joe burnap was perfectly familiar with the country, and tom readily accepted him as a guide; and, as they had a common object in view, neither had good cause for mistrusting the other. they walked, without stopping to rest, till the sun set behind the mountains towards which they were travelling.
“i reckon we needn’t hurry now,” said joe, as he seated himself on a rock.
“i don’t think there is any danger of their catching us,” replied tom, as he seated himself beside his fellow-traveller. “can you tell me where we are?”
“i reckon i can. there ain’t a foot of land in these yere parts that i hain’t had my foot on. i’ve toted plunder of all sorts through these woods more’n ten thousand times.”
“well, where are we?” asked tom, whose doubts in regard to the locality had not yet been solved.
in the pressure of more exciting matters, he had not attempted to explain why he did not come to fairfax station while following the railroad.
“if we keep on a little while longer, i reckon we shall come to thoroughfare gap,” answered joe.
“but where do you live? what town is your house in?” asked tom, who had never heard of thoroughfare gap before.
“haymarket is the nearest town to my house.”
“what railroad is that over there?” asked tom, who was no nearer the solution of the question than he had been in the beginning.
“that’s the manassas gap railroad, i reckon,” replied joe, who seemed to be astonished at the ignorance of his companion.
“just so,” added tom, who now, for the first time, comprehended where he was.
when he left sudley church, he walked at random till he came to the railroad; but he had struck the manassas gap railroad instead of the main line, and it had led him away from the great body of the rebels, though it also conducted him away from washington, where he desired to go. he was perplexed at the discovery, and at once began to debate the question whether it was advisable for him to proceed any farther in this direction.
“i suppose you are a union man—ain’t you?” said tom, after he had considered his situation for some time.
instead of answering this question, joe burnap raised his eyes from the ground, and fixed his gaze intently upon tom. he stared at him for a moment in doubt and silence, and then resumed his former attitude.
“you don’t want to fight for the south,” added tom; “so i suppose you don’t believe in the southern confederacy.”
“i don’t want to fight for nuther of ’em,” replied joe, after a moment of further consideration. “if they’ll only let me alone, i don’t keer which beats.”
his position was certainly an independent one, and he appeared to be entirely impartial. the newspapers on either side would not have disturbed him. patriotism—love of country—had not found a resting place in his soul. tom had not, from the beginning, entertained a very high respect for the man; but now he despised him, and thought that a rebel was a gentleman compared with such a character. how a man could live in the united states, and not feel an interest in the stirring events which were transpiring around him, was beyond his comprehension. in one word, he so thoroughly despised joe burnap, that he resolved, at the first convenient opportunity, to get rid of him, for he did not feel safe in the company of such a person.
“now which side do you fight fur?” asked joe, after a long period of silence.
“for the union side,” replied tom, promptly.
“what are yer doin’ here, then?”
“i was in the battle below, and was taken prisoner, got away, and i want to get to washington.”
“i reckon this ain’t the way to git thar,” added joe.
“i doubt whether i can get there any other way.”
just then, tom would have given all the money he had in the world, and all that the government owed him, for a good map of virginia—or even for a knowledge of geography which would have enabled him to find his way by the safest route to washington. but he had been a diligent scholar in school, and had faithfully improved the limited opportunities which had been afforded him. his mind could recall the map of virginia which he had studied in school, but the picture was too faint to be of much practical benefit to him.
he had treasured up some information, derived from the newspapers, in regard to the manassas gap railroad. he knew that it passed through the blue ridge, at the western base of which flowed the shenandoah river: this emptied into the potomac, which would certainly conduct him to washington. in following these two rivers, he should have to describe nearly a circle, which was not an encouraging fact to a boy on foot, with no resources, and in an enemy’s country.
if he returned by the way he came, the country was filled with rebel soldiers, and he could hardly expect to pass through their lines without being captured. difficult and dangerous as the route by the shenandoah appeared, he decided to adopt it.
joe burnap proposed that they should have supper and opened the bag which he had filled with such eatables as he could hastily procure on leaving home. they ate a hearty meal, and then resumed their walk for another hour.
“i reckon we’d better stop here,” said joe. “the gap’s only half a mile from here, and it’s too arly in the night to go through thar yet. thar’s too many soldiers goin’ that way.”
“what time will you go through?” asked tom.
“not afore midnight.”
“then i’ll turn in and take a nap. i didn’t sleep any last night.”
