"It seems that we are to have a long tramp of it after this; and we are not likely to be at home Christmas or Thanksgiving this year," said Artie, as the column descended the hill to the by-road.
"Wherever we may be, it looks like a lively time ahead; for things seem to be very much mixed in the State," replied Deck.
"How do you suppose the Texans got out of the mud-hole, Deck?"
"I don't know; but I have no doubt the farmer who lives near it and owns the farm helped them out of it. He is a surly fellow, and I saw that he was a Secessionist when I met him."
"What do these two darkies want?" asked Artie, pointing to a couple of colored men, who were running down the hill from the northward as though their very lives depended upon their speed.
"Probably they are messengers who have come from the vicinity of the bridge by the same route I did," replied Deck, as he noticed that one of them was flourishing what looked like a letter in the air.
The two men reached the brook before the column turned in at the by-road, and had a chance to catch their breath before the officers came up to them. They had probably seen the column come out from the camp, and had hurried to intercept it before it turned into the highway they saw ahead; and it was probable that they were familiar with the locality.
"W'ich o' you uns is Mars'r Major Lyon?" asked the man with the letter of the first one he met, who happened to be Deck.
"The one with the plume in his hat," replied the private. "Where do you come from, Cæsar?"
"From de souf road; more'n a t'ousand so'diers dar. De man wid de feder in his hat," replied the negro, as he rushed forward to the major and delivered his letter, with a jumbled speech, of which the recipient took no notice.