There was lively work in the next few seconds.  The shots were thick and fast—­and uncommonly loud; none, I think, from our side.  Cobb was on the extreme left of our advance, I on the right—­about two paces apart.  He instantly dived into the wood.  The three men and I climbed across the fence somehow and struck out across the field—­actuated, doubtless, by an intelligent forethought:  men on horseback could not immediately follow.  Passing near the house, now swarming like a hive of bees, we made for a swamp two or three hundred yards away, where I concealed myself in a jungle, the others continuing—­as a defeated commander would put it—­to fall back.  In my cover, where I lay panting like a hare, I could hear a deal of shouting and hard riding and an occasional shot.  I heard some one calling dogs, and the thought of bloodhounds added its fine suggestiveness to the other fancies appropriate to the occasion.

Finding myself unpursued after the lapse of what seemed an hour, but was probably a few minutes, I cautiously sought a place where, still concealed, I could obtain a view of the field of glory.  The only enemy in sight was a group of horsemen on a hill a quarter of a mile away.  Toward this group a woman was running, followed by the eyes of everybody about the house.  I thought she had discovered my hiding-place and was going to “give me away.”  Taking to my hands and knees I crept as rapidly as possible among the clumps of brambles directly back toward the point in the road where we had met the enemy and failed to make him ours.  There I dragged myself into a patch of briars within ten feet of the road, where I lay undiscovered during the remainder of the day, listening to a variety of disparaging remarks upon Yankee valor and to dispiriting declarations of intention conditional on my capture, as members of the Opposition passed and repassed and paused in the road to discuss the morning’s events.  In this way I learned that the three privates had been headed off and caught within ten minutes.  Their destination would naturally be Andersonville; what further became of them God knows.  Their captors passed the day making a careful canvass of the swamp for me.

When night had fallen I cautiously left my place of concealment, dodged across the road into the woods and made for the river through the mile of corn.  Such corn!  It towered above me like a forest, shutting out all the starlight except what came from directly overhead.  Many of the ears were a yard out of reach.  One who has never seen an Alabama river-bottom cornfield has not exhausted nature’s surprises; nor will he know what solitude is until he explores one in a moonless night.