“Where is Hill’s corps to-day?”

“It began to move up the river at daybreak.”

“Is that all you have of importance?”

“Yes, sir; and I know what I say.  General Meade is in danger.  General Lee’s movement corresponds exactly, thus far, with Jackson’s march last year around General Pope.”  I say this very earnestly, and continue:  “You ought to know that I am telling you the truth.  A man coming into your lines and ordering an unarmed man to take him to you, ought to be believed.”

“There is something in that,” he says; “yet it would not be an impossible method of deceiving; especially if the man were tired of life,” and he looks at me searchingly.  I return his look, but say nothing.  I know that my appearance is the opposite of prepossessing.  The homeliest rebel in the South is not uglier than I am.  The strain to which I have been subjected for days and weeks, and especially for the last forty-eight hours, must be telling fearfully upon me.  Uncouth, dirty, ragged, starved, weak through fever and strong through unnatural excitement, there can be no wonder that the captain thinks me wild.  He may suspect that such a creature is seeking the presence of General Meade in order to assassinate him.

“Captain,” said I, “you have my arms.  Search me for other weapons.  Bind my hands behind my back, and tie my feet under this horse’s belly.  All I ask is to have speech with General Meade.  If I am not wretchedly mistaken, I can find men near him who will vouch for me.”

“Halt!” said he.  “Now, Thomas, you will continue to escort this gentleman to headquarters.  Wait there for orders, and then ride for your life to General Gregg.  Bring back the extra horse.”

He wrote a note or something, and handed it to Thomas.

“Now,” said he to me, “I cannot say that I trust you are telling the truth, for the matter is too dangerous.  I hope you are deceived in some way.  Good luck to you.”

He put spurs to his horse and galloped west.

I had yielded my gun to Thomas.  At his saddle hung a carbine, and his holsters were not empty.

“Six paces in front of me, sir!” says Thomas.

We go on at a trot.  It is now fully twelve o’clock.  We are nearing the river again.  We cart hear the rumbling of railroad trains, directly in front but far away.

The speed we are making is too slow.  I dig my heels into my horse’s sides; he breaks into a gallop.  “Stop!” roars Thomas.  I do not stop.  I say nothing.  I know he will not shoot.  He threatens and storms, but keeps his distance.  At length, he makes his horse bound to my side, and I feel his hand on my collar.

“Are you crazy?” he shouts.

I fear that he means what he says.  I pull in my horse.  Such, a suspicion may ruin my plan.

After a time we began to see camps ahead.  We passed through the camps.  We passed troops of all arms and wagon trains.