[From the Itinerarium of Octavian Nothing]

’Twas but a few hours after I had written my brief entry upon our first raid that we anchored by a bend in the river and were again sent ashore, that numbers and arms might impress with force.

The day was an excessive warm one; the dirt itself smelled of heat when we landed; and, as if distempered, the skies began a sickly-warm drizzle as we formed upon the dock.

We marched up athwart a hillock toward the house, Olakunde beating our step to better impress upon the inhabitants our seriousness of purpose. This drumming could not outstrip that of the heavens, which opened up upon us with tattoo of rain so furious that it seemed to bring on night.

Serjeant Clippinger called a halt before the house, and, standing beside Olakunde, had begun to entreat the inhabitants to show themselves, that we might deal with them fairly, according to the King’s intention, when detonations flared in all the upper windows and we found ourselves in the midst of a very fierce fire indeed.

There was no need to call retreat — for at the intensity of that first volley, we had stumbled backward — and now we found ourselves split into two parties. One ran; one held.

Clippinger ordered us to stand and fire — which we attempted — but our powder was so wet that a full two-thirds of the muskets — mine among them — produced nothing but a hollow click — and still the rebel shots blasted out through the windows.

It was at this moment that three more rebel muskets discovered themselves in the dark of the barn, and fired at our flank — causing great confusion, though I believe none was struck. Our other party, fleeing, made an uneven retreat down toward the launch — Clippinger, still by our side, calling across the lawn to them to stand — stand and fire, cowards — but nothing could induce them.

Our small party remained — Bono saying, “We perhaps flee, sir?”— and Clippinger swearing and looking in a panic. He assented to flight, and we turned and fled in a disorderly rout.

Now came, however, the boys out of the barn, and they descended upon us with sickle, froe, and scythe. We running, Clippinger ordered still that we affix our bayonets, which I did with trouble, the metal slick with rain, my fingers skirret-stiff with fear — and we found our van overtaken by the brutes. We turned to fight, thinking ourselves rather fine with bayonets — and this did indeed at first startle our pursuers —

We stood our ground now and with great shouts and menace, advanced upon the enemy, who were engaged in full combat with the last three or four of our number. Clippinger stood by and shouted I know not what through the devilish drench and I saw then that the rest of the detachment had still not halted, but had continued their flight down to the shore, and so we were alone, the few of us.

No sooner had this I seen — and queried to myself as to whether a whipping for insubordination attendant on flight was preferable to engaging in the chaotic affray before me — me standing at some fifteen foot distance from the combat — no sooner —

Olakunde ran past me — and Clippinger cried, “Flee!”— and two more soldiers hurtled by me — and then we were all fled, and coursing down through the fields and shrubs. I followed Bono closely and reasoned that soon should I be once again in the Crepuscule’s berth, reclined in that smoky, stale, yet familiar atmosphere, drying, able to sleep, the guns of the ship ringed and crowning us like laurels.

I looked back to gauge the progress of our pursuers, and whether they followed — and ’twas then I saw that Pomp had fallen behind the rest of us, cut off.

He was at some several hundred yards’ distance from us, alone in a paddock, running back and forth, followed by a clutch of men.

It appeared a children’s game: the running boy, the others circling to meet him.

I ceased my flight; and he turned this way and that, darting to elude them until he was surrounded.

He raised up his bayonet. They sliced at him with their blades. He did not resist them, but simply dropped his musket — and a blade ran across him. He squealed high and shrill, and I saw the blood spread upon him.

Clutching my musket, I ran back toward him; and was stopped in my progress by Pro Bono, who, sensible of the pause in my flight, had returned to see what delayed me.

“You can’t,” he said to me. “You can’t, Prince O. There’s twelve of them or thirteen.”

They were lifting Pomp between them. Others stalked away, in search of more prey.

Bono dragged me back behind a great bush and swore. I maintained I had to return and aid my friend.

“You ain’t going.” Bono held my arms.

“I have struck you before,” I said.

“Let us get reinforcements,” said Bono; which now I see was but his way to distract me from my course, but which then, in my disordered state, seemed excellent advice.

And so we ran, loping past paddock and hedge.

Down upon the dock, some twenty of our Regiment were in the two launches waiting against the Serjeant’s return, with, every few moments, a figure running across the slats from the shore, dimmed by the rain.

We reached the water, though well upriver of the dock. I was in close pursuit of Bono. We saw Serjeant Clippinger in the bushes before us. I followed upon the others’ heels, the last in our line, and we cut along the shore toward the launches.

’Twas then we saw the force of men from the barn step forth from the parterre and proceed to the end of the dock, standing, a terrible brood, with their weapons raised. They stood between us and our boats. They had not spied us, but they knew we lingered, and they blocked our route to safety.

