"Oh, it's all safe enough; let's go on!"
"But," said the first speaker, "they said not to come to the house at night, unless there was a candle light in that far-corner window."
The third, who had not yet spoken, was nearest me, and was looking into the field right over where I lay. I thought that through the darkness, to which our eyes had become accustomed, that I recognized a face and form that I had met some place, but was not able to clearly distinguish.
While there had been nothing said to indicate their errand, it became pretty clear from these words that they were enemies, as there was apparently an understanding about the light in the window.
Was it possible that there were other men from the house skirmishing around in the darkness to our rear, and aided with guns and those dogs, would they run us down?
The third person, stepping a little in advance of the others, said: "Get back to the fence; there's somebody up on the road."
They scattered, and in a moment more suppressed voices were heard coming from an opposite direction, or down the road.
We were between two enemies, but, fortunately, for us, on the opposite side and behind a big fence crouching in some elderberry bushes. My companion, as still as a log, was probably, like myself, so badly scared that he couldn't trust his voice to whisper a thought.
Two men—one in his shirt-sleeves, and the other in rebel uniform, which I so well recognized, as the same old grey I had been familiar with at Pensacola and Montgomery, came cautiously down the road. As they were almost directly opposite me, one of the three who had come up the hill, accosted them familiarly:
"Helloa, Billy; you like to scairt us to death. I thought the Yankees had put you and your light out sure."