Prescott's heart beat fast at this praise from the first man of the South.
"Do you know the way to Richmond?" asked the General.
"I could find it in a night as black as my hat."
"That is good. Here is a letter that I wish you to take there and deliver as soon as you can to Mr. Davis. It is important, and be sure you do not fall into the hands of any of the Northern raiders."
He held out a small sealed envelope, and Prescott took it.
"Take care of yourself," he said, "because you will have a dangerous ride."
Prescott saluted and turned away. He looked back once, and the General was still sitting alone by the fire, his face grave and thoughtful.
Prescott had a good horse, and when he rode away was full of faith that he would reach Richmond. He was glad to go because of the confidence Lee showed in him, and because he might see in the capital those for whom he cared most.
As he rode on the lights behind him died and the darkness came up and covered Lee's camp. But he had truly told the General that he could find his way to Richmond in black darkness, and to-night he had need of both knowledge and instinct. There was a shadowed moon, flurries of rain, and a wind moaning through the pine woods. From far away, like the swell of the sea on the rocks, came the low mutter of the guns. Scarcely ever did it cease, and its note rose above the wailing of the wind like a kind of solemn chorus that got upon Prescott's nerves.
"Is it a funeral song?" he asked.