hanover.

“But why could I not see them in the road yonder, as they went through the field?” I asked.

“Because the road there is washed too deep.  Their heads would not show above the fence,” he said.

I tried to fathom the meaning of the rapid movement of these small bodies of rebels, but could get nothing out of it, except the supposition that our cavalry had pushed on up the road after we had passed Old Church.  There might be, and doubtless were, several attempts made this day to ascertain the position of the rebels.

No crossing of that road now and trying the rebel left!  We went to the left of the field.  It was about five o’clock.  We reached the foot of a hill and saw a small creek ahead of us.  I now felt that I must go forward alone.