“i’m agreed,” replied joe, who seemed to be indifferent to every thing while he could keep out of the rebel army.
tom coiled up his body in the softest place he could find, and went to sleep. exhausted by fatigue and the want of rest, he did not wake for many hours. he came to his senses with a start, and jumped upon his feet. for a moment, he could not think where he was; but then came the recollection that he was in the country of his enemies—a wanderer and a fugitive.
he looked about him in search of his travelling companion; but the fact that he could not see him in the night was no argument that he was not near him. he supposed joe had chosen a place to sleep in the vicinity, and thinking he might not wake in season to pass through the gap before daylight, he commenced a search for him. he beat about the place for half an hour, calling his companion by name; but he could not see him, and no sound responded to the call but the echoes of his own voice.
the independent virginia farmer had anticipated tom’s intention to part company with him, and, by this time, perhaps, had passed through the gap. the soldier boy was not quite ready to dispense with the services of his guide, inasmuch as he did not even know where the gap was, or in what direction he must travel to reach it. while he was debating his prospects, an enterprising rooster, in the distance, sounded his morning call. this assured him that he must be near some travelled road, and, taking the direction from the fowl, he resumed his journey.
a short walk brought him out of the woods, and, in the gray light of the dawn, he discovered a house. as he did not care to make any new acquaintances, he avoided the house, and continued his travels till he arrived at a road. as it was too early in the morning for people to be stirring, he ventured to follow the highway, and soon perceived an opening in the mountains, which he doubted not was the gap.
at sunrise he arrived at another house, which suddenly came into view as he rounded a bend in the road. near it were several negroes engaged in various occupations. as he passed the house, the negroes all suspended operations, and stared at him till he was out of sight. he soon reached the gap; but he had advanced only a short distance before he discovered a battery of light artillery stationed on a kind of bluff, and whose guns commanded the approaches in every direction.
deeming it prudent to reconnoitre before he proceeded any farther, he also ascertained that the gap was picketed by rebel infantry. of course it was impossible to pass through under these circumstances, and he again took to the woods. the scanty supply of food which he had purchased from mrs. burnap was now produced, and he made an economical breakfast. finding a secluded place, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep. though he slept till the sun had passed the meridian, the day was a very long one.
when it was fairly dark, he resolved to attempt the passage of the gap, for he was so tired of inaction that peril and hardship seemed preferable to doing nothing. returning to the road, he pursued his way with due diligence through the narrowing defile of the mountains, till he suddenly came upon a sentinel, who challenged him. before he started from his hiding place, tom had carefully loaded the revolver which he had taken from the rebel soldier; and, as he walked along, he carried the weapon in his hand, ready for any emergency that might require its use.
the guard questioned him, and tom replied that he had fought in the battle down below, and had a furlough to go home and see his father, who was very sick.
“where’s your furlough?” demanded the soldier.
“in my pocket.”
“let me see it.”
“here it is,” replied tom, producing an old letter which he happened to have in his pocket.
the sentinel took the paper, unfolded it, and turned it over two or three times. it was too dark for him to read it if he had been able to do so, for all the rebel soldiers are not gifted in this way.
“i reckon this won’t do,” he added, after patiently considering the matter. “just you tote this paper up to the corporal thar, and if he says it’s all right, you kin go on.”
“but i can’t stop to do all that. here’s my pass, and i want to go on. my father may die before i get home.”
“what regiment do you b’long to?” asked the guard, who evidently did not wish to disoblige a fellow-soldier unnecessarily.
“the second virginia,” replied tom, at a venture.
“where does your father live?” continued the sentinel.
“just beyond the gap, if he’s living at all.”
“what town?”
tom was nonplussed, for he did not know the name of a single place on the route before him; and, of course, he did not dare to answer the question.
“about five or six miles from here,” he answered.
“is it salem or white plains?” demanded the soldier, whose cunning was inferior to his honesty.
“white plains,” added tom, promptly accepting the suggestion.
“what’s the matter with your father?”
“i don’t know; he was taken suddenly.”
“pears like your uniform ain’t exactly our sort,” added the soldier.
“mine was all used up, and i got one on the battle-field.”
“i wouldn’t do that. it’s mean to rob a dead man of his clothes.”
“couldn’t help it—i was almost naked,” replied tom, who perfectly agreed with the rebel on this point.
“you kin go on, old virginny,” said the soldier, whose kindly sympathy for tom and his sick father was highly commendable.
the soldier boy thanked the sentinel for his permission, of which he immediately availed himself. tom did not yet realize the force of the maxim that “all is fair in war,” and his conscience gave a momentary twinge as he thought of the deception he had practised upon the honest and kind-hearted rebel. he was very thankful that he had not been compelled to put a bullet through his head; but perhaps he was more thankful that the man had not been obliged to do him a similar favor.
the fugitive walked, with an occasional rest, till daylight the next morning. he went through three or four small villages. after passing through the gap, he had taken the railroad, as less likely to lead him through the more thickly settled parts of the country. before him the mountains of the blue ridge rose like an impassable wall, and when the day dawned he was approaching manassas gap. he had walked twenty-five miles during the night, and prudence, as well as fatigue, required him to seek a place of rest.