One of the launches pushed off and hung in the waters. Someone upon the boat called for a volley, which offensive yielded no results, the powder now being soaked beyond all ignition.

The band of rebels stepped forth upon the dock, and the second launch lit off from the shore, hanging close, lest Clippinger should reappear.

We were now gathered, a small group of us — Bono, Olakunde, Clippinger, Privates Harrison and Ackerman — hanging back amidst some bushes; and Clippinger said, “Mark, the Crep will fire her guns and make short work of these ruffians.” He nodded his head at the rebels. “Speak you to a nine-pounder, my friends.”

We waited in the rain, and the two launches drifted upon the Rappahannock, and still the Crepuscule made no move to aid.

“He is alive,” I said to Bono. “He was wounded, but I vow, he still lives.”

Bono bade me hush; but nothing in my breast permitted me hush.

We crept some feet forward toward the dock and there waited. We were not awarded with any comfortable view, for the launches put forth their oars and made their way back toward the ship.

We were abandoned.

I presented to Bono that we must return up the hill and liberate our friend; to which he replied that I would be no such fool. I would not be denied, but set off; and found Bono following, hissing warnings at me.

We had not gone far — Bono all the while expostulating and decrying me for an idiot, would get us slain — when we perceived that we should have to expose ourselves to cross the paddocks and reach the spot where last we had seen our companion. We made our way around the edge of the meadow, keeping low, and saw, with the lessening of the rain, men moving about up at the house. We could not espy Pomp, living or dead.

We were spotted then; there were shouts and calls, and we retreated down toward the shore, pursued.

We rejoined Clippinger. We hunched there half-hidden, the six of us, as the Crepuscule stood inactive on the river.

The men gathered at the farm were begun a sweep to ferret out any who had not regained the launches — we could hear them call to each other. One unfortunate they found — I know not who — and we heard him begging for mercy as they led him away. We heard them approach, and fled along the riverside, stepping through high grass and bramble.

For perhaps half of an hour, we fled thus. A state of greater wretchedness could hardly be imagined. I thought of the wetness — always the wetness — which pervaded all; that was foremost in my thoughts; for in times of greatest strife, the mind oft relucts to animadvert upon things most awful; and so, the chilly scald of my shirt hung across me, the reek of metal in the air, the slap of leaves across my face — these were the objects of my notice.

We came to a tributary of the river — we knew not its name — surrounded by a great area of marshy ground, and with difficulty made our way along it, often sunk to our knees in mud and brackish water.

’Twas then we heard, as from a distance infinitely far, the crack of the Crepuscule’s guns, too minute to serve us to any purpose. We squatted in the mud and rested. We did not speak, the six of us, but maintained a gloomy, shuddering silence.

In — I know not — an hour, perhaps two — we heard dogs come to tear us out, and once more rose and moved. ’Twas a warm evening, and we were now so involved with the rain that it no longer cloyed. We felt naked to the elements.

At some time, the rain ceased, but now all was black, and our progress slow. We tripped and could make little headway, and sticks cut at us and the mosquito-flies now encircled us mercilessly and ate at us. We fell and rose and wandered on.

They came for us through the woods — lanterns and dogs — and we ran as best we could. The dogs tumbled across the hummocks and cried out for our blood. We could not see them but their Cerberus tumult filled the black wood and wearied us still more.

We were trapped by them, and each ran our way through the tall grasses; and I saw a faint gleam as two bodies charged past me, and Bono darted the other way, and I perceived that Bono had leaped into the tributary river to cross it. This I did too, with my musket clutched absurdly in one hand, and clutched in my head, the fevered hope that once crossed, the river should absolve us of scent, and the dogs lose us.

No sooner had I plunged into the river and, with convulsive strokes, my hand still holding my musket above the water, set out to cross it, than I saw Olakunde following Bono. He being unable to swim, he was holding tight to his drum, which held him aloft, while Clippinger thrashed at the water beside him.

We swam behind Bono until we had crossed the river, and then drifted silently, heads only above the water, bodies below crouched and twitching along the mud floor. We heard the dogs flood up and down the far shore, where we had stood.

I do not know what became of the other two who fled. I have not heard of them from that day to this, whether they found their own escape, or were taken by our pursuers.

May God have mercy upon them.

And so Bono and I, Clippinger and Olakunde lay that night in the mud of the marsh, flies thick upon our heads, roots around our fingers, guns lain in leaves upon the shore. We were sundered from our party, lost even to those who were lost upon their island fastness, and the country was alive with those who hated us, and wished nothing more than to teach us of our subordination.