“Halt,” he said.
Boldness alone I believed could save me. The cold 207 wind made my voice hoarse; stern purpose made it strong. I tell you I was astonished at the manliness of its tone, as lifting my arm I said, “Surrender or I’ll blow your brains out.”
I only knew that a moment afterwards I heard his horse’s retreating hoofs clattering on the stony road. Now surely, thought I, I am safe; surely the last picket is passed, and my spirits rose. Soon after this, deceived by the darkness and my ignorance of the mountain ways, I lost my direction and took a wrong road; but believing myself right and at last out of danger, I moved on as fast as I could over the rough, frozen ground, when on reaching the top of the hill, what was my amazement and horror on finding that instead of proceeding I was retracing my steps, though by a different route. I saw distinctly, perhaps three miles off, the lights of the town of Warrenton. And this was all that I had accomplished after riding at least twelve miles. What should I do? Was I to fail altogether of my mission? To keep going toward Warrenton would inevitably lead me to the Yankees. If I turned and lost my way entirely, what would become of me on such a night? Just then there came into my mind those sweet quaint lines which I did not know that I could repeat:
“God shall charge his angel legions
Watch and ward o’er thee to keep,
Tho’ thou walk thro’ hostile regions,
Tho’ in desert wilds thou sleep.”
They were to me then an inspiration—a harbinger of safety and success. It would have been still further inspiration, could I have seen how just at the time, dear old Mrs. ——, who had helped to wrap me up when I started, and had encouraged me by her sympathy and interest, was watching for my return, keeping up a big fire—warming some of her own clothes for me; and when at last she laid down, it was with her lamp still burning, a pillow arranged for me close by her kind heart, and with a prayer for me on her lips, that she slept. God bless her!
Turning my back to the lights once more, I rode on. 208 I had only gone a few hundred yards when I saw just before me a horse and his dismounted rider. The man stepped out, laid his hand on my bridle and said: “Stop, lady, you can go no further; but where are you going?”
I answered in the very tone of candor: “I was trying to go to the neighborhood of Salem to see a sick friend. It was later than I thought when I set off. My poor old borrowed horse traveled very slowly; night overtook me suddenly and I determined to make my way back to my home near Warrenton, but have lost my way.”