I was glad to have Jones; he was a self-reliant man, I had already had occasion to know.
We marched rapidly, Jones always in the lead. The air was fine. The morning star shone tranquil on our right. Vega glittered overhead, and Capella in the far northeast, while at our front the handle of the Dipper cut the horizon. The atmosphere was so pure that I looked for the Pleiades, to count them; they had not risen.
We passed at first along a road on either side of which troops lay in bivouac, with here and there the tent of some field officer; then parks of artillery showed in the fields; then long lines of wagons, with horses and mules picketed behind. Occasionally we met a horseman, but nothing was said to him or by him.
Now the encampment was behind us, and we rode along a lane where nothing was seen except fields and woods.
"Jones," said I; "are you furnished with credentials?"
"Yes, sir," he replied; "if our pickets or patrols stop us, I can satisfy them."
At daylight we were halted. Jones rode forward alone, then returned and explained that our post would admit us. We passed a mounted vedette, and then went on for a few hundred yards until we came to a crossroad.
"We are at Old Church," said Jones.
"And we have nobody here?" I asked.
"Yes, sir; our men are over there, but I suppose we are to take the left here; we have another picket-post half a mile up the road."