across a picturesque spring-house, a jug of buttermilk cooling within. We immediately flanked said jug, and eventually surrounded said milk; said milk proved to be Secesh, was confiscated, and dealt out to a portion of the Federal army. Farther on, near a very elegant farm-house, we met a contraband, who informed us that his master, Captain Carter, of the Virginia Artillery, had gone down to the White House that morning, because the gun-boats were coming up. He added that none of the white folks were at home. We said we were very sorry, that we had called to see Captain Carter on business, and then coolly asked the darky if he could give us some dinner. "Certainly," was his response: so we walked over the lawn and through a splendid orchard and ended up in the parlor. Lieutenant M. enlivened our hearts with the "StarSpangled Banner" and the "Red, White, and Blue" on one of Chickering's best. Dinner was served on the front piazza, and we sat down to and ate heartily of broiled chicken, ham and eggs, sliced tomatoes, and iced milk, off china, silver, and cut glass. A tidy black waiter in attendance told us all about the captain's family; he had two sons in the Confederate army, both lieutenants. One of the slaves took a fancy to our shawl, and, as our money had given out, we sold it to him for eight dollars, Confederate currency, and then took our departure, leaving our names and compliments for Captain Carter. Lighting our pipes, we set out on the road to the West Point Ferry. We were in prime marching order, and made good time. A sharp bend in the road brought us suddenly to a small village, where there was a store, with a number of white men standing about. We put on a bold face, and, marching right up to the store, asked where we could get a drink of water. One of the men replied that his boy was just going to the spring and that we might go along. The spring was across the road in the woods. On the way over, the boy told us that four men had stopped at his father's store that morning, and a little while after had been arrested as deserters by the cavalry. He wanted to know if we were not deserters, but we gave him to understand that we had been employed to work on the railroad the Yankees had spoiled. He was very anxious we should go back and see his father, so we promised to follow him when we should be rested, but as soon as he was out of sight we left that unwholesome part of the country. Making our way through what the boy had called Runaway Woods, we struck the road about two miles below the hamlet, and pushed on as fast as our weary limbs could carry us. We resolved to stop for the night at the first house we came to, for we had no blanket. The first house proved to be the residence of a wealthy planter, so we were afraid to risk it; but we vowed to stop at the next house if Beauregard himself should live there. Three miles farther on we reached a hospitable-looking mansion; but our courage quickly evaporated on being told by a contraband that Dr. Douglas lived there, and that two gentlemen were staying with him. We felt assured that it would be suicide to linger in that neighborhood, and went on again, foot-sore and weary. At nine o'clock we arrived at the little town called King William Court-House, and in sheer desperation marched into the only hotel and demanded supper. Very shortly after supper we sought our beds,-real beds, with sheets and pillows,-but before going to sleep we took the precaution of singing " Maryland, my Maryland," and the "Bonny Blue Flag." The next day was Sunday. On going into the dining-room in the morning we observed a cavalry officer sitting at the table. Although our hearts sank at the sight, it was no time to hesitate, so we sat down and ordered breakfast. The officer soon got up and went out. We finished our breakfast and went around outside to pay the bill: there stood the officer beside his horse, with a sardonic smile on his countenance. While settling with the landlord, we asked, loud enough for the officer to hear, how far it was to the nearest church, and then started off in the direction indicated. About a mile down the road we turned off to a spring, and while there saw the officer go flying past. We were not yet certain that he was after us, but we felt reasonably assured that one man could not capture four men so, lighting our pipes, we again took the road. Three old colored women, on their way to church, stopped us, and conveyed the interesting information that three soldiers had just gone past on the lookout for us. We saw at once that we should have to leave the road or be captured: so we hid in the bushes to wait for Mac, who had lingered behind, picking blackberries. Presently the same officer, reinforced by two privates, came in sight. Two more privates from the opposite direction joined him. They met quite near our hiding-place, and began to examine our tracks in the dusty road, but we had made so many marks that they, were baffled, and could not