It will be seen from this description, or attempt at one, that a Union cavalryman on picket on a winter night, on the Rappahannock, resembled, as he sat on his horse, something that has not yet been pictured in any war-book that I have ever seen! Of course, under all this bundle of blankets and ponchos he carried across his knee his carbine, or perhaps it was "slung."
As a general thing, if the night was very cold, the poor picket allowed his heavily-loaded feet to hang out of the stirrups, because it assisted the circulation and kept the feet warmer than when resting in the stirrup.
Determined that I should settle the question that night, at a favorable opportunity I called, in a voice that I fear was somewhat tremulous, "Hello, Johnny!"
Not getting any reply, I waited a few moments, watching intently every movement around the fire in the little grove. Presently one tall fellow, with whiskers all over his face, whom I took to be an officer, called gruffly to one of the sleeping Rebels, as if directing his attention to the picket-line. There were a few words or growls in a sleepy tone, and all became quiet. Fearing that they would all go off to sleep again, I called out loudly, "Come down to the river a minute."
At this the officer got up, stared into the darkness over his fire as if the voice had come from a ghost in the tree-tops. Again I called: "Come over a minute; I want to give you some dry coffee."
This stirred up the officer, whose pleased smile I could see by the fire-light.
"Hello! is that you, Yank?" Then, urging the sleeper to get out, the two had some sharp words, which I didn't hear.
It was only a few moments before both strode away from the fire-light in the direction of the river. At the time I was so nervous that I thought it an hour's delay.
Our officer was conveniently absent at the time, and while I knew that I would not be molested, except as a feint, I still felt that for effect I must go quietly about this, and this feeling served to make me act the part nervously.
There was a flat-boat or raft tied on the other side. This little, square, coffin-shaped craft had been manufactured by some Georgia soldiers. The sides were straight up and down and the bottom flat. A good name for the thing is "a boy drowner"; that's what they call them on the river where I learned to swim. To navigate this concern, a rope had been stretched over the river and anchored at each side, the rope sinking under the water. That rope was there permanently, just in such shape as I had proposed to lay a cable. Our officers only knew in a general way of its existence from the fact that the little boat was drawn or ferried almost every night by means of it.