the promise that food would be brought us in the morning.
After the snow, there came from the north-west a cold blast, which, for two days, kept us fast in our place of concealment, as the combined forces of wind and frost interfered sadly with the plan we had agreed upon.
It had been deemed advisable to proceed from this point by water; and an agreement had been made for us by the chief, with two contrabands, whereby we should be taken down the river, in the night, by means of an oyster - boat. This boat ran the gauntlet of Northern gun-boats once every week, her venturesome pilots finding a ready sale for the shell-fish thus captured, in the somewhat scantily supplied market of Richmond. But the fierce wind had driven so much water to the sea, that our boat was high and dry on the flats, and the nipping frost had congealed all the water there was left.
It was the coldest weather ot the winter, both north and south, as we found out when water in a bottle, placed one night in a haversack under the Colonel's head, was in the morning frozen solid— yet we escaped being frost-bitten.
The unlucky Major, while thawing out before a fire, the next night, (the party having been invited into an airy shed, that they might not perish) fell asleep, and was aroused from a dream of delicious warmth and happiness, by being dragged out of the fire, minus a coattail, which had been burned to a crisp.
The third night brought milder weather, which so encouraged the oystermen that with the help of the enemy's pickets, (who levied toll on the returning cargoes) the boat (an old-fashioned ship's long-boat) was successfully launched, and brought quite near the place of our concealment. At nine o'clock P.M. we were safely on board, assisting, with nervous energy, in the task of forcing the boat through the ice.
Below, on the river, some thirty miles away, was a neck of land called West Point, and we hoped by desperate exertions to get past this last picket-post, and well into the York River before light; but not a breath of air came to our assistance, and the broad day found us some distance above the Point.
We could no longer row, for fear of discovery, but curled ourselves in the bottom of the boat, while the now thoroughly frightened Negroes pulled away. The very idea of being caught in the act of helping runaway Yankees could not have caused very pleasant thoughts, as it was clearly a matter of life and death with them. But the sentinel allowed the boat to pass without even a hail; and, after being cramped in any thing but natural positions for above two hours, we peered cautiously over the gunwale to find that we might again venture to appear in public. A light breeze springing up, a rag of a sail was set, which helped wonderfully.
At nightfall we tried to effect a landing on the right bank of the river, but were prevented by the ice, which had been driven by the wind to that shore. The only alternative was to throw ourselves upon the hospitality of a free Negro, (a friend of our guides) who lived on the opposite bank. Late at night we landed, and found a resting-place in the one room of a small frame-house.
Too tired to examine closely into the details of our friend's housekeeping, we threw ourselves on the floor, in a semicircle, about the fire, until the active stirring of the family roused us to the consciousness of a new day. We then discovered that this one small room had sheltered, in addition to our own party, our host and his wife, three or four children, a young woman, (the wife's sister) a dog, two chickens, and a pet pig.
We received the gratifying intelligence that the entire country was overrun with the enemy's cavalry with the