decide which way we had gone. We lay quite still, scarcely daring to breathe. After a short consultation, two soldiers turned one way, and three the other, and all galloped off furiously. We concluded that Mac would be captured, and that the best thing for us to do was to skedaddle: so, turning to our left into the woods, we went at double-quick until an immense swamp reduced us to common time. In the afternoon it began to rain. On the other side of the woods we came upon a small white cottage, where we decided to ask for food. What was our surprise on entering to behold eight or ten ladies sitting around the dinner-table! Of course we blushed painfully, but recovered ourselves on observing that the ladies were more embarrassed than we; this giving us courage, we proceeded to make ourselves agreeable. The ladies were dressed in low-necked, short-sleeved summer dresses, with crinoline of the proper proportion. Two of them were ravishingly beautiful: one in particular lacerated my heart distressingly. When they rose, blushing, from the table, we made the discovery that not one of them had on shoes or stockings. The grandmother was there, and she explained that shoes were so expensive they had all agreed not to wear any during the summer months. Pretty little rosy feet! how quickly they were hidden from view! We were invited to eat some dinner, and then we sat and talked until the rain was over. The lady of the house refused our proffered payment,-the first person that had so refused since our leaving Richmond. We had not gone two paces when with one impulse we turned back and told our hostess we would intrust a secret to her if she would keep it for two days. She promised, and we gave her our true names, rank in the Union army, and the circumstances of our presence in that part of the country. She directed us to the Mattapony River, and we parted the best of friends. Having reached the river, we hunted up and down the banks for a boat, but, not finding one, we retraced our steps about a mile to a small creek, where we had discovered a skiff above a mill-dam. Dragging it to the top of the dam, we got in and slid down the slippery rocks. The creek we found too shallow to float the skiff, so we were compelled to drag it over the sand and around places choked up with logs; which extra labor so retarded our progress that when we finally succeeded in reaching the river we found a rising tide. We had only one oar, so we paddled under some bushes, tied up, and masked the stern of the boat with boughs. There we smoked our last bit of tobacco, and then lay, without speaking above a whisper, until eight o'clock. By that time it was quite dark, and the tide had begun to run out. We agreed that two should lie down in the boat, and one should paddle, on hour reliefs. Down the silent stream we floated, never daring to speak a word. At midnight I found myself in the stern, my hands blistered, my eyelids drooping, my two comrades asleep in the bottom of the boat. The moon had set, and it was very dark. The tide had run out, so I made an attempt to land. The shore was low and marshy, covered with long flags growing out of the oozing mud; nothing to tie to, and no place to land. I paddled across the wide dark river; the other side was the sand. Some floating phosphorus, stirred up by my oar, glowed and sparkled in the darkness. I headed back for the opposite shore, and, finding a fishing-stake, tied the boat-chain up as high as I could reach, and then lay down to sleep. At dawn the next morning the tide was again going out. We floated slowly down with it on the lookout for oars. Discovering a plank by an old mill, we succeeded in breaking it into something the shape of an oar, and with its help we rowed to where we saw a skiff under a bank. On the top of the bank there was a man chopping wood, so we rowed, as cautiously as possible, quite near the skiff, but found no oars. Seeing the handle of one sticking out of the bushes a short distance above, I took off my shoes, stole up, pulled at the oar, and was soon back in the boat and off down the river. At noon the tide turned, so we drew up at a large deserted mansion, hid the boat, and lay down on the grass to sleep. Later in the afternoon we explored the premises. The house was of colonial architecture, very high ceilings, immense hall, grand stairway, most of the rooms panelled and carved, but everything had gone to decay. A blight lay even upon the surrounding vegetation. In the orchard the apples were sour and wormy, and, though we found some luscious-looking blackberries, they proved to be as bitter as gall. Pigs were in the spring, snakes showed themselves everywhere, and one little half-starved dog ran up to us whining piteously. We found plenty of rebel letters and documents of ancient date lying in the closets and littering the floors. Making a battering-ram of a fence-rail, we broke open the door of a boat-house, in which we discovered rods, lines, reels, and hooks, but, above