I didn’t realize what I was saying until I heard a chuckle from the men within hearing distance. They knew that I was beside myself with terror, and did their best to smother their laughter. But I was past caring for public opinion. I was in an agony of terror. There was no other place for me to stand--horses, kicking, plunging, rearing horses were crowded everywhere. A lighter is the rudest excuse for a boat. Ours was made of planks crossed and nailed together, and between their wide spaces, just under my feet, I saw the swollen waters, upon which we seemed to be tossed, and careened, and whipped about without the control or guidance of those on board. Never before or since, never during any period of the war, was I in such a state of helpless fright as on that day when I crossed the mad Pamunkey on a lighter with swearing men and kicking horses around me and the water bubbling up against my feet. Appearances to the contrary, our soldiers with the poles were directing our craft and turning the will of the tide to our profit, and at last we were on the shore. Safe in our wet ambulance, we started on our way again. I was never so cold, so wet, so everything wretched in my life, and what should Lieutenant Johnston do but propose to go out of our way to see St. Peter’s Church. “An old colonial relic,” he said. “You ladies ought not to miss it now that you are so near.” “I don’t want to see any relics,” I answered promptly. “The only thing I want to see is a fire and something to eat.” But he would drive out of our way to show us that old church. I was too wretched and miserable to look at it with proper interest. I don’t remember how it looked--I only know that I had to go there and see it whether I would or no. George Washington had done something or other there--got married, I believe. I think the church had some very fine ivy on it, but I am not sure. I thought it was old and small, and that it might do very well in summer, but that under present circumstances Washington himself would forgive me for being wholly in the thought of getting to a fire. Hunger and cold, cramped positions and rain dripping in on me had blunted everything in me except longings for creature comforts. The lieutenant drove all around the church religiously before starting on our way again. “I don’t believe you saw it at all,” he said to me with real concern. “Oh, yes, I did!” I answered promptly, terrified lest we should be turned back to look at it again, “I saw it thoroughly.” Of course, Milicent had looked the old church over and talked intelligently about it, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember whether it was made of brick or wood. And I didn’t care, either. The rain had dwindled into a drizzle, night was coming on, and I began to grow more and more anxious to find a stopping-place.