It proved to be a hard, toilsome climb up those long, steep slopes
rising before us; for we were extremely careful now to keep well away
from every known route of travel, and our horses, although selected
from among the best mounts of the cavalry brigade, had already been
thoroughly winded by their smart trot up the valley. The short grass
under foot, crisp from the hot sun of the long afternoon, caused many a
slip of the poorly shod hoofs, while the darkness had grown so close
and dense about us that we could barely creep through it, with only
faith and a doubtful memory as guides. Every road, we well knew, would
be patrolled by Federal pickets; only the broken country between could
yield us the faintest prospect of success. But at best it must largely
be guesswork,--Providence, luck, what you will,--and the slightest
swing of the pendulum could easily frustrate our best laid plans.

An hour of this work passed. Whether or not we were yet within the
enemy's lines was largely conjecture, for no human eye could pierce the
enveloping gloom, and no sound, either of warning or encouragement,
reached us as we strained our ears. The Sergeant rode slightly in
advance as we toiled up the higher terrace, for our sole dependence as
to direction and distance was upon his memory, and even that could
scarcely serve for much on such a night as this. I traced his passage
upward as best I might, and pressed close after him, guided not so much
by sight as by sound,--the occasional rolling of a loosened stone, the
rustling of leaves as he touched a bush in passage, the faint clinking
of his sabre, and the heavy breathing of his horse,--until at last his
long, slender figure rose sufficiently above the dark hill surface to
be faintly silhouetted in deeper shadow against the dim reflection of
the upper sky. Almost coincidently with this my horse ranged up beside
his, where he had drawn rein in evident perplexity.