s war-stricken land is bare. No smoke
rises from the farmhouses. The fields are untilled; the roads are
untravelled. There are no horses in such a land.

I reach a wide public road running east and west, Hoof-prints cover the
road--hoof-prints going west; our cavalry; I almost shout and weep for
joy. The cavalry will certainly detect Lee's movement. That is, if they
go far enough west.

Again the dull booming of cannon in the far southeast. What does it
mean? It means, I know it, I feel certain of it, it means that Lee is
preventing Meade's retreat by deceiving him. Those guns are only
to deceive.

On the wide public road I turn eastward--straight down the road. Other
cavalry may be coming or going.

The road turns sharply toward the northeast. I cease to follow it. I go
straight eastward, hoping to shorten the way and find the road beyond
the hill. What is that I see through the trees? It looks like a man. It
is a man, and in blue uniform. From mere habit I cock my rifle and hold
it at the ready. I cannot see that he is armed. I go straight to him. He
is lying on the ground, with his back toward me. He hears me. He rises
to his feet. He is unarmed. He is greatly astonished, but is silent.

"What are you doing here?"

"I surrender," he says.

"Very well, then," I say; "guide me at once to the nearest body of your
men."

He opens wide eyes. He says, "All right, if that's your game."

He leads me in a southerly direction, takes a road toward the west, and
goes on. Suddenly he says, "You are coming over to us?"

"Yes."

"Then let me have the gun," he says.

I do not reply at once. Why does he want the gun? Is it in order to
claim that he has captured me? If so, my information will not be
believed; it may be thought intended to mislead. Then again, it is not
impossible that this man is a deserter; if that be the case, he wants to
march me back to the rebels, just as I am marching him back to the Union
army. He may be a Confederate spy. I shall not give him the gun. But I
will make him talk.

"What do you want with the gun?"

"Oh, never mind. Keep your gun; it don't make any difference," he says.

He keeps on, going more rapidly than before. We go up hill and down
hill, hardly changing direction.

Suddenly he says, without looking back at me, "Say, Johnny, what made
you quit?"

"My mind changed," I say.

He looks back at me; I can see contempt in his face. He says, "I
wouldn't say that, if I was you.