“I came in an ace of it,” he said, in a loud whisper; “why didn’t you signal sooner?”

“To tell you the truth, I did not think of it in time, Jones; I am glad to see you so watchful.”

“I should never have recognized you in that plight,” said he; “what have you done with your other clothes?”

“Had to throw them away.”

“Well!  I certainly had no notion of seeing you come back as you are—­and from that direction.”

This was the first time I had seen myself as a Confederate standing with a Union soldier.  In the night, mixed with the rebels, I had felt no visible contrast with them.  Since I had left the wagon I had had no time for thought of personal appearance.  Now I looked at myself.  My hands were scratched with briers; my hat was torn; a great hole was over one knee, which I had used most in crawling.  I was muddy to my knees, having been more rapid than cautious in crossing the creek.  For more than twenty-four hours my mind had been on too great a strain to think of the body.  By the side of me, Jones looked like a glittering general questioning an uncouth rebel prisoner.  He smiled, but I did not.

“Now, let us mount and ride,” said I; “we can eat as we go.  The horses have had an all night’s rest, and I can notify you that I need one, but it won’t do to stay here.  I know all that we need to know.”

* * * * *

We decided that we should return to Old Church by the route which we had followed in coming.  As we rode, I described to Jones the position and force of the enemy, so that, if I should be taken and he left, he could report to General Morell.  We avoided the fields and roads, and stuck to the woods, keeping a sharp lookout ahead, but going rapidly.  At the first water which we saw I took time to give my head a good souse.

Near the middle of the forenoon we came out upon the hills above Crump’s Creek, and were about to descend when we heard a noise at our left, seemingly the galloping of horses.  We dismounted, and I crept toward the road until I could see part of it winding over the hill.  About twenty-five or thirty rebel cavalry—­to be exact, they numbered just twenty-seven, as I counted—­were on the road, going at a gallop up the hill, and apparently excited—­running from danger, I thought.  They disappeared over the hill.  I thought it quite likely that some of our cavalry were advancing on the road, and that it would be well for me to wait where I was; if I should go back and call Jones to come, our men might pass while I was gone.

In a short time I saw in the road, going westward at a slow walk, another body of cavalry.  These men, to my astonishment, were armed with lances.  My surprise gave way to pleasure, for I remembered much talk in the army concerning a Pennsylvania regiment of lancers.

As I could see, also, that the men were in Federal uniform, I boldly left my place of concealment and walked out into the road.  The cavalry halted.  The captain, or officer in command, whom I shall here call Captain Lewis, although that was not his name, rode out a little to the front of his men, and said, “So you have given it up?”