ant who was never personally routed resolved
to throw his army south of the James River. It involved a concealed night
march, while his lines were in many places but thirty to one hundred feet
from the watchful Confederates. The utmost secrecy was used in regard to
the bold movement intended, but preparations for it demanded frequent
reconnaissances and map-sketching on the part of the engineers. A night
of map-making after a long day in the saddle left John Penhallow on June
6th a weary man lying on his camp-bed too tired to sleep. He heard Blake
ask, "Are you at home, Penhallow?" Few men would have been as welcome as
the serious-minded New England captain who had met Penhallow from time to
time since the engineer's mud-bath in the Pamunkey River.

"Glad to get you by yourself," said Blake. "You look used up. Do keep
quiet!"

"I will, but sit down and take a pipe. Coffee, Josiah!" he called out.
"I am quite too popular by reason of Josiah's amazing ability to forage.
If the Headquarters are within reach, he and Bill--that's the general's
man--hunt together. The results are surprising! But I learned long ago
from my uncle, Colonel Penhallow, that in the army it is well to ask
no unnecessary questions. My man is very intelligent, and as I keep him
in tobacco and greenbacks, I sometimes fancy that Headquarters does not
always get the best out of the raids of these two contrabands."

"I have profited by it, Penhallow. I have personal memories of that
young roast pig, I think your man called it a shoat. Your corps must
have caught it hard these last days. I suppose we are in for something
unusual. You are the only man I know who doesn't grumble. Francis says
it's as natural to the beast called an army as barking is to a dog."

"Of course, the habit is stupid, Blake. I mean the constant growl about
the unavoidable discomforts of war; but this last week has got me near
the growling point. I have had two ague chills and quinine enough to ring
chimes in my head. I haven't had a decent wash for a week, and really war
is a disgustingly dirty business. You don't realize that in history, in
fiction, or in pictures. It's filthy! Oh, you may laugh!"

"Who could help laughing?"

"I can to-day. To-morrow I shall grin at it all, but just now I am half
dead. What with laying corduroys and bridging creeks, to be burnt up next
day, and Chickahominy flies--oh, Lord! If there is nothing else on hand
in the way of copies of maps, some ge