"Wal, stranger," was the reply, "it's a right smart twenty mile to the Cunnel's, but I reckon ye'll get thar, if ye follow yer critter's nose, and ar good at swimming."
"Why good at swimming?" I inquired.
"'Cause the 'runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep by this time."
"That's comforting news."
"Yas, to a man as seems in a hurry," he replied, looking at my horse, which was covered with foam.
"How far is it to the nearest run?" I asked.
"Wal, it mought be six mile; it mought be seven, but you've one or two all-fired ones to cross arter that."
Here was a pleasant predicament. It was nearly five o'clock, and our horse, though a noble animal, could not make the distance on an unobstructed route, in the then heavy state of the roads, in less than three hours. Long before that time it would be dark, and no doubt stormy, for the sky, which had lowered all the afternoon, every now and then uttered an ominous growl, and seemed ready to fall down upon us. But turning back was out of the question, so, thanking the "native," I was about to proceed, when he hailed me as follows:
"I say, stranger, what's the talk in the city?"
"Nothing, sir," I replied, "but fight and Secession."