This looked hopeful, but still
implied some further delay. Uneasy to learn the actual condition of
affairs with Lightburn's command, I determined to reach Gallipolis
the same night. Our horses had been left behind, and being thus
dismounted, we took passage in a four-horse hack, a square wagon on
springs, enclosed with rubber-cloth curtains. Night fell soon after
we began our journey, and as we were pushing on in the dark, the
driver blundered and upset us off the end of a little sluiceway
bridge into a mud-hole. He managed to jump from his seat and hold
his team, but there was no help for us who were buttoned in. The mud
was soft and deep, and as the wagon settled on its side, we were
tumbled in a promiscuous heap into the ooze and slime, which
completely covered us. We were not long in climbing out, and seeing
lights in a farm-house, made our way to it. As we came into the
light of the lamps and of a brisk fire burning on the open hearth,
we were certainly as sorry a military spectacle as could be
imagined. We were most kindly received, the men taking lanterns and
going to our driver's help, whilst we stood before the fire, and
scraped the thick mud from our uniforms with chips from the farmer's
woodyard, making rather boisterous sport of our mishap.
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