As 1,800 Federals, including a regiment of cavalry, occupied
Poolsville--only six miles off--it was easy to guess in what direction
the "colored person" had wandered. There was no time for argument, and
even chastisement was reserved for a more fitting season: in fifteen
minutes more, we had ridden swiftly across the cleared lands, and with
Hoyle for our pilot, were winding through the ravines and glades of the
White Grounds. The day was dull and cloudy: so, having no sun to guide
us, we, the strangers, speedily lost all idea of direction; even Walter,
the confident, owned himself fairly puzzled. But our host led on at a
steady pace, never pausing to consult landmarks or memory; evidently
every bush and brake was familiar to him; there was not the ghost of a
track, but we seemed generally to follow the winding of a rapid, shallow
stream, up whose channel we often scrambled for forty yards or more.
We had na ridden a league, a league,
O' leagues but barely three,
when we struck a path leading straight through the woods to
Clarksburg--the first point on the proposed route of the two
Marylanders: they meant to feel their way cautiously thence in a
northwesterly direction; the elder had one or two acquaintances in the
neighborhood of Frederick City that he hoped would assist them.
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