CHAPTER XVIII.

EXPERIENCES.

The next morning we started on our way and had a routine march for several days, with no incidents worth mentioning until we began to meet a stray soldier now and then. Our growing confidence in ourselves made it easy for us to tell a satisfactory story in each case, and we learned from these men that we were approaching Washington, where Magruder had his headquarters.

From some negroes we got a full description of the town and a complete line of directions as to what course to pursue in order to avoid undesirable observation.

We had to be very careful, but boldness was an essential part of the policy of being careful, and we walked through the outskirts of the town as if we owned it, avoiding the traveled streets, but being as free and as easy as possible.

It was impossible for Miller to be free and easy at any time in anything partaking of deception, as he was too conscious and conscientious. No amount of successful evasion of difficulties could make him forget for a moment that we were escaped prisoners and should be locked up--from the standpoint of the rebels; so he was continually imagining that he saw detection in the eye of every person we met.

We were all nervous, but, with the exception of Miller, we made a fair show of being self-possessed and independent. We walked through the town as if traveling on eggs; every sound made him start; every person we saw gave him a shock of dread and uncertainty, and if we had met anyone of a suspicious nature we should have been closely questioned, at least. As it was, we finally skirted the town and got into the main road again, beyond, but we had to pass right through the soldiers' quarters to do it. We went on the principle that they were ignorant as to us, and would have no suspicions unless we created them by our actions, but only good luck in not being observed closely saved us from capture, for poor Miller scarcely touched the ground, and showed his effort at restraint so plainly that anyone with half an eye would have known that he was doing something wrong. We "herded" him between us as best we could, and, not being critically surveyed, succeeded in passing on our way.

The next night we came to a blacksmith shop, where we had to take refuge on account of a heavy rain. This shop was one of those old-fashioned country forges, built by the roadside near some farmer's house, where he or his neighbors tried their hands at smith work as occasion demanded. The building was an old "shack," with a leaky roof, but it gave some shelter, although we had to sleep on the forge as best we could, to keep out of the puddles and mud on the earthen floor.

I know of no word better than _excruciating_, to describe the comforts of that night. The forge was large, and we could lie upon it after cleaning it off, but we had to squeeze together. The edges were rough stones, and our feet hung over. If my readers will take the first opportunity afforded them to occupy a similar position for several hours they will appreciate my use of the above word. To enjoy fully the situation, aside from the pains thereof, they should have a friend stand by with some cold water and occasionally let fall a drop, or succession of them, upon the face, neck or ears of the victim. As a choice of two evils it was an admirable selection; as a matter of comfort it was a failure.

We were not awakened by the daylight, for we were already awake, and, when we could see that the rain had turned to snow, we started off again, preferring the snow and mud in daylight. Coming to an open piece of woods, and seeing a large tree which had been felled, we went to it and found what protection we could in its thick top for the balance of the day, the monotony of the stay being relieved by exchange from snow to rain and from rain to snow every now and then.

Just before dark it cleared up, and we once more started on our way, meeting with no obstacle until we reached the Little Missouri River bottom, which was crossed by an old corduroy road, and then we had some more fun.

For two miles and a half we blundered along on this road, in a gloomy darkness, every few minutes coming to a spot where one or the other of us would slip through between the logs and sink up to our knees in the mud and water, which fact was generally communicated to the others by harsh criticisms upon the efficiency of the county commissioners.

When we reached the river we were about as tired as men can be and stand up, but we found that the ferry-boat was on the other side, and we had to seek some place in which to rest for the night and await daylight. Going back a short distance from the river we found an open space where there were signs of a former camp, and we tried to build a fire. Everything was soaking wet, and all our efforts ended in smoke, except a few sulphurous remarks. There was no shelter to be had; we had to sleep in the open, and the ground was too wet to be comfortable. After some discussion, we decided to try standing up, which means of rest we enjoyed for the balance of the night.

Did you ever try to find a place to rest when everything upon which you could possibly sit or lie was soaking wet? If so, you can understand why we chose to stand up. Did you ever try to sleep in a standing posture, or to rest in like position for any length of time? If so, you will appreciate the following:

Throwing my blanket over my head, I braced myself firmly against a tree, closed my eyes, and--the next thing I knew I was in a heap on the wet ground, wildly struggling with my blanket, my knees having relaxed as I became unconscious. Now fully awake, I took a walk around to find a better spot, but soon came back to my first location and tried it again. This time I remained awake long enough to realize, by the time that the comfortable feelings of drowsiness were again stealing over me, that the air inside of my blanket was not pleasant to breathe, and, in throwing the covering from my head, I became wide awake again. After another interval of wakefulness, during which I realized keenly how tired my limbs were, and after quietly enjoying some of the experiences of my neighbors, the demands of nature again became paramount, and I dozed off. With a sudden sense of a harsh scraping along the back of my head, and a dim realization of the fact that my knees had again refused duty, I came to myself just in time to keep from sitting on the ground, this time sliding down the tree instead of pitching forward. After a walk down to the river to view the situation again, I returned to my tree, adjusted my position, to guard as well as I could against former experiences, and gradually dozed off in the belief that I was this time scientifically and safely propped. Suddenly I realized that I was falling, and became conscious enough to make three or four rapid steps forward, to save myself, before I stumbled over a log and went head first to the ground. After this, I never went to sleep during the balance of the night, but I contented myself with a succession of nods between the intervals of knee-bendings and losses of balance. Try it and see how it works.

