My story passed me safely over the bridge and past the guards stationed at several points on the track. I traveled rapidly in the direction farthest from the break. By the same bold trick I was able to get through several camps that were close by the tracks.
There were no trains running on that part of the road at that time, or I should have, probably, been tempted to boldly stop an engine and get on; as I had often seen linemen on the Pennsylvania Railroad thus picked up from the road by accommodating engineers. I knew, of course, that the trick would not last long; that the moment the wires had separated the operators would know of some sort of a break out on their line, and would at once take the necessary steps to test for the location of the accident; and, of course, men would be sent out as speedily as possible to repair the damage. I ran the additional risk, too, of meeting with some of those bona fide linemen, who would question my authority.
In the manner in which I have tried to describe, the greater part of this eventful day was spent, until along about an hour before sundown, when I came to a road crossing the railway. I now seemed to have gotten through, or beyond, Manassas, in the rear of the Rebel Army, toward Richmond, as there were no further guards at the crossings. I discovered, by encouraging a trackman in a short talk, that the road crossing the tracks led off in a direct course to Falmouth and Fredericksburg and Richmond. After a little further inquiry as to a suitable house at which to apply for something to eat, I left the track, taking the dusty summer road "on to Richmond."
I felt, as I walked along this narrow road, which was seemingly cut through a thicket of small saplings, so common in that country, that I had escaped, and was safe once more. My belief was, that I had not only eluded pursuit but that I had put those whom I knew would be sent to find me on the wrong scent.
I was tired, very tired, and as I had eaten nothing at all since the hasty breakfast at the bushwhacker's house, when I didn't have appetite enough to swallow a mouthful, I was, of course, hungry. I hadn't a cent of money, either, and what could I do but beg, and this I would not do. Again my good angel came to my relief by suggesting a ruse, to further aid my escape and, at the same time, perhaps, create a sympathy for myself.
I had, in assuming the character of a lineman, thrown away my coat, in order to relieve myself of the burden of carrying it along in the hot sun, and to further carry out the impression that I was a workingman without a coat.
I had walked so much and so rapidly that my left foot had become swollen, so that I was obliged to go along at a limping gait. I took advantage of this accident to further add to the change in my appearance, by assuming a lameness that apparently obliged me to depend upon the use of two sticks to hobble along.
I had been obliged to take off my tight left shoe, and around the swollen foot I tenderly tied the greater portion of my shirt, which I had, of course, first torn off the narrative end. In this shape, walking between two sticks, with my foot tied up as if it had recently gone through a surgical operation, I jogged along down the sandy, dusty road which was leading toward Fredericksburg and Richmond.
Along in the evening I ran into a clearing, at the far end of which was nestled a little old-fashioned house. It was one of those country farmhouses where the roof extends down beyond the house and forms a lower shed or porch roof, which runs along, both at the back and the front, the whole length of the house.
Opening on to the roof were two dormer windows of the old-fashioned kind, that we don't often see nowadays.