ile 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 roar.

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?