Who goes there?

by B. K. Benson

We now felt that if there was any post of rebels in these parts it would be found behind Crump's Creek, which was perhaps half a mile at our left, running north into the Pamunkey. We turned to the left and made for Crump's Creek. We found an easy crossing, and we soon reached the Hanover river road, within four miles, I thought, of Hanover Court-House.

And now our danger was really to become immediate, and our fear oppressive. We were in sight of the main road running from Hanover Court-House down the Pamunkey--a road that was no doubt covered by the enemy's plans, and on which bodies of his cavalry frequently operated. If the force at Hanover Court-House, or the Junction, were seeking to get to the rear of McClellan's right wing, this would be the road by which it would march; this road then, beyond all question, was constantly watched, and there was strong probability that rebels were kept posted in good positions upon it. But for the fact that I might find it necessary to reach the Junction, I should now have gone forward afoot.

I decided to use still greater circumspection in going farther forward, and to get near the enemy's post, if there should prove to be one, at the Court-House, only after nightfall. Thus we had from ten o'clock until dark--nine hours or more--in which to make our gradual approach.

The country was so diversified with woods and fields that we found it always possible to keep within shelter. When we lost sight of the road, Jones or I would climb a tree. By making great detours we went around every field, consuming much time, it is true, but we had plenty of time. We avoided every habitation, and chose the thickest of the woods and the deepest of the hollows, and so conducted our advance that, remarkable as it may seem, from the time we left our outposts at Old Church until we came in sight of the enemy near Hanover Court-House, we did not see a human being, though the distance traversed must have been fully twelve miles. Of course, I knew that it was very likely that we ourselves had been seen by more than one frightened inhabitant, but it was my care to keep at such a distance from every dwelling house that no one there could tell whether we were friend or enemy.

At noon we took our ease in a hollow in the midst of a thicket. While we were resting we heard far to our rear a distant sound that resembled the discharge of artillery. We learned afterward that the sound came from Mechanicsville, occupied this day by the advance of McClellan's right.

About two o'clock we again set out. We climbed a hill from which we could see over a considerable stretch of country. The field in front of us was large; it would require a long detour to avoid the open space. Still, we were not pressed for time, and I was determined to be prudent. The only question was whether we should flank the field at the right or at the left. From our point of observation, it seemed to me that the field in front stretched sufficiently far in the north to reach the Hanover road; if this were true our only course was by the left. To be as nearly sure as possible, I sent Jones up a tree. I regretted very much that I had not brought a good field-glass, and wondered why General Morrell had not thought of it. Jones remained in the tree a long time; I had forbidden him speaking, lest the sound of his voice should reach the ear of some unseen enemy. When he came down he said that the road did go through the field and that there were men in the road.

I now climbed the tree in my turn, and saw very distinctly, not more than half a mile away, a small body of men in the road. They seemed to be infantry and to be stationary; but while I was looking they began to move in the direction of Hanover Court-House. There were bushes on the sides of the road where they were; soon they passed beyond the bushes, and I could see that the men were mounted. I watched them until they were lost to sight where the road entered the woods beyond. I had counted eleven; I supposed there were ten men under command of an officer.

It was now clear that we must flank the big field on its left. We acted with great caution. The fence stretched far beyond the corner of the field; we let down the fence, led our horses in, then put up the gap, and rode into the woods on the edge of the field. In some places the undergrowth was low, and we feared that our heads might be seen above our horses; in such places we dismounted. We passed at a distance one or two small houses--not dwellings, we thought, but field barns or cribs. At length we reached the western side of the field; we had gained greatly in position, though we were but little nearer to Hanover.

We supposed that we were almost half a mile from the road, and that we were in no pressing danger. When we had gone north about a quarter of a mile we dismounted, and while Jones remained with the horses, I crept through the woods until I could see the road. It was deserted. I crept nearer and nearer until I was almost on its edge; sheltered by the bushes I could see a long distance either way. At my left was a house, some two hundred yards away and on the far side of the road. I watched the house. The men I had seen in the road might have stopped in the house; there might be--indeed, there ought to be--an outpost near me, and this house would naturally be visited very often. But I saw nothing, and at last crept back into the woods for a short distance, and advanced again parallel with the road, until I came, as I supposed, opposite the house; then I crept up to the road again. I could now see the yard in front of the house, and even through the house from front to back door; it was a small house of but two rooms. It now began to seem as though the house was an abandoned one, in which case the rebels would likely never stop there, unless for water. I saw no well in the yard. There was no sign of life.

I turned again and sought the woods, and again advanced parallel with the road, until, in about three hundred yards, I could see a field in my front. This field ran up to the road, and beyond the road there was another field, the road running between rail fences. I returned to Jones, whom I found somewhat alarmed in consequence of my long absence, and we brought the horses up to the spot to which I had advanced. It was now about four o'clock, and we had yet three hours of daylight. Hanover could not be much more than two miles from us.