The scouts went ahead under First Lieutenant Farnham of the Second Company.  We were at school together,—­I am afraid to say how many years ago.  He is just the same cool, dry, shrewd fellow he was as a boy, and a most efficient officer.

It was an original kind of march—­I suppose a battery of howitzers never before found itself mounted upon cars, ready to open fire at once and bang away into the offing with shrapnel or into the bushes with canister.  Our line extended a half-mile along the track.  It was beautiful to stand on the bank above a cutting and watch the files strike from the shadow of a wood into a broad flame of moonlight, every rifle sparkling up alert as it came forward.  A beautiful sight to see the barrels writing themselves upon the dimness, each a silver flash.

By-and-by, “Halt!” came, repeated along from the front, company after company.  “Halt! a rail gone.”

It was found without difficulty.  The imbeciles who took it up probably supposed we would not wish to wet our feet by searching for it in the dewy grass of the next field.  With incredible dollishness they had also left the chairs and spikes beside the track.  Bonnell took hold, and in a few minutes had the rail in place and firm enough to pass the engine.  Remember, we were not only hurrying on to succor Washington, but opening the only convenient and practicable route between it and the loyal States.

A little farther on, we came to a village,—­a rare sight in this scantily peopled region.  Here Sergeant Keeler, of our company, the tallest man in the regiment, and one of the handiest, suggested that we should tear up the rails at a turnout by the station, and so be prepared for chances.  So “Out crowbars!” was the word.  We tore up and bagged half a dozen rails, with chairs and spikes complete.  Here, too, some of the engineers found a keg of spikes.  This was also bagged and loaded on our cars.  We fought the chaps with their own weapons, since they would not meet us with ours.

These things made delay, and by-and-by there was a long halt, while the Colonel communicated, by orders sounded along the line, with the engine.  Homans’s drag was hard after us, bringing our knapsacks and traps.

After I had admired for some time the beauty of our moonlit line, and listened to the orders as they grew or died along the distance, I began to want excitement.  Bonnell suggested that he and I should scout up the road and see if any rails were wanting.  We travelled along into the quiet night.

A mile ahead of the line we suddenly caught the gleam of a rifle-barrel.  “Who goes there?” one of our own scouts challenged smartly.

We had arrived at the nick of time.  Three rails were up.  Two of them were easily found.  The third was discovered by beating the bush thoroughly.  Bonnell and I ran back for tools, and returned at full trot with crowbar and sledge on our shoulders.  There were plenty of willing hands to help,—­too many, indeed,—­and with the aid of a huge Massachusetts man we soon had the rail in place.