I have slept on the wet ground--slept soundly, and never taken cold from it, but not in a boggy location such as that was on that night, and we all stood up in preference, again a choice of the lesser evil.

It might be asked why we did not go back to the high ground instead of remaining in the bottom. No one who has ever tramped over such a miserable road as that by which we had reached the bottom--for two and a half miles in the dark--will be likely to question why we preferred to stay where we were. It is doubtful whether we would have undertaken to retrace our steps over the corduroy road even if we had known in advance just what our night's experience was to be.

The next morning when we went down to the river we found that it had risen several feet during the night.

The road reached the river at a point of land which projected some distance, and where the road had been comparatively dry the night before, behind the point, we now had to wade in order to reach the ferry landing.

It was useless to attempt hailing the ferry-boat, so we went back to our stamping ground and breakfasted upon what corn we could pick out of the ground around the spot where former campers had tarried. This corn was the scaled or wasted kernels left by horses at their feeding places.

While eating we heard a noise of men talking on the river, and at once assumed that the boat was coming over. We had no money with which to pay for crossing, and my companions, Miller especially, were very much excited over the question of what we were to do. Miller had a ring which he wanted me to take for the purpose of paying the ferryman, but I would not take it, and we nearly had a quarrel in consequence. My desire was to go to the ferry and be governed by circumstances as to what we should do, but the others wanted to have it all mapped out beforehand.

"What will you tell him, Swiggett?" asked Miller.

"How can I tell?" was my reply.

"But suppose he asks for money or is suspicious?"

"When he does or is I will meet him; but, boys, how on earth can you tell what to do or say till you know what you have to overcome? Let's go down there in a natural way and do what seems best when we get there. Come on!"

We went, my companions following me reluctantly, and Miller all in a flutter of nervous apprehension.

Reaching the landing, we found the boat nearly across, but the ferryman had all he could do to make any progress. The rise in the river had made a strong current along our shore. It was a hand ferry, and the rope was fastened in a poor line for ease in ferrying at that stage of the river.

Calling out to the man, I got in a good position to jump aboard, and said to my companions:

"Come on, boys! Can't you see that the man has his hands full? Let's jump aboard and help."

Hearing this, the fellow increased his efforts, the boat approached nearer, we made a big jump and got aboard, helping to haul the boat to the land. Then we learned that he had come over to shift the rope, and we helped him do this, after which he took us across.

Arriving on the other side I put my hand in my pocket as confidently as if I had had a roll of greenbacks at my command, and asked the ferryman how much we owed him. As I expected, he would not take a cent, but thanked us heartily for our assistance, and we went on our way rejoicing.

It is a fact worthy of note that the response of this man to my offer of pay was almost as well known to me before he made it as after. Not on the principle of natural results from given causes, as many men would have asked either all or part pay. Nor was it from any particular judgment of the individual, as I was unable to form any satisfactory idea of his inclination from what could be seen of him. I simply _felt_ and _knew_ that he would refuse pay. Whether this was due to intuition, instinct or some subtle principle of mind communication, I do not profess to know and I do not say, but the fact was that I did not think or believe--I _knew_, and those inclined to account for the fact will find this point of interest to them.

"What would you have said, Swiggett, if he had named a price?" asked Miller.

"But he didn't, Miller," I responded; "and he wasn't suspicious."

"But if he had been?"

"How can I tell? It would have depended on circumstances. My experience is that one can never, or very seldom, carry out imaginary conversation, and I never try to hamper myself unnecessarily by pre-arranged ideas."

These conversations are related simply to show how easy it is to overcome many seeming difficulties. We can figure and calculate all we will in advance, but it almost invariably happens that the details of our plans must be changed on the scene of action, either to surmount unexpected obstacles or to take the shortest and surest road to success. The best way to dispose of obstacles is to go at them. Many and most disappear before you reach them, while those which really have to be surmounted are usually ridden over on lines suggested at the time of meeting.

In crossing the river we had given the ferryman no time to ask questions, even had he been disposed to do so, and I had asked the way to Arkadelphia, learning the direction to take and that the distance was fifty-two miles, on a plain road.

As usual, after the river was crossed, Miller was jubilant and happy until he had time to begin worrying about the next river, which he soon