lly
material events relieved the black from responsibility. His quick ear
caught the sound of troopers, the sharp notes of steel clinking; he had
no mind to be picked up by the enemy's horse, and dismissing all other
considerations he took to the woods and walked rapidly away. Late in the
evening he crossed the North Anna with a train of wagons, as driver of an
unruly mule team, one of which had rewarded his driver in kind for brutal
use of the whip and perverted English. The man groaning in the wagon
informed Josiah concerning mules and their ways. After a day or two he
was pleased to get back on his legs, for when bullets were not flying the
army life was full of interest. A man who could cook well, shave an
officer or shoe a horse, never lacked the friends of an hour; and too,
his unfailing good-humour was always helpful. An officer of the line
would have been easy to find, but the engineers were continually in
motion and hard to locate. He got no news of John Penhallow until the
29th of May, when he came on General Wilson's cavalry division left on
the north side of the Pamunkey River to cover the crossing of the trains.
These troopers were rather particular about straggling negroes, and
Josiah sharply questioned told the simple truth as he moved toward the
bridge, answering the questions of a young officer. A horse tied to a
sapling at the roadside for reasons unknown kicked the passing cavalry
man's horse. The officer moved on swearing a very original mixture of
the over-ripe English of armies. Swearing was a highly cultivated
accomplishment in the cavalry; no infantry profanity approached it in
originality. The officer occupied with his uneasy horse dropped Josiah
as he rode on. A small, dark-skinned negro, rather neatly dressed, spoke
to Josiah in the dialect of the Southern slave, which I shall not try to
put on paper. He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration of
the subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with the
man of his own colour.

"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him."

"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, I
reckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't ever
do it--horses know."

"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man can
ride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. He
sold him mighty sudden."

"Who's your General?" queries Josiah.

"Why, General Grant