"I want the one on the Warwick road," said I.
"Den dat's all right," said Nick; "all you got to do is to keep dis straight road."
"But we must not show ourselves," said I.
"Don't you fret about dat; I don't want nobody to see me nudda; des' you follow me."
Nick left the road, I following. We went northeast for half a mile, then northwest for a mile or more, and found ourselves in the road again.
"Now we's done got aroun' 'em," said Nick; "we's done got aroun' de fust ones; we's done got aroun' 'em; dis is twicet I's done got aroun' 'em, 'en w'en I come back I's got to git aroun' 'em agin."
"How far is it to Young's Mill, Nick?"
"I 'spec' hit's 'bout fo' mile," said Nick.
We were now within the rebel lines, and my capture might mean death. We went on, always keeping out of the road. Nick led the way at a rapid and long stride, and I had difficulty in keeping him in sight. The night was getting cold, but the walk heated me. Here and there were dense clumps of small trees; at the little watercourses there was larger growth. The roar of the sea was heard no longer. It must have been about midnight.
We came upon swampy ground; just beyond it a road crossed ours.