Then Dick took his departure. He had some time since decided upon his course, and as soon as he was a short distance away from the clump of trees, he set out at a brisk walk, and made no effort at concealment. He did not care, now, if he were halted by a British picket or sentinel.
He walked swiftly onward, and about twenty minutes later was hailed:
“Halt! Who comes there?”
Dick's heart leaped, and he felt that he was soon to be submitted to an ordeal, but he did not hesitate, and answered firmly and promptly:
“A friend.”
“Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” was the command.
Dick advanced till within a few yards of the sentinel, whose form he could make out, it being outlined against the light background made by the campfires.
“Halt!” ordered the sentinel. “Give the countersign before you come any further.”
“I don't know the countersign,” replied Dick, quietly. “But I am a friend, and I wish to see the commander in charge of this army.”
“Humph. What do you want to see him for?”