29. XXIX.
THE CAVALRY PICKET.
At daylight I was in the saddle and on the road to Manassas.
My horse was fresh, the weather fine; and, passing to the left of
Millwood, I forded the Shenandoah, and rode rapidly through
Ashby's Gap.
At Paris, a little village perched on the castern slope of the
mountain, I looked toward the south. Two or three hours, at
the farthest, would take me to “The Oaks!” and, as the thought
occurred to me, something like a thrill passed through me.
Then, as the novelists say, any one who had been present “might
have seen” a bitter smile distort my lip. Why should I go there
to covet my neighbor's wife, and groan for the amusement of the
future Mrs. Baskerville.
I pushed on. Soon the bitterness disappeared from my heart.
“Poor thing!” I muttered—that was all.
Passing successively through Upperville, Middleburg, and
Aldie, I turned, late in the afternoon, into a road leading by way
of Sndley Ford to Manassas.
Darkness gradually descended, and I had seen no human being
for more than an hour, when, as I approached Bull Run, I suddenly
heard the quick “Halt!” of a picket.
“Friend!” was my reply; and “Advance friend, and give the
countersign!” came back.
“I have no countersign,” I responded, fording the stream as I
spoke. “I am carrying a dispatch to General Beauregard, and
am your prisoner. Where is your officer?”
The carbine of the cavalry-man was lowered at these words,
and, calling a comrade, he announced who I was. I was then
conducted forward, and soon descried, through the boughs, the
glimmer of a light, which issued from a camp-fire in front of a
small tent.
At ten paces from the tent, as I approached, I saw a dark figure
about to mount a powerful horse in the shadow of the trees.
“Here is a prisoner, Captain,” said my escort, saluting.
“Bring him up,” was the reply, in a deep voice which I recognized.
And, turning round, the person about to mount approached
the fire.
The light fell on his features, and I saw before me the dark
face and powerful form of Mordaunt.
