Ten yards in front, and ten feet to the right, I saw a post--a gate-post, I supposed. There was no gate. This fence-row, along which I was crawling, indicated a fence rotted down or removed. There had once been a gate hanging to that post and closing against another post now concealed by the bushes of the fence-row. I would crawl to that post out there, and speak to the men in front. They would suppose that I was in the fence-row, and, if they fired, would shoot into the bushes, while I should be safe behind the post--such was my thought. I reached the post. It was a hewn post of large size--post-oak, I thought. I lay down behind it; I raised my head and looked. The black spots were very near--perhaps thirty or forty yards in front. The line stretched on to my right. I could not now see toward the left--through the fence-row. It was not necessary to speak very loud. I asked, "Whose picket is that?" My voice sounded strangely tremulous. There was no answer. If they were Confederates, I was in their rear, and there would be no sense in their refusal to reply; some one would have said, "Come up and see!" or something. There was no movement. I could see that the black spots had become large objects; the moon was shining. I must ask again. I remember that at that moment I thought of our Captain--dead that day. I spoke again, "Gentlemen, is that the picket of Ramseur's brigade?" No answer. Again I spoke, "Gentlemen, is that Ramseur's North Carolina brigade?" Not a word. It now seemed folly for me to remain. Who were these men? Certainly Federals. I was in imminent danger of being captured. Two or three men might rush forward and seize me before I could get to my feet. Yet, would not a line of our men out here be silent? They would be very near the enemy and would be very silent. But they would send a man back to make me stop talking. They were Yankees; but why did they not say something? or do something? Perhaps they were in doubt about me. I was so near their lines they could hardly believe me a Confederate. I half decided to slip away at once. But I wished some conclusion to the matter. I wanted to satisfy the lieutenant and myself also. Again I spoke, "Will you please tell me what brigade that is?" A voice replied, "Our brigade!" This reply, in my opinion, was distinctly Confederate. I had heard it frequently. It was an old thing. Often, when waiting for troops to pass, you would ask, "What regiment is that?" and some-would-be wag would say, "Our regiment." I rose to my feet behind the post, but dropped again as quickly. Before I had stood erect the thought came that possibly the Yankees also had this old by-word. Then another thought--had the Yankees selected one man to reply to me? Had all but one been ordered to preserve silence, and was this one an expert chosen to entrap me? A man perhaps who knew something of the sayings in the Southern army?