Major O’Neale still respectfully remonstrated, but with little effect.
“If you were to divide your men you would render your own force inefficient, without affording me adequate protection,” said Colonel Rosenthal.
And so the friends parted—each going opposite ways—Major O’Neale and his command towards the ridge, and Colonel Rosenthal and his orderlies towards W.
The colonel with his attendants rode on a mile or two, and then, as the sun was sinking to his setting, they entered an arm of the forest.
“After all, I doubt whether we shall reach W. before dark. We must be still twenty-five miles off,” remarked Colonel Rosenthal.
“Sir, we are thirty,” answered Wing.
“These Virginia miles are certainly the longest I ever travelled,” laughed Colonel Rosenthal.
They went on, their path becoming narrower and more obstructed as they penetrated farther and farther into the depths of the forest. Sunset faded into twilight and twilight deepened into night. And the road became so narrow and obstructed that they had to ride in single file—Wing going before, Colonel Rosenthal riding in the middle and Hay bringing up the rear. So they proceeded slowly and silently for some distance, until at length Colonel Rosenthal drawing rein, called to his advance guard:
“Wing!”
“Yes, sir.”