The sentinels were evidently in no condition to discharge their duties with fidelity, for they had been marching and fighting for two or three days, and were nearly exhausted. Leaning against the door, Tom discovered a musket, which the careless guard had left there. On the floor in the entry lay two rebel soldiers. They had stretched themselves across the threshold of the door, so that no one could pass in or out of the church without stepping over them.

Tom carefully rose from his recumbent posture, and took possession of the musket. Then, with the utmost prudence, he stepped over the bodies of the sleeping soldiers; but with all his circumspection, he could not prevent one of his shoes from squeaking a little, and it required only a particle of noise to rouse the guard.

"Who goes there?" demanded one of them, springing to his feet.

"Is this the way you do your duty?" replied Tom, as sternly as though he had been a brigadier general.

"Who are you?" said the soldier, apparently impressed by the words and the tones of him who reproved his neglect.

"Who am I, you sleepy scum! I'll let you know who I am in about ten minutes," added Tom, as he passed out at the front door of the church.

"Give me back my gun—won't you?" pleaded the confused sentinel.

"I'll give it back to you at the court-martial which will sit on your case to-morrow."

"Who goes there?" challenged one of the sentinels on the outside.

"Who goes there!" added Tom, in a sneering tone. "Have you waked up? Where were you five minutes ago, when I passed this post? There won't be a prisoner left here by morning. The long roll wouldn't wake up such a stupid set of fellows."

"Stop, sir!" said the astonished sentinel. "You can't pass this line."

"Can't I, you stupid fool? I have passed it while you were asleep."

"I haven't been asleep."

"Where have you been, then?" demanded Tom with terrible energy.

"Been here, sir."

"I'll court-martial the whole of you!"

"Stop, sir, or I'll fire at you!" added the soldier, as Tom moved on.

"Fire at me! Fire, if you dare, and I'll rid the army of one unfaithful man on the spot!" said the soldier boy, as he raised the musket to his shoulder.

"Don't fire, you fool!" interposed one of the men whom Tom had roused from his slumbers in the entry. "Don't you see he is an officer?"

"I'll teach you how to perform your duty!" added Tom, as he walked away.

The soldier, governed by the advice of his companion, offered no further objection to the departure of Tom; and he moved off as coolly as though he had just been regularly relieved from guard duty. He had walked but a short distance before he discovered the camp of a regiment or brigade, which, of course, it was necessary for him to avoid. Leaving the road, he jumped over the fence into a field—his first object being to place a respectful distance between himself and the enemy.

The scene through which he had just passed, though he had preserved the appearance of coolness and self-possession, had been exceedingly trying to his nerves; and when the moment of pressing danger had passed, he found his heart up in his throat, and his strength almost wasted by the excitement. He felt as one