L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

It is but an hour's work to overtake the train, and mounted as I am, I feel great contempt for guerrillas, and inwardly defy any of them to catch me, as I give Belle the rein and dash on at a sweeping gallop till I come in sight of the train, a mile ahead, winding it way through the little village of Newtown, nine miles south of Winchester.

“Mosby be hanged!” I said to myself, as I slacken speed and pass leisurely through the town, noticing the pretty women, who, for some reason, appear in unusual force at the doors and windows, and one or two of whom wave their handkerchiefs in a significant manner, which, however, I fail to understand, and ride heedlessly forward. Who would suppose. a pretty woman waving a handkerchief to be a sign of danger?

Evidently no one but a cynic or a crusty old bachelor, and, as I am neither, I failed to interpret the well-meant warning.

As I had nearly passed the town, I overtook a small party, apparently of the rear-guard of the train, who were lighting their pipes and buying cakes and apples at a small grocery on the right of the pike, and who seemed to be in charge of a non-commissioned officer.

“ Good-morning, sergeant,” I said, in answer to his salute. “You had better close up at once. The train is getting well ahead, and this is the favorite beat of Mosby.”

“All right, sir,” he replied, with a smile of peculiar intelligence, and nodding to his men they mounted at once and closed in behind me, while, quite to my surprise,