bog, over logs
and across streams, leaping obstacles, shouting, yelling, screaming, and
hurrahing, away we went--mud and leaves flying and dead limbs crushing
beneath horses' feet. Now the trail is lost and there is a halt to look
for footprints. How much of a start the raiders have can not be known,
but the trail must be fresh. Soon it is found and the horses gallop on
as full of spirit as their wildly excited riders. When the tracks
disappear in the forest leaves, the rebel course is now marked by
plunder lost or cast aside--overcoats, canteens, saddles, blankets, the
woods are full of them. Now and then an abandoned horse is seen.
Finally, we strike a narrow pike, follow it a mile or so and learn that
Morgan and Wood have divided their force, only the smaller part having
taken the course we are pursuing. We were after Morgan and the main
body, so turned back. It was precious time lost but the trail was again
struck, where they had crossed the pike, and once more a plunge was made
into the timber and cedars.

For miles the trees were so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it
became impossible to ride other than single file; but, retarded as was
our speed, the chase became hotter and more exciting than ever. The
Yankee blood of the hunters was at fever heat and they determined to run
the game to cover. The sight of an abandoned horse (and the hard-pressed
enemy was now leaving his own as well as our animals) was the signal
for a yell that the pursued might have heard and trembled at miles away.
Then spurs were clapped into horses' flanks to urge them still faster
on; and thus the column--if column that could be called which column was
none--swept, dashed, plunged onward. Occasionally a trooper was
dismounted by a projecting limb, and as he clambered out of the way, the
sympathetic cry was wafted back from some comrade, "Say, what infantry
rigi_ment_ does you'ns belong to?"

Now the Colonel's voice rings shrilly through the forest with the same
old talismanic "forward!" The refrain is taken up, sent back along the
column until the rearmost rider hears and shouts a returning echo, "We
are coming, father Abraham!" No cowardice there. No lagging behind from
choice. Every man was straining nerve and muscle to get ahead. We were
fast gaining on the enemy and they knew it, trembling at every shout
wafted to their ears. They grew desperate, dug the rowels into their
horses, cursed their prisoners, threatened them, shot at t