“Very well, Jones.  God bless you, boy,” he said, and I was gone.

Before the tent I found “the horseman with two horses.”

“Does General Hooker expect a written reply?”

“No, sir; I suppose not.”

“Then you may report that you have delivered your message and that I begin work at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

I took the led horse and mounted.  The man used his spurs and rode toward the east.

My orders required me to go west and northwest.  I was to communicate with General Franklin, whose division on this day ought to have landed on the south bank of the Pamunkey below White House for the purpose of cutting off the Confederates’ retreat.  The earliest possible delivery of my message was strenuously required, my orders even going so far as to include reasons for despatch.  The retreating enemy were almost between us and Franklin, and he must be notified to attack and delay them at every hazard, and must be informed if possible by what road he should advance in order to cut off their retreat; it was added that, upon landing, General Franklin would not know of the situation of the rebel army, and would depend upon information being brought to him by some one of the messengers sent him on this night.

My ride was to be a ride of twenty-five miles or more, judging from the map.  Our outposts were perhaps six miles ahead; I made the six miles in less than three-quarters of an hour.  With the outposts I had no trouble.

“Give me the countersign for last Sunday,” said the officer.

“Another man’s ahead of you,” he said, when I had responded.

“Who is he?”

“Don’t know.  Horse black.”

“Going fast?”

“Goin’ like hell!” said he; then added, “and goin’ to hell, too, if he don’t mind how he rides.”

It was now after nine o’clock, and I had nineteen or twenty miles ahead of me.  As I had ten hours, I considered that circumspection was worth more than haste—­let the black horse go on.

“Where are the rebels?”

“A mile in front when dark came.”

“Infantry?”

“Couldn’t say; they are infantry or dismounted cavalry—­don’t know which.”

“Please describe their position.”

“Don’t know a thing except that they could be seen drawn up across the road—­a mile out there,” pointing.

“In the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Captain—­”

“No, only lieutenant.”

“Beg pardon, sir; won’t you be so good as to send a man with me to the point from which the rebels could be seen at dark?”

“Yes; I’ll do that much for you.  Here, Johnson!”

As Johnson and I rode forward, I tried to get all he knew—­but he knew nothing; he had no idea whether the enemy were cavalry or infantry, whether they had retired or were yet in position, or how many they were.  The moon was almost overhead; the sandy road muffled the sounds of the horses’ hoofs; no noise came from front or rear.  The way was through the woods; in little more than half a mile open ground was seen ahead.  Johnson stopped; so did I.