“That shows well enough where the bridge is,” said Dan, pointing to where the wagon had left a track close to the water’s edge and visible for a short way under the water. “Follow that track,” he commanded our driver, who was three-quarters of a man, being too young for a whole man and too old for a lad, “the mules will find the bridge. They are the most sure-footed animals in the world. Just let them have their heads as soon as they get in the water.”
Jerry obeyed instructions. Sure enough, the mules got along well enough. That is, for a short distance. Then, splash! down they went under the water! We could just see their noses and their great ears wiggling above the surface as they struck out into a gallant swim for the opposite shore. Splash! we went in after them, and mules and ambulance were swimming and floating together. Jerry was terrified, and began to pray so hard that I got to laughing. All we could see of the mules were six ears sticking out of the water and wiggling for dear life, while our ambulance swam along like a gondola.
But things changed suddenly. Our ambulance was lifted slightly, came down with a jolt, and wouldn’t budge! The mules strained forward, but to no good. The ambulance wouldn’t stir, and their harness held them back.
“The ambulance has caught on some part of the bridge,” said Dan.
We were in a serious dilemma. The road was one in much use, and we pinned our hopes to some passer-by, but as we waited minutes seemed hours. No one came. Perhaps the wagon that had preceded us had given warning that the bridge was wrecked. We sat in the ambulance and waited, not knowing what to do, not seeing what we could do. By some saplings which stood in the water we measured the rise of the tide, and we measured its rise in the ambulance by my trunk—I was getting wet to my knees. Finally I sat on top of my trunk and drew my feet up after me. The situation was serious enough, and Dan began to look very anxious—Hatchers Run was always regarded as a dangerous stream in flood time. Still, no sign of any one coming. The rain continued to fall and the water to rise.
“At this rate we are sitting here to drown,” Dan said. “There’s but one way out of it that I can see. From what I know of the situation of our army there must be an encampment near here. Jerry, climb out of this ambulance over the backs of these hind mules till you get to that leader. Get on him, cut him loose, and swim out of this. Ride until you find an encampment and bring us help.”
But Jerry didn’t look at it that way.
“I’m skeered ter fool ’long dat ar mule. I ain’t nuvver fooled ’long er mule in de water. I kaint have no notion of de way he mought do wid me. You kaint ’pend on mules, Mars Dan, ter do jes lak you want ’em ter on dry land, much less in de water. Arter I git out dar, cut dat ar mule loose, an’ git on him, he mought take out an’ kyar me somewhar I didn’t wanter go. I mought nuvver git ter no camp, nor nowhar, Mars Dan, ef I go ter foolin’ ’long er dat mule out dar in de water.”
The major caught his shoulders, and turned his face to the stream. “Have you watched that water rising out there for nothing?” he asked sternly. “We are sure to be drowned if you don’t do as I tell you—all of us.”
Between certain death and uncertain death Jerry chose the latter, crawled over the hind mules, got on the leader and rode him off. He took this note with him: