“Yes.”

“Come.”

The three of us—­Captain Brown leading, I following him, and the detailed man, Allen, coming after—­went forward to a vedette.  The captain spoke some words to him in a whisper, and then went back to the picket-line.  I now observed that Allen had brought his gun.  I say observed, for I did not see the gun; my hand happened to touch it.  I asked Allen to go back and leave his piece at the picket-line; while he was gone I spoke in whispers to the vedette.  He had heard nothing in his front, except that now and then there seemed to come to him, from far away, an indistinct rumble; he had seen nothing in the black night except trees but little blacker.  The rain was a thick drizzle.

I warned the vedette to be very careful in case he heard anything in his front, lest he fire on a friend.  He said that the vedettes had orders not to fire, but to retire at once on the picket-line in case of a silent advance of the enemy.  This peculiar order, which at a later time I heard given again under somewhat similar circumstances, was no doubt a wise one.  A secret advance of the enemy’s skirmishers would have been precipitated into a charge by the fire of the vedette, whereas his secret retreat to his line would prepare the pickets to surprise the surprisers.

And now, with Allen just behind me, I went forward.  The woods were so dense and the night so dark that it was useless to try to see ahead of me.  The only thing to do was to feel my way.  I supposed that the branch which I was to cross was but a very short distance in front.  I had no fear that I should find enemies this side of the branch; the great probability was that their vedettes were posted on the farther bank of the stream.  When I had gone not more than thirty yards, I felt that the ground sloped downward before me, and I judged that the branch was very near.  I paused.  There was not a sound except that made by the fall of heavy drops of water from the leaves of the trees.  I strained my eyes, trying to see in front.  Allen was but three paces behind me, yet I could not see his form.  I stepped back to where he was, and asked in a low whisper if he could see at all.

“Yes,” said he, “I can see a little.  I can make out where you stand.”

I told him that we ought to be now very near a branch, and that the branch ought to make a slight gap in the woods and a little more light.  He whispered back that there was, he thought, more light in our front than there had been before.  I now tried to discern this new light, and could not at first, but after a little while it did seem to me that just ahead there was a dim gray streak.

I made one step forward—­paused—­then another step; another, and I felt my foot in the water.  The gray streak had widened.  I made a step back, and caught Allen by the hand.  Then I went forward, holding Allen’s hand.  But I wanted to speak to Allen, and feared to do so.  We went back again, some three steps, until I was out of the water.