Who goes there?

by B. K. Benson

Now I no longer feared the rebel army. That was at my left in the road to Richmond. This road I was on led up the York. The map was worthless now. Of course, I might run foul of scouts and flying parties; those people I must watch for.

I supposed it was one o'clock, and that I yet had fifteen miles to go, for I had made my route much longer than the main road; but I counted that I had gained greatly, for I was in comparative safety, and had five hours yet. The road ahead I knew nothing about, but it was running in the correct course for Eltham's Landing high up on the river.

Soon I came to a fork. Which branch should I take? If I should take the right, it was chance for chance that I should go straight off to the York, and I wanted to go up the York; if I should take the left, it was chance for chance that I should ride straight to the enemy on the Richmond road.

I took the left. To go to the river meant almost the loss of hope thereafter. I would go toward the enemy for a little distance, but would take the first bridle-path to the right, some road or bridle-path branching out of this, and running up the river. But my progress became exceedingly slow, for I feared always to miss seeing some blind road leading to the right, and my carefulness again cost me a little time, perhaps, for I found a path, and took it, going with great caution for a furlong, to find that it entered a larger road. If I had not taken this path, I should have soon reached this good road at its junction, and time would have been saved by increased speed; yet I did not blame myself, and went on with renewed hope and faster, for although the moon was getting far down the sky, my road was good and was running straight toward my end.

But at length, as I was going over a sandy stretch, I heard hoof-beats behind me, and the sound grew, and I knew that some night rider was following fast. What is he? A rebel or a Federal? Loud ring the strokes of the horse's irons and louder behind me; I must run or I must slip aside.

I chose to let him pass. To be pursued would have been to throw up the game; all then would have been lost. I left the road and hid in the shadowy woods. On came the rider, and as the thundering hoofs hit the road within ten paces of my stand, I saw again the black horse belly to the ground in the moonlight.

Almost at once I started in pursuit. I would keep this man before me; if he should run upon rebels, the alarm would reach me; so long as he should be in my front, safety for me was at the front and danger elsewhere. I pursued, keeping within sight where the road stretches were long, going slowly where the ground was hard, lest the noise of my approach should be heard. Yet I had no difficulty; the courier was straining every nerve to reach his destination, and regarded not his rear. He crossed roads in haste, and by this I knew that the road was to him familiar; he paused never, but kept his horse at an even gallop through forest and through field, while I followed by jerks, making my horse run at times, and again, fearing I was too near, bringing him back to slower speed. For miles I followed the black horse.

But now I saw that the night was further spent than I had supposed; light was coming behind me, and the moon was low in the west. How far to the end? The black horse is going more slowly; he has gone many weary miles more than mine has gone; his rider is urging him to the utmost; I can see him dig his spurs again and again into the sides of the noble beast, and see him strike, and I see him turn where the road turns ahead of me, and I ride faster to recover him; and now I see black smoke rising at my right hand, and I hear the whistle of the Union steam vessels, and I almost cry for joy, and at the turning of the road my horse rears and almost throws me to the ground, and I see the black horse lying dead, and I spur my horse to pass, and give a cry of terror as a man springs from the left, with carbine presented, and shouts, "Your horse! your horse! Dismount at once, or I'll blow your brains out!"

For the rider of the black horse was a Confederate!

Shall I ever forget that moment of dismay and anguish? Even as I write the thrill of horror returns, and I see a picture of the past:--the daybreak; a lonely road in the forest; two men and two horses, each pair as unlike as life and death, for one's horse was dead and the other man was about to die. Had I been so utterly foolish! Why had I conceived absolutely that this rider was a Federal? How could a Federal know the road so well that he had gone over it at full speed, never hesitating, never deflecting into a wrong course? The instant before, I had been in heaven, for I had known my safe destination was at hand; now, I felt that my end had come to me, for my terror was for myself and not for a lost mission, and I cannot remember that in that smallest second of time any other hope was in me but that of riding this man down and reaching our troops with a mortal bullet in my body.