It seemed to me the stables offered the best hiding-place, or else the
deserted negro cabins.

I could examine the greater part of the front yard from the windows, the
squad of troopers camped near the gate, and the sentinel pacing before
the steps, but was compelled to lean far out to gain any glimpse of the
rear. I could perceive no soldiers in this direction, however, and was
encouraged to note a long grape arbor, thickly overgrown with vines,
extending from the house to the other extremity of the garden. Once
safely within its shadow I might get through unseen. And there was but
one means of attaining the grape arbor--through the back hall, _via_
either the kitchen or the cellar. I opened the door with all possible
caution, and took silent survey of the hall. The front door stood open
and a guard was stationed without, but with his back toward me. I could
hear voices in the dining-room, but the hall itself appeared deserted,
and, feeling that it was either now or never, I slipped forth, and
started toward the rear. There were two doors, one at the very extremity
of the hall, the other upon the right, both closed. Uncertain which to
choose I tried the first I came to, but, even as I cautiously turned the
knob, the second was opened from without, and a man entered hurriedly.
We stared into each others' faces, both too completely surprised for
speech. He was a cavalry sergeant, a gray-beard, and, with my first
movement, was tugging at a weapon.

"Hold on there, my buck!" he said gruffly. "None o' that, now. By God!
it's a Yank. Bill, come here."

The guard at the front door ran down the hall toward us, his gun thrown
forward.