I came down from the tree and cautiously approached the mouth of the gully.  I climbed another tree, from which I had a better view.  I could now see that the gully extended far up the hill, and I suspected that the picket-line stretched across it; but there was no indication of the purpose which had caused the men to go into the gully.  My position was a good one, and I waited.  I could see a part of the picket-line—­that is, not the men, but the rifle-pits.

Ten minutes went by.  Coming down the hill from the right in an oblique direction toward the gully, I saw an unarmed rebel.  He disappeared.  He had gone down into this gully, which, I was now confident, separated by its width the pickets of different commands.  What could this unarmed man be doing in the gully?  Nothing for me to do but to wait; I was hoping that an opportunity had been found.

Soon I saw another man coming down toward the gully; he was coming from the other side—­the left; he was armed.  At nearly the same instant the unarmed man reappeared; his back was toward me, he held his canteen in his hand.  The situation was clear; there was water in the gully; my opportunity had come.

I came down from the tree.  Almost an hour would be mine before the vedettes were relieved.  Cautiously I made my way to the mouth of the gully.  I lay flat and watched.  A man was climbing the side of the gully; he was going to the left; he was armed—­doubtless the man I had seen a moment before.  I went into the gully.  I must get to that spring or pool, or whatever it was, before another man should come.

Before the man had reached the picket-line, I was at the spring—­and it was a good one, at least for that swamp.  A little hollow had been made by digging with bayonets, perhaps, or with the hands, on one side of the gully, just where a huge bulk of unfallen earth would protect the hole from the midday sun, the only sun which could reach the bottom of this ravine, defended by its wall on either hand.  The hole was so small that only one canteen could be filled at a time; but the water was good compared with that of the Chickahominy.  Doubtless it was the difficulty of getting pure water that justified the relaxation of discipline which permitted the men to have recourse to this spring in rear of their vedette lines.

Canteen in hand, I sat down by the spring.  Fully three minutes I sat and waited.  Seeing how muddy I was, I took out my knife and began scraping the mud from my shoes and clothing.

I heard a step.  I put my canteen into the water and held it down with one hand, continuing, to scrape mud with the other.

“Fill mine, too,” said a voice.

I did not look up.

“Ain’t this a swamp to read about?  Did you ever see the likes o’ mosquitoes?”

“I couldn’t see ’em,” said I; “supposing you mean whilst I was on vydette.”

He laughed.  “Bet you had to fight ’em, though.  Say—­you won’t git that mud off that-away; let it dry.”