Who Goes There?. B. K. Benson
suppose you have already explained at headquarters?"
"Don't ask questions. Now you must sit down and eat; you don't know when you will get another meal."
At dusk I started. My purpose was to avoid our own pickets and reach before dawn a point opposite the right of the rebel line, which was believed to rest on James River, near or at Mulberry Island, or Mulberry Point; I would then watch for opportunities, and act accordingly, with the view of following up the rebel line, or as near to it as possible.
I took no gun or anything whatever to burden me. I was soon outside the guard line of the camp. My way at first was almost due north by the Young's Mill road. Darkness quickly came, and I was glad of it. The stars gave me enough light. My road was good, level, sandy--a lane between two rail fences almost hidden with vines and briers. At my left and behind me I could hear the roar of the surf.
When I had gone some two miles, I thought I heard noises ahead, I stopped, and put my ear to the ground. Cavalry. Were they our men, or rebels? I did not want to be seen by either. I slipped into a fence corner. A squad rode by, going toward Hampton, no doubt. I waited until they had passed out of sight, and then rose to continue my tramp, when suddenly, before I had made a step, another horseman rode by, following the others. If he had looked in my direction, he would have seen me; but he passed on with his head straight to the front. I supposed that this last man was on duty as the rear of the squad.
Now I tore up my pass into little bits and tossed them away. The party of cavalry which, had passed me, I believed, were our patrol, and that I should find no more of our men; so I was now extremely cautious in going forward, not knowing how soon I might run against some scouting party of the rebels.
The road soon diverged far from the shore; the ground was sandy and mostly level; and in many places covered with, a thick, small growth. The imperfect light gave me no extended vision, but from studying the map before I had set out I had some idea of the general character of the country at my right, as well as a pretty accurate notion of the distance I must make before I should come near to the first rebel post; though, of course, I could not know that such post had not been abandoned, or advanced even, within the last few hours.
I went on, then, keeping a sharp lookout to right and left and straight ahead, and every now and then stopping to listen. My senses were alert; I thought of nothing but my present purposes; I felt that I was alone and dependent upon myself, but the feeling was not greatly oppressive.
Having gone some four or five miles, I saw before me a fence running at a right angle to the road I was on; this fence was not continued to the left of my road, so I supposed that at this fence was the junction of the road to Little Bethel, and as I had clearly seen before I started that at this junction there was danger of finding a rebel outpost, or of falling upon a rebel scouting party, I now became still more cautious, moving along half bent on the edge of the road, and at last creeping on my hands and knees until I reached the junction.
There was nobody in sight. I looked long up the road toward Little Bethel; I went a hundred yards or so up this road, found nothing, and returned to the junction; then continued up the road toward Young's Mill. The ground here I knew must be visited frequently by the rebels, and my attention became so fixed that I started at the slightest noise. The sand's crunching under my feet sounded like the puffing of a locomotive. The wind made a slight rippling with the ends of the tie on my hat-band, I cut the ends off, to be relieved of the distraction.
I was going at the rate of a mile a day, attending to my rear as well as to my advance, when I heard, seemingly in the road to Bethel, at my rear and right, the sound of stamping hoofs. I slunk into a fence corner, and lay perfectly still, listening with all my ears. The noise increased; it was clear that horsemen from the Bethel road were coming into the junction, a hundred yards in my rear.
The noises ceased. The horsemen had come to a halt.
But had they come to a halt? Perhaps they had ridden down the road toward Newport News.
Five minutes, that seemed an hour, passed; then I heard the hoof-beats of advancing cavalry, and all at once a man darted into my fence corner and lay flat and still.
It is said that at some moments of life, and particularly when life is about to end, as in drowning, a man recalls in an instant all the deeds of his past. This may or may not be true; but I know, at least, that my mind had many thoughts in the situation in which I now found myself.
I felt sure that the party advancing on the road behind me were rebels.
They were now but a few yards off.
An instant more, and they would pass me, or else they would discover me.
If I should spring to my feet and run up the road, the horsemen would ride me down at once.
If I should climb the fence, my form, outlined against the sky, would be a mark for many carbines.
If I should lie still, they might pass without seeing me.
But what could I expect from my companion?
Who was he? … Why was he there? … Had he seen me? … Had the rebels, if indeed they were rebels, seen him? … If so, were they pursuing him?
But no; they were not pursuing him, for he had come from the direction of Young's Mill. He would have met the horsemen had he not hidden.
If I could but know that he had seen me, my plan surely would be to lie still.
Yes, certainly, to lie still … if these riders were rebels.
But to lie still if my companion was a friend to the rebels? If he was one of theirs, should I lie still?
No; certainly not, unless I preferred being taken to being shot at.
If the horsemen were Union troops, what then? Why, in that case, my unknown friend must be a rebel; and if I should decide to let the troops pass, I should be left unarmed, with a rebel in two feet of me.
Yet, if the cavalry were our men, and the fugitive a rebel, still the question remained whether he had seen me.
It seemed impossible for him not to see me. Could he think I was a log? Certainly not; there was no reason for a log to be in such a place; there were no trees large enough, and near enough to justify the existence of a log in this place.
All these thoughts, and more also, passed through my mind while the horsemen moved ten paces; and before they had moved ten paces more, I had come to a decision.
I had decided to lie still.
There could be but one hope: if I should run, I could not get away. I would lie still. If the unknown should prove to be a friend, my case might be better than before; if he should prove to be an enemy, I must act prudently and try to befool him. I must discover his intentions before making mine known. He, also, must be in a great quandary.
The horsemen passed. They passed so near that I could have told whether they were from the North or the South by their voices, but they did not speak.
There was not enough light for me to see their uniforms, and, indeed, I did not look at them, but instinctively kept my face to the ground.
The horsemen passed on up the road toward Young's Mill.
Now there was silence. I yet lay motionless. So did my companion. I was right in one thing; he knew of my presence, else he would now rise and go his way. He knew of my presence, yet he did not speak; what was the matter with him?
But why did not I speak? I concluded that he was fearing me, just as I was fearing him.
But why should he fear me, when, he could not doubt that I was hiding from the same persons whom he had shunned to meet?
But I was there first; he had not known that I was there; his hiding in a fence corner was deliberate, in order to escape the observation of the horsemen; his hiding in this particular fence corner was an accident.
Who is he? What is he thinking about, that he doesn't do something?