w, as I left the room. I could scarcely realize that
this quiet, reserved man could be the raging tornado who that same
morning had ridden up to Lee, blazing with indignation. His very
presence, his evident trust in me, sent me forth upon my long ride
renewed in strength of body and purpose, the fatigue of the day
forgotten. Ten minutes later, mounted on a rangy sorrel, my dragoon
escort trotting behind, I rode south on the Plainsboro road, as swiftly
as its terrible condition would warrant.

The evidences of war, the wreckage of battle, were everywhere. Several
times we were compelled to leap the stone walls to permit the passage of
marching troops being hurried to some new position; several batteries
passed us, rumbling grimly through the night, and a squadron of horse
galloped by, the troopers greeting us with shouts of inquiry. The road
was deeply rutted by heavy wheels, and littered with all manner of
_debris_, broken-down wagons, dead horses, accoutrements thrown away, and
occasionally the body of a man, overlooked by the burial squad. Our
horses plunged from side to side in fright at the dim objects, snorting
wildly, and we were obliged to ride with care, and a tight rein, under
the faint guidance of the stars. For two miles the varied, ceaseless
noises of a huge camp echoed from either side--the cries of men, the
hammering of iron, the neighing of horses. Over there to the east, beyond
that gloomy fringe of woods, were the masses of the enemy. Between where
he rode, skirting their rear, lay our own battle-line, waiting daybreak,
and out yonder, protected by the trees, extended the picket posts. From
these would occasionally come a red spit of fire, and the dull bark of a
musket.

We passed all this at last, only to discover the narrow road congested by
long trains of commissary and ammunition wagons, every sort of vehicle
one could imagine pressed hastily into service--huge Conestogas, great
farm wagons, creaking horribly, light carts, even family carriages loaded
to their tops, drawn by straining horses, mules, or oxen, their drivers
swearing fiercely. We again took to the fields, but, as there seemed no
end to the procession, I turned my horse's head eastward, confident we
were already beyond the British rear-guard, and struck out across country
for another north and south road. We advanced now at a swift trot, the
sound of our horses' hoofs on the soft turf almost the only noise, and,
within an hour, came ag