I WAS BEING "TOTED" BACK TO THE REBEL ARMY.
I had two chances for my life: I could not be expected to fight the whole Rebel Army single-handed and escape unhurt; the only thing to do, was, so to conduct myself that I might throw them off their guard and quietly get away, and thus have an opportunity to try again to reach our lines. The other alternative was, that if this chance of escape did not appear, that I might so conduct myself toward my captors as to win their confidence, and have the forged pass disposed of and not be carried to Beauregard. If conducted to headquarters, I might, by cunning stories, try to impress on the minds of those who would have my examination in charge the truth of the story that "I had become lost in the night, while searching for the house in which my sick friend was reported to have been left."
This was plausible enough, and I hoped from the general demoralization prevailing after the battle, that they might be careless, or at least indifferent, enough to let me off easy on this statement.
The forged endorsement on the pass, which had gone out of my hands, was the serious evidence against me, coupled with the fact of having been captured while trying to go to the enemy.
There was, also, of course, always before me the great danger of a discovery of my identity as the Fort Pickens Spy.
I had ample opportunity to consider all these things as we trotted along back over that portion of the road that I had tramped out in so lighthearted a manner the night previously. The soldier who "escorted" me was a jolly, good fellow, and felt disposed to make my ride as comfortable as possible, but as there were eight in the squad beside the officer in command, we had to keep up with the rest and, as our old nag was a rough trotter, it was a little bit uncomfortable at times. They seemed to be in a hurry to get away. Perhaps something may have happened while I was asleep that made it necessary for them to whoop things up a little that ugly morning.
The unpleasant jolting of the horses, and the rattling of the sabers and horses' tramping feet, prevented an easy flow of language—in fact, I could not talk at all; it required all my time and attention to keep my place on the rear of the saddle. I did not dare to drop off the horse, because the officer in charge had been careful enough to place us in front.
We reached a bridge on which was stationed a picket, who halted us; the officer rode up, dismounted, and gave the necessary countersign and ordered us forward.
I had only seen the bridge at night, and from the other side, where I had discovered a soldier with a gun walking about, when I broke for the field and flanked him. We were halted for a moment while the rebel officer of the guard, with our officer, walked a little distance to one side to consult with some others, who were in a drowsy way, lounging about a camp-fire.
I looked about to gain some idea of the topography of the country over which I had traveled in the night.