I marched thus into the rebel camp at Hanover Court-House.

XVII

THE LINES OF HANOVER

     “Our scouts have found the adventure very easy.”—­SHAKESPEARE.

Soon the wagons turned sharply to the left, following, I thought, a new road cut for a purpose; now camp-fires could be seen again, and near by.

The cry of a sentinel was heard in front, and the wagons halted.  I supposed that we were now to pass the camp guard, which, for mere form’s sake, had challenged the Confederate teamsters; I crept entirely under the body of the wagon.

We moved on; I saw no sentinel; doubtless he had turned his back and was walking toward the other end of his beat.

The wagon, on its new road, was now passing to the right of an encampment; long rows of tents, with streets between, showed clearly upon a hill at the left.  In the streets there were many groups of men; some of them were talking noisily; some were singing.  It was easy to see that these men were in good spirits; they surely had not had a hard march that day.  For my part, I was beginning to feel very tired; still, I knew that excitement would keep me going for this night, and for the next day, if need be.

The wagon passed beyond the tents; then, judging that it was to go on until it should be far in the rear, I stepped aside and was alone again, and with the Confederate forces between Jones and me.

I sat on the ground, and tried to think.  It seemed to me that the worst was over.  I was safer here than I had been an hour ago, while following up the picket-line—­safer, perhaps, than I had been at any time that day.  I was a Confederate surrounded by an army who wore the Southern uniform.  Nothing less than stupidity on my part could lose me.  I must still act cautiously—­yet without the appearance of caution; that was a more difficult matter.

What I had to do now seemed very simple; it was merely the work of walking about and estimating the number of the rebels.  To get out of these lines would not be any more difficult for me than for any other rebel.

But would not a man walking hither and thither in the night be accosted by some one?

Well, what of that?  As soon as he sees me near, he will be satisfied.

But suppose some man asks you what regiment you belong to—­what can you say?

Let me think.  The troops here may be all Virginians, or all Georgians, and I am a South Carolinian.

The sweat rolled down my face—­unwholesome sweat.  I had allowed my imagination to carry me too far; I had really put myself in the place of a Carolinian for the moment; the becoming a Union soldier again was sudden, violent.  I must guard against such transitions.

Seeing at last that hiding was not acting cautiously and without the appearance of caution, I rose and started for the camp-fires, by a great effort of will dominating my discomposure, and determining to play the Confederate soldier amongst his fellows.  I would go to the men; would talk to them when necessary; would count their tents and their stacks of arms if possible; would learn, as soon as I could, the name of some regiment, so that if I were questioned I could answer.