all, a first-rate pair of oars. Before leaving, we wrote with char coal, in big letters, on the white walls of the drawing-room, our names, and the date of our escape from Prison No. 6, adding, with youthful exuberance, "On our way to freedom. The Union must and shall be preserved." At dusk we embarked anew. The dog whined to be taken along, but his company would have been too risky, and we were forced to leave the poor beast howling dismally on the landing. With our new oars we could make our little boat fairly skim over the water. We divided the watch into an hour at the oars and half an hour at the rudder; in this way all three were kept busy; no chance to get a wink of sleep. The river was very wide. A wind sprang up, and the waves washed pitilessly over our frail little bark. As the tide turned in the night, we pulled up under some bushes, and succeeded in snatching a little sleep. At eight o'clock next morning we again got under way. To the right of us lay a little town,-what one we could not tell: so, although half starved, we dared not attempt to land. As we started down the middle of the stream, there crossed in front of us a skiff, in whose stern sat a rebel officer, leading his swimming horse. Behind us there appeared a man who seemed determined to keep us in view. Opposite the town he put to shore. Exchanging his skiff for a schooner, and reinforced by several men, he set out, to our great dismay, in open pursuit. Of course the schooner gained rapidly upon us, so we tried to land, in order to take to the woods, but, as usual, could not find a landing-place. We had had no food for thirty-six hours, and were thoroughly exhausted. Will suddenly gave out altogether, and was unable to pull a stroke. I took his place, he went to the rudder, and, with the energy of despair, we pulled for the opposite shore. The schooner followed, and the men aboard began firing. About twenty feet from shore, Will exclaimed, "I see a picket!" And, sure enough, half a dozen soldiers promptly appeared and pointed their guns at us. Between two fires, there was nothing more to be done: so we rowed slowly to shore and yielded ourselves prisoners. Our captors said they belonged to Stuart's Cavalry, and we sadly concluded that the game was up. Their blue uniforms gave us no encouragement, for so many rebel soldiers wore captured Yankee garments that it was impossible to judge any small squad by their clothes. When we were delivered up at the picket head-quarters, what was our joy to find that we had been "captured" by the Fifth Pennsylvania Cavalry, a regiment recruited from our own home, and full of personal friends! The boys crowded around in friendly interest and curiosity, and gave us a perfect ovation. Ragged, bedraggled, unkempt, and unshaven, strangers to soap since leaving Richmond, we were the lions of the hour. Adjutant Frank Robinson provided us with rations, clothes, and horses, and sent us to Williamsburg, where for two days we were the guests of Colonel Campbell, the military governor. At breakfast the first morning, an orderly entered and whispered to the colonel, who shook his head and said, "Not now." Again the orderly came and whispered, and I caught the words, "But he says he knows these gentlemen." I looked up: "Who is it, colonel?" and in the slight hush that followed there came to our ears the signal-whistle, "Bob White! Bob, Bob White!" that we four had agreed upon as the call to bring us together when separated in the woods. "It is MacIvor !" we shouted, and rushed out, to find the poor fellow in the guard-house. He had been captured by our troops, but, owing to his Southern pronunciation, his story was disbelieved, and he was regarded as a spy. It seems that when he had found himself separated from the rest of us he had passed himself off as one of the villagers, an easy matter, with his Southern speech,—and, apparently joining in the pursuit, had succeeded in turning the scouts in the wrong direction, a lucky thing for us, for he said the bloodhounds were put on the scent, and the termination might have been more than commonly unpleasant. After having profited largely by Colonel Campbell's hospitality, we steamed up the James River to Harrison's Landing, where we reported to General McClellan, and gave to the Secret Service Department an account of our escape, together with what information we had been able to collect about the movements of the rebel troops and the condition of the fortifications around Richmond. General McClellan promised us each a furlough, and in a most agreeable atmosphere of good fortune and local fame we rejoined our respective regiments. J. M. Oakley. BIRD-LANGUAGE. ARK, love, while through this wood we walk, How wrens with redbreasts ever talk What tuneful words they please! Lured by their feathered clans and sects, Those airy and dulcet dialects That bubble from birds' throats. Ah, joy, could we once clearly greet No graybeard linguist, love, could vie Edgar Fawcett. |