These thoughts went through my mind while I was on the bank with Allen below me.  I hesitated.  Beyond this skirt of felled timber there might be capture, or death, or there might be no danger whatever.  I was beginning to hope that there was no vedette or picket-line in these woods.

Whispering to Allen to remain where he was, I crept forward; after having made some ten paces through the entanglement, I paused and listened.  There was not a sound.  I crept back to Allen, and, giving him my hand, helped him up the bank.  Then we both went forward until I supposed we were near the spot to which I had previously advanced.  Allen was now signalled to stop, while I crept on again, and again returned to him; then both went forward as before.  On this second stage of our approach we passed through to the farther side of the felled timber.

We were now on the edge of woods still standing.  I feared every moment lest we should be detected by some vedette.  The enemy’s works ought to be very near; neither spoke to the other; abatis without intrenchments was not to be thought of.  Yet I was hoping to find the intrenchments deserted.

The rain had almost entirely ceased.  The night was growing.  We had used up at least an hour’s time, and had made an advance of less than two hundred yards.

I moved forward again—­and back—­alternately alone and with Allen forward—­until at length I reached a road running across my line of progress.

After listening again intently and hearing nothing, I got down on my hands and knees and crawled across the road.  I could tell with my hands that the road was cut up with ruts, and what I supposed were horses’ tracks, but it was impossible for me to know which way the tracks headed.

Beyond the road the woods continued; I crawled on for thirty or forty yards, and found nothing.

Then I returned to Allen, and speaking low I asked him, “What do you think that skirt of felled timber means?”

“It means breastworks over there in the woods,” said he.

“But I have been at least thirty yards beyond the road and there is nothing.  I am beginning to believe that there is not a rebel left in these woods.”

“Then,” said he, “the timber was cut down with the intention of fortifying, and afterward the intention was abandoned.”

“Or else it was cut down, as a blind,” said I; “likely enough its purpose was merely to keep troops on this road from being seen.”

“Still,” said he, “they may be back farther in the woods.”

I did not believe it.  If this felled timber defended the approach to a rebel line, we were near enough to the line to hear many noises.  The only thing I now feared was some scouting party.

It was necessary to run some risk; even if we should be fired upon, I decided that we must learn which way the movement on the road had been.  I had Allen take off his cap, and while I lighted a match near the ground, he held his cap over it, and we both looked with all our eyes, moving the match back and forth over the road.  The tracks all headed to our right.