and saw that I had
barely time to reach the cars before they started. I shook the reins
upon her neck, and with a plunge, startled at the energy of my signal,
away she flew. What a stride she had! What an elastic spring! She
touched and left the earth as if her limbs were of spiral wire. When I
reached the car my friend was standing in front of it, the gang-plank
was ready, I leaped from the saddle and, running up the plank into the
car, whistled to her; and she, timid and hesitating, yet unwilling to be
separated from me, crept slowly and cautiously up the steep incline and
stood beside me. Inside I found a complete suit of flannel clothes with
a blanket and, better than all, a lunch-basket. My friend explained that
he had bought the clothes as he came down to the depot, thinking, as
he said, 'that they would be much better than your regimentals,' and
suggested that I doff the one and don the other. To this I assented the
more readily as I reflected that I would have to pass one night at
least in the car, with no better bed than the straw under my feet. I
had barely time to undress before the cars were coupled and started. I
tossed the clothes to my friend with the injunction to pack them in
my trunk and express them on to me, and waved him my adieu. I arrayed
myself in the nice, cool flannel and looked around. The thoughtfulness
of my friend had anticipated every want. An old cane-seated chair stood
in one corner. The lunch-basket was large and well supplied. Amid the
oats I found a dozen oranges, some bananas, and a package of real Havana
cigars. How I called down blessings on his thoughtful head as I took the
chair and, lighting one of the fine-flavored _figaros_, gazed out on the
fields past which we were gliding, yet wet with morning dew. As I sat
dreamily admiring the beauty before me, Gulnare came and, resting
her head upon my shoulder, seemed to share my mood. As I stroked her
fine-haired, satin-like nose, recollection quickened and memories of
our companionship in perils thronged into my mind. I rode again that
midnight ride to Knoxville, when Burnside lay intrenched, desperately
holding his own, waiting for news from Chattanooga of which I was the
bearer, chosen by Grant himself because of the reputation of my mare.
What riding that was! We started, ten riders of us in all, each with the
same message. I parted company the first hour out with all save one,
an iron-gray stallion of Messenger blood. Jack Murdock