We satisfied our fears on this point by the hasty conceit that we were not going to be caught on this trip, as we only proposed to climb to the top of the big hill.
Ascending Bolivar or London Heights is like climbing up the others, and has been well described. When we reached the summit, we found a clearing of a couple of acres which had the appearance of having been very recently occupied, and the discovery of the ashes and blackened places on the rocks where camp-fires had been--we knew not how recently--burning served to make us the least bit nervous. We were disappointed in the expected view of the rebel armies, as the heavy growth of trees in that direction wholly obstructed the view; but we were rewarded with a most satisfactory observation of our own troops and camps on the Maryland side of the river.
Satisfied with having scaled the mountain, and a little bit uneasy, we soon began our descent, taking a different course from that we had followed in coming up.
When we had about reached the road that leads along the water at the base of the heights, my chum startled me by grabbing frantically at my leg as I was about to climb over the fence into the road, shrieking, like a scared girl: "There's a man." And before I had time to look in the direction indicated, he continued, excitedly: "Great Scott! there's a whole lot of them."
He started to run back as fast as his legs would carry him, leaving me almost pinned to the fence with astonishment.
His movement had the immediate effect of causing a half-dozen armed men to rush suddenly from their ambush, straight down the road toward us.
My companion, in grabbing me by the leg as a fierce dog would a tramp getting over the fence, for the moment so startled me that I lost my head, and, thinking something was coming at us from behind, I jumped over the fence toward the danger while he ran off on the other side.
[Illustration: "THANK GOD, I'M SAFE AMONG MY FRIENDS."]
On finding myself confronted by three Rebels in uniform, two of whom had guns, the third, being an officer, gesticulated in a threatening, inelegant sort of style with the hand in which he carelessly held a cocked revolver; I at once walked toward them and, with a suddenly assumed air of relief, said: