Allen was always a little in my rear, even when we were hand-in-hand. He whispered, "It is ten steps wide." "Can you see across it?" "I think so. I think the trees are lower over there." In all my experience as a soldier I think that I never felt myself in a more critical place. The opposite side of the branch was an ideal position for the rebel vedettes. They ought to be there if anywhere in these woods. Still, they, as well as we, might have neglected their opportunity; besides, their line might be bent back here; their vedettes might be on the branch farther to our right, and _here_ might be anywhere in its rear; we did not know where the rebel right rested. Of one thing I felt sure--the rebels did not intend to advance on this night, for in that case they would have had their vedettes, and their pickets also, if possible, on our side of the branch. The thing had to be done. I must risk crossing the branch. If vedettes were on it, it was just within the possible that I might pass between two of them. I whispered to Allen that I wanted a stick; he already had one, which he put into my hand. Then I told him to take hold of my coat, lest my foot should slip; the noise of a splash, might have caused utter failure, if not our capture. We reached the water again. I felt before me. The end of the stick seemed to sink into soft mud. I made another step forward. I was up to my ankles in mud, up to my knees in water. I made another step; the water rose to my thighs. Again a step; the water was no deeper, and I felt no mud under my feet. I thought I had reached the middle. I paused and listened. I was afraid to speak to Allen. The same monotonous dropping of water--nothing more. We went forward, and got to the farther bank, which seemed steep. By feeling right and left, I found a foothold. I loosed Allen's hand from my coat, and stood on the bank. Allen was in the water below me. I looked around, for I could now see a little. I could easily tell that there were no trees over my head. I seemed to be surrounded by a dense, low thicket. What was in this thicket? Likely the rebel vedettes and pickets. My hand inadvertently came in contact with a stump. I could feel the smooth surfaces left by an axe. The tree itself was lying there, but not entirely cut from its stump. I could feel the splintered middle of the tree, still holding. I at once knew that I was in the midst of felled timber,--on the edge of a slashing or entanglement.