No,--there are sparks; it is a camp-fire. I hearken for the challenge,
not without solicitude; for it is about as dangerous to approach a
nervous sentinel as to charge a battery. I do not hear the stern
inquiry, "Who comes there?" At last I am abreast of the fire, and myself
call out,--
"Who is there?"
"We are travellers," is the reply.
What this meant I did not know. What travellers are there through this
distracted, war-worn region? Are they fugitives from Price, or traitors
flying before us? I am not in sufficient force to capture half a dozen
men, and if they are foes, it is not worth while to be too inquisitive;
so I continue on my way, and they and their fire are soon enveloped by
the night. Presently I see another light in the far distance. This must
be a picket, for there are soldiers. I look around for the sentry,
not quite sure whether I am to be challenged or shot; but again I am
permitted to approach unquestioned. I call out,--
"Who is there?"
"Men of Colonel Carr's regiment."
"What are you doing here?"
"We are guarding some of our wagons which were left here. Our regiment
has gone forward at a half-hour's notice to reinforce Zagonyi," said a
sergeant, rising and saluting me.
"But is there no sentry here?" I asked.
"There was one, but he has been withdrawn," replied the sergeant.
"Where are head-quarters?"
"At the first house on your right, about a hundred yards farther up the
road," he said, pointing in the direction I was going.
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