The dryness of the ground had at least one advantage. They had not colds
and rheumatism to fear, and, with warm earth beneath them and fresh air
above, they slept more soundly than if they had been in their own beds.
But while they were sleeping the wary Sergeant Whitley was slipping
forward among the woods and ravines. He had received permission from
Colonel Winchester, confirmed by a higher officer, to go on a scout,
and he meant to use his opportunity. He had made many a scouting trip on
the plains, where there was less cover than here, and there torture and
death were certain if captured, but here it would only be imprisonment
among men who were in no sense his personal enemies, and who would not
ill-treat him. So the sergeant took plenty of chances.
He passed the Union pickets, entered a ravine which led up between two
hills and followed it for some distance. In a cross ravine he found a
little stream of water, flowing down from some high, rocky ground above,
and, at one point, he came to a pool several yards across and three or
four feet deep. It was cool and fresh, and the sergeant could not resist
the temptation to slip off his clothes and dive into it once or twice.
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