on, en not fur off, nudda."

We had now almost reached my first objective. I knew that Nick was
telling me the truth, in the main, for the plan of the map was still
before my mind's eye.

"Can we get around Young's Mill without being seen?" I asked.

"Dey's a picket-line dis side," said Nick.

"How far this side?"

"'Bout a quauta' en' a ha'f a quanta.'"

"How near can we get to the picket-line?"

"We kin git mos' up to 'em, caze dey's got de trees cut down."

"The trees cut down in their front?"

"Yassa; dey's got mos' all de trees out down, so dey is."

"And we can get to this edge of the foiled timber?"

"Yassa; we kin git to de falled timba', but we's got to go roun' de
pon'."

"And if we go around the pond first; we shall then find the
picket-line?"

"De picket-line at Young's Mill?"

"Yes."

"Ef we gits roun' de pon', we'll be done got roun' de picket-line, en'
de trees w'at dey cut down, en' Young's Mill, en' all."

"Well, then, Nick, lead the way around the pond, and keep your eyes wide
open."

Nick went forward again, but more slowly for a while; then he turned to
the right, through the woods. We went a long distance and crossed a
creek on a fallen log. I found that this negro could see in the darkness
a great deal better than I could; where I should have groped my way, had
I been alone, he went boldly enough, putting his foot down flat as
though he could see where he was stepping. Nick said that there were no
soldiers in these woods and swamps; they were all on the road and at
Young's Mill, now a mile at our left.

At length we reached the road again. By this time I was very tired; but,
not wanting to confess it, I said to Nick that we should wait by the
side of the road for a while, to see if any soldiers should pass. We sat
in the bushes; soon Nick was on his back, asleep, and I was not sorry to
see him go to sleep so quickly, for I felt sure that he would not have
done so if he had meant to betray me.

I kept awake. Only once did I see anything alarming. A single horseman
came down the road at a leisurely trot, and passed on, his sabre
rattling by his side. When the sound of the horse's hoofs had died away,
I aroused Nick, and we continued west up the road. At last Nick stopped.

"What's the matter now, Nick?" I whispered.

"We's mos' up on dem pickets ag'in," he said.

"Again? Have we gone wrong?"

"We ain't gone wrong--but we's mos' up on dem pickets ag'in," he
repeated.