Potomac, and
furnished us with all the necessary names and halting-points on the
route. Now, everything looked promising again. It was soon settled that
Alick and Shipley should make their way across the country to Sharpsburg
with the two horses (this was the latter's own arrangement, and _he_,
too, was unkind enough to object to my un-citizenlike appearance). I was
to meet them there, at a certain house, on a certain day, traveling by
another route--through Frederick city. Thither I betook myself by the
train leaving Baltimore, on the afternoon of March the 10th, arriving at
Frederick nearly two hours behind time, in consequence of a difficulty
between the wheels and the rails, the latter having become sulkily
slippery with the sleet that came on in earnest after nightfall. Very
early the next morning I started for Petersville, near which village, in
the shadow of the South Mountain, lay the country-house of the
good-natured friend who had offered to forward me to Sharpsburg.

I shall not easily forget that drive; the distance was rather under
fourteen miles, and it was performed in something over four hours; yet
the load consisted simply of my driver, myself, and my saddle-bags, in
the lightest conceivable wagon, drawn by a pair of horses especially
selected for strength rather than speed. We traveled on a broad
turnpike, not inferior, I was told, in ordinary times to the average of
such roads; in many places the mud literally touched the axles, and more
than once we should have been set fast in spite of the struggles of our
team, if I had not lightened the weight by descending into a quagmire
that reached fully half-way up my thigh-boots.

At last we struggled through, reaching my friend's house with no other
damage than some strained spokes and a broken spring. There I found
horses ready caparisoned, and a faithful contraband to guide me on my
way. The ride was as pleasant as the drive had been disagreeable. It was
positive rest to exchange the jolting and jerking of the carriage for
the familiar sway of the saddle. I had a strong hackney under me, a
bright clear sky overhead, and a companion who, if not brilliantly
amusing, was very passably intelligent.

He was able to tell me all about the South Mountain fight: indeed, our
route lay right across the centre of that bloody battle-ground. Riding
along the valley, with the hills on our left, we soon came to
Birkettsville: close above was the scene of the most furi