to be with the man whom as a lad he had trusted and
who had helped him in a day of peril.

No one thought of any need for a pass. He was amply supplied with money
and bade them good-bye. He put what he required in a knapsack, and
leaving Westways for the second time and with a lighter heart, set off
afoot to catch the train at Westways Crossing. The old slave was thus
put upon a way which was to lead to renewed and unpleasant acquaintance
with one of the minor characters of my story.

Tired of unaccustomed idleness Josiah grinned as he went across country
thinking of the directions he had received from Leila of how he was to
find John Penhallow.

"You know he is captain of engineers, Josiah. Now how are you going to
find him? An army is as big as a great city, and in motion, too."

"Well, missy," said Josiah, "the way I'll find him is the way dog Caesar
finds you in the woods." He would hear no more and left her.

Josiah knew many people in Washington, black and white, and after some
disappointments went with a lot of remounts for cavalry to join the
army in the Wilderness, where he served variously with the army teams.
On an afternoon late in May, 1864, he strode on, passing by the long
lines of marching men who filled the roadways on their way to the
crossing of the North Anna River. He had been chaffed, misdirected,
laughed at or civilly treated, as he questioned men about the engineers.
He took it all with good-humour. About three, he came near to a house
on the wayside, where a halt had been ordered to give the men a brief
rest. The soldiers dust-grey and thirsty scattered over the clearing or
lay in the shadow of the scrub oaks. Some thronged about a well or a
wayside spring, or draining their canteens caught a brief joy from the
lighted pipe so dear to the soldier. Josiah looked about him, and knew
the log-cabins some distance away from the better house to have been the
slave-quarters. Beyond them was a better built log-house. Apparently all
were deserted--men, cattle and horses, were gone. He lay down a little
way from the road and listened to the talk of the men seated in front of
him. He heard a private say, "A halt is as bad as a march, the dust is a
foot deep, and what between flies and mosquitoes, they're as bad as the
Rebs."

"Ah!" said an old corporal, "just you wait a bit. These are only a
skirmish line. July and Chickahominy mosquitoes will get you when your
baccy's out."

"It's out now."

Jos