I made one step forward--paused--then another step; another, and I felt my foot in the water. The gray streak had widened. I made a step back, and caught Allen by the hand. Then I went forward, holding Allen's hand. But I wanted to speak to Allen, and feared to do so. We went back again, some three steps, until I was out of the water.
Allen was always a little in my rear, even when we were hand-in-hand. He whispered, "It is ten steps wide."
"Can you see across it?"
"I think so. I think the trees are lower over there."
In all my experience as a soldier I think that I never felt myself in a more critical place. The opposite side of the branch was an ideal position for the rebel vedettes. They ought to be there if anywhere in these woods. Still, they, as well as we, might have neglected their opportunity; besides, their line might be bent back here; their vedettes might be on the branch farther to our right, and here might be anywhere in its rear; we did not know where the rebel right rested. Of one thing I felt sure--the rebels did not intend to advance on this night, for in that case they would have had their vedettes, and their pickets also, if possible, on our side of the branch.
The thing had to be done. I must risk crossing the branch. If vedettes were on it, it was just within the possible that I might pass between two of them.
I whispered to Allen that I wanted a stick; he already had one, which he put into my hand. Then I told him to take hold of my coat, lest my foot should slip; the noise of a splash, might have caused utter failure, if not our capture.
We reached the water again. I felt before me. The end of the stick seemed to sink into soft mud.
I made another step forward. I was up to my ankles in mud, up to my knees in water.
I made another step; the water rose to my thighs.