“Yassa; we kin git to de falled timba’, but we’s got to go roun’ de pon’.”

“And if we go around the pond first; we shall then find the picket-line?”

“De picket-line at Young’s Mill?”

“Yes.”

“Ef we gits roun’ de pon’, we’ll be done got roun’ de picket-line, en’ de trees w’at dey cut down, en’ Young’s Mill, en’ all.”

“Well, then, Nick, lead the way around the pond, and keep your eyes wide open.”

Nick went forward again, but more slowly for a while; then he turned to the right, through the woods.  We went a long distance and crossed a creek on a fallen log.  I found that this negro could see in the darkness a great deal better than I could; where I should have groped my way, had I been alone, he went boldly enough, putting his foot down flat as though he could see where he was stepping.  Nick said that there were no soldiers in these woods and swamps; they were all on the road and at Young’s Mill, now a mile at our left.

At length we reached the road again.  By this time I was very tired; but, not wanting to confess it, I said to Nick that we should wait by the side of the road for a while, to see if any soldiers should pass.  We sat in the bushes; soon Nick was on his back, asleep, and I was not sorry to see him go to sleep so quickly, for I felt sure that he would not have done so if he had meant to betray me.

I kept awake.  Only once did I see anything alarming.  A single horseman came down the road at a leisurely trot, and passed on, his sabre rattling by his side.  When the sound of the horse’s hoofs had died away, I aroused Nick, and we continued west up the road.  At last Nick stopped.

“What’s the matter now, Nick?” I whispered.

“We’s mos’ up on dem pickets ag’in,” he said.

“Again?  Have we gone wrong?”

“We ain’t gone wrong—­but we’s mos’ up on dem pickets ag’in,” he repeated.

“Where are we?”

“We’s gittin’ mos’ to Worrick; ef we gits up to de place, den w’at you gwine to do?”

“I want to stay there till daylight, so that I can see them and know how many they are.”

“Den w’at you gwine to do?”

“Then I want to follow their line as near as I can, going toward Yorktown.”

“Den all I got to say is dat hit’s mighty cole to be a-layin’ out in de woods widout no fiah en’ widout no kiver en’ widout noth’n’ to eat.”

“That’s true, Nick; do you know of any place where we could get an hour or two of sleep without freezing?”

“Dat’s des’ w’at I was a-gwine to say; fo’ God it was; ef dat’s w’at you gwine to do; come on.”

He led the way again, going to the left.  We passed through woods, then a field, and came to a farmhouse,

“Hold on.  Nick,” said I; “it won’t do to go up to that house.”

“Dey ain’t nobody dah,” said Nick; “all done runned off to Richmon’ er summers.”

The fences were gone, and a general air of desolation marked the place.