When a person is hunted down he can accomplish some wonderful feats in quick traveling, even if the difficulties to be overcome are distressingly innumerable.

I had forgotten all about the sore foot, on which I had limped to the house the night before. My wrist, on which the window sash had fallen, was most painful and threatened to give me trouble. Though I had been on a terrible jaunt for twenty-four hours previously, I did not at that time feel tired, sleepy, or even hungry.

There was the one idea in my head--to make all the speed possible, and increase the distance between myself and Manassas. I had come upon a peculiarly sickening smell, that made me a little sick at the stomach, when all of a sudden I was startled, and my blood chilled, by a rustling noise in front of me; glancing ahead, in a terror of fright, I saw gleaming through the darkness something that I thought and believed might be the glaring eyes of a bloodhound. That dread was in my mind, but in the next instant the eyes had disappeared; with a rushing, rustling noise, the object, whatever it was that owned the terrible eyes, ran off through the woods.

For the moment I was so stunned that I could scarcely move forward or backward; but, on second thought, realizing it was probably some wolfish dog that I had surprised while feeding upon the carcass of a dead sheep, I gathered courage to move ahead. As it was in my path, I was obliged to approach it, despite the sickening odor which was everywhere around.

In a hot, sultry August night it was like--well, old soldiers can imagine what it was like. Desirous of avoiding the stench as much as possible, I was climbing over a log rather than walk too close to where I supposed the eyes had been; hurrying along, holding my breath, with one hand to my nose, what was my horror to find that I had stepped from the top of the log right down on to the decaying body of--_a man_! O, horror of horrors! I can not write of it. I've never even told the story to my best friends. It has been too dreadful to contemplate; but the naked, disgusting facts are, that I stepped down on to the soft object--my foot slipped, as it would from a rotten, slimy substance, throwing me partly down, as I had one hand on my nose, and, in my efforts to recover myself, plunged both my hands into the soft, decaying flesh of the head, causing the hair to peel off the scalp.

[Illustration: I HAD STEPPED ON TO THE DECAYING BODY OF--A MAN.]

What did I do? What would you have done? I was, for that moment in my life, as wild as ever lunatic could be; and can not remember further than that I ran straight ahead toward the road, which I had been so careful to avoid, and, after reaching it, I scaled the fence, like a scared dog, at two bounds, and ran--oh dear me--I didn't care what I should meet after that. My steps were long and quick, and it was not until I was completely exhausted that I stopped for a rest. I rubbed my hands in the dusty road; I polished the shoe in the dust of the road that had slipped off the slimy bones, but the smell would _not_ out; it seemed to penetrate everything; and I became deathly sick from the exhaustion. The experience of that hour had so turned my head and stomach that I was as weak and helpless as a child. In this condition I lay down in a fence-corner, not able to hold my head up another moment.

Perhaps I fainted, but I claim never to have fainted.

I know that the dreadful object was a half-buried man. I know this, because some of his hair was in the sleeve of my shirt the next day. I don't feel like writing anything more about it, and will dismiss it with the theory which I subsequently entertained: that it was most likely the unburied body of a wounded Rebel, or, perhaps, an escaped Union prisoner who, like myself, after the recent battle of Manassas, had concealed himself in the thicket, and while in that condition he had probably taken sick, and being unable to procure any assistance, or to make his presence known, had died this lonely and unhappy death; and the wolves and dogs only had found his resting place--the log his only tombstone.

I lay curled up in the fence-corner for an hour or so. I imagined _everything_. Dear me! I might fill a book with the thoughts that whirled through my excited, feverish brain that dreadful night. I felt that this would be my fate. Every stick of wood became a snake, and they soon became so numerous that I was surrounded by them on all sides. The trees were a mass of living, laughing, bowing giants, who were there to laugh at my misery; and the noises--well, all know how a little frog can scare a big man when it darts into the puddle of water with a thug, especially if it's at night and he alone. I've often been scared by the suddenness of their jump, but that one night in particular it seemed as if all the wild animals in creation had gathered about that country, attracted by the smell from the distant battlefield of Manassas.

There were plenty of unburied and half-buried bodies all over the country about Manassas--the very air was laden with the odor from decaying horses, mules, etc. One can imagine far better than I can describe the sensations of an over-sensitive youth as he lay in a fence-corner of Virginia, forced to inhale the odor and obliged to hear all the dreadful noises that came out of the dark woods, and add to this the certain knowledge that, if I should become prostrated, then all hope of any relief for me from this veritable hell in Virginia would disappear.

As I lay there to add further to my cup of misery, I heard coming along the road, the tramp and gallop of horses. Lying on the ground one can hear the horses' feet a long way off, and I suffered in anticipation just so much the more. I imagined these were the same cavalrymen I had left at the house. This new danger served to rouse me partially, and raising my head a little, I got my trusty little Colt out of its concealment, and was ready for the end.

In truth I did not then care, and had become so perfectly desperate that I was ready and indeed almost anxious to be out of my misery.

They approached rapidly. I raised myself to a sitting posture, placed my back against the fence, cocked the pistol, and waited for their appearance. They trotted up, talking gaily among themselves and without seeing me, as their horses shied past. That was not very wonderful, because I was so close to the fence as to become covered by the shadow; the night was still too dark for objects to be seen at a short distance, especially from a rapidly-trotting horse.

The passing of this cavalry detachment before me, as I sat in the fence-corner, served to arouse my drooping spirits somewhat. The dust which they had raised had scarcely settled, and the sound of their horses' hoofs were yet to be heard, when I became imbued with a new strength and hope, realizing that there was yet some hope for my escaping.

I knew that it would be safe enough to follow along the road in the wake of that troop of cavalrymen; and the fact that there were no infantry pickets further along this road, was evident from the fact of the cavalry being out on this scout.

I stepped out into the road with renewed energy, glad enough to be moving to any place that would take me from the sight and smell of such scenes.

I don't know how long I walked. I remember very well that I found it necessary to stop every little while to rest. I was becoming so weak that I could scarcely hold my head up, and every time I'd sit down I'd involuntarily drop helplessly, and soon find myself going off to sleep on the roadside, being lulled to obliviousness by the queer, unearthly sounds from the wood--the effect being pretty much the same that I once experienced when taking laughing gas in a dentist's shop.

I roused myself often, each step with a greater effort, and had the daylight been delayed but a little longer I should have been obliged to succumb. The appearance of the gray dawn in the East seemed to me as a sign or token of encouragement, and from its appearance I took fresh courage and kept moving, as if impelled by an unseen power "on to Richmond."

It is said the darkest part of the night is just before the dawn; so I have always found it; and it has been my observation, too, that the safest time to scout is just before or at dawn; then all animal nature seem to sleep or, at least, be off their guard, thinking, perhaps, everybody else like themselves are sleepy.

This was one reason why I was able to travel some distance after the Rebel cavalrymen in such apparent safety. I knew that, if they returned along this road, I should be able to discover their approach a long time before they could get up to me, and could get out of the way. I judged rightly, too, that they would be the only trouble I should have to overcome, as it was evidently their assignment to look after that particular section.

Why didn't I get ahead of them? I didn't have a horse, and it was safer to follow them than have them follow me. They would ask at every house if a stranger had passed. In this way they had caught up to me once. Now they will be told at each house ahead of me that no one had been along that way.

That's the way I was arguing the question in my own mind that morning. I moved along rather hopefully, not intending under any circumstances to approach a house or to allow myself to be seen by any one.

But I was tired, weak and so hungry; and the best resolutions can be broken down by the pleasant odor of good cookery from a farmhouse, especially when it's wafted out to a poor hungry devil on the road.

I had discovered about sunrise some blue wood-smoke curling up over the tops of a little growth of trees to the side of the road yet some distance ahead. Knowing that I dare not approach from the road, I crawled wearily over the fence, and rather reluctantly began my old tactics of flanking the place and advancing in the rear of it. When I got through the woods and came to the opening nearest the house, I found myself almost behind it.

The house was larger than any that I had seen the previous evening, and I gathered from the appearance of several little outbuildings, which I judged were "quarters" for the negroes, that the place belonged to a well-to-do Virginia slave-owner. There was no smoke coming from the large house; it was from one of the little buildings that I supposed was an out-kitchen. The proprietors, or white folks, were evidently still asleep. An old aunty was prowling about the wood-yard gathering up chips.

The pangs of hunger and thirst were driving me pretty nearly wild, and, being so dreadfully weak and exhausted, I felt that I _must_ have something to eat; that only a cup of coffee would do me for the rest of the day. But I _must_ have something to eat to keep me alive. Desperate, and believing it to be the safest time to take the risk, I walked boldly out from my hiding place straight up to the quarters, determined to appeal to the old aunty, for a bite of something. She had gathered her apron full of chips and had gone back into the kitchen with them, so that I was able to follow her to the house unobserved, and was flattering myself that I had succeeded so well when all at once two dogs that I had not seen rushed savagely down the back yard toward me. I raised my two arms in a frightened way as they rushed on me; the foremost one sprang up, placing his feet on my breast and tried to reach my face or throat, but only succeeded in inserting his teeth in the fleshy part of the muscle of my left arm. As I had only the thin covering of the shirt, he tore this in a distressingly painful manner. I have the marks yet on that arm. The wound has been a painful one at many times during these twenty-five years; but the Pension Office regulations do not "compensate" for the bite of a _bloodhound_, so I have not mentioned it outside my own family.

The old colored woman rushed out, followed by her old man, who grabbed the dog by his hind legs and threw him over; the two other dogs, attracted by the scent of the dead man on my shoes and trousers, could scarcely be driven away from me.

The old woman kindly took me into the kitchen and washed the bloody arm, and bound it up with a piece of turban which she tore off for the purpose. Without asking any questions, I was given a cup of good black coffee and some hoe-cakes, which I gulped down with a relish.

These poor, ignorant, black people knew instinctively that they were succoring a friend, and at a very great risk to themselves; and to relieve them of any fear for their own safety, should their conduct be discovered, I told them the old, old story about being lost on the road, etc.

The old man, who had been watching out of the doorway as I ate my breakfast at the hearth, observed, knowingly:

"The master's folks isn't out of bed yet, but I specs dem sogers will want dey hosses, so I'se gwine along to de barn to feed, Liza."

The hint was sufficient, and to my hurried inquiry:

"Are there any cavalrymen at the house?"

"Yes, 'deed; dahs a whole company sleepin' on de front poach over dar."

"How long have they been here?" said I, putting down my cup.

"Dey comes hyar most every night, and sleeps on dat poach tel they get over breakfast."

That was sufficient. I had lost all pain in my arm; my hunger had been satisfied with less than half a breakfast, and, hastily thanking the old aunty, I made an excuse about not wanting them to know I was out of camp, and left--the shortest cut for the woods.

I was up to my pursuers, and had left them asleep on the porch, awaiting their breakfast. This would give me an hour's start ahead of them, and I gathered renewed courage from the belief that they would _return_ from that point.

As I have heretofore said, I am not a believer in Spiritualism, but I have always felt convinced in my own mind that the dog was sent by a higher power to prevent me going up to the house where were sleeping a half a dozen or more Rebel cavalrymen.

I struggled along through the dreary, desolate, pine woods, skirting the roads and avoiding houses, suffering with my wounded foot, wrist and arm; fortunately the houses were not many, which allowed of my using the road more freely. It was along about noon, I think, when I reached the top of the hill at the old town of Falmouth, which overlooks Fredericksburg and vicinity. Here was an obstruction in the shape of the Rappahannock river, which had to be crossed by a ferry into Fredericksburg. Of course, everybody who crossed there would be scrutinized closely, so that their identity could be traced.

It may be asked, why did I not attempt to reach the Potomac from this place at this time. I don't know exactly why, except, perhaps, that I felt I was being impelled by some mysterious power to go to Richmond.

The Potomac was only about ten or twelve miles distant, but it was also four or five miles in width, and the Rebels controlled all the means of communication across to Maryland. Richmond was forty miles distant, and a railroad ran there from Fredericksburg.

Luckily for my purpose, a drove of horses, being steered by an old farmer and two colored men, made an appearance at the top of the hill leading into Falmouth. Seeing my chance, I asked one of the drivers to be allowed to ride an "empty" horse over the river. He consented, and in this way I rode down the hill, and we crossed the Rappahannock and entered Fredericksburg in August, 1861.

I had intended to stop at Fredericksburg and run the gauntlet of the railway trains into Richmond, but I found myself so comfortable, seated on the bare back of a horse, that I concluded to stay with the drove the balance of the day, so we passed right through the town and on down the main road to Richmond.

I felt reasonably safe from pursuit. Bloodhounds would not be able to track me that night, as they most certainly would when my presence at the colored shanty should become known.

The old uncle told me that the dog that bit me was a young bloodhound, and that the proprietor of the house _kept a pack_, and I suspected that the object of the officers in visiting him was to secure their use. But, in getting on a horse and crossing the river, I had eluded their scent, and felt safe enough from further danger in that direction. It was also fortunate for me that I was further able to disguise myself, by traveling the road in charge of a couple of colored men with a drove of horses that were being sent to Richmond for the army.

That evening, without further adventure or trouble, except that I began to suffer from my foot and arm, we reached an old-fashioned, out-of-the-way stopping place, called Hanover Court House, where the colored boys had been ordered to keep the horses over night.

They found entertainment in the quarters. I was received into the house as a wounded refugee soldier _en route_ to Richmond, and treated in first-class shape by the old landlord and his kind wife.

I had a new story for them that took real well.

I slept soundly in a nice bed between the clean, white sheets. I am sure that I felt devoutly thankful for the home-like, pleasant change in my surroundings from the two preceding nights.