The dense woods and the darkness hid them so securely that they could not have been seen twenty yards away, but the men rode on at a sure pace, as if they knew the ground well.  The silence was deep and intense, save for the footsteps of the horses and now and then a night bird in the tall trees calling.

Before they had gone far a man stepped from a thicket and held up a rifle.

“Four men from the Orphan Brigade with a prisoner,” said Robertson.

“Advance with the prisoner,” said the picket, and the four men rode forward.  Dick saw to both left and right other pickets, all in the gray uniform of the South, and his heart grew cold within him.  The hair on his head prickled again at its roots, and it was a dreadful sensation.  What did it mean?  Why these Southern pickets within cannon shot of the Northern lines?

The men rode slowly on.  They were in the deep forest, but the young prisoner began to see many things under the leafy canopy.  On his right the dim, shadowy forms of hundreds of men lay sleeping on the grass.  On his left was a massed battery of great guns, eight in number.

Further and further they went, and there were soldiers and cannon everywhere, but not a fire.  There was no bed of coals, not a single torch gleamed anywhere.  Not all the soldiers were sleeping, but those who were awake never spoke.  Silence and darkness brooded over a great army in gray.  It was as if they marched among forty thousand phantoms, row on row.

The whole appalling truth burst in an instant upon the boy.  The Southern army, which they had supposed was at Corinth, lay in the deep woods within cannon shot of its foe, and not a soul in all Grant’s thousands knew of its presence there!  And Buell was still far away!  It seemed to Dick that for a little space his heart stopped beating.  He foresaw it all, the terrible hammer-stroke at dawn, the rush of the fiery South upon her unsuspecting foe, and the cutting down of brigades, before sleep was gone from their eyes.

Not in vain had the South boasted that Johnston was a great general.  He had not been daunted by Donelson.  While his foe rested on his victory and took his ease, he was here with a new army, ready to strike the unwary.  Dick shivered suddenly, and, with a violent impulse, clutched the waist of the man in front of him.  It may have been some sort of physical telepathy, but Robertson understood.  He turned his head and said in a whisper: 

“You’re right.  The whole Southern army is here in the woods, an’ we’d rather lose a brigade tonight than let you escape.”

Dick felt a thrill of the most acute agony.  If he could only escape!  There must be some way!  If he could but find one!  His single word would save the lives of thousands and prevent irreparable defeat!  Again he clutched the waist of the man in front of him and again the man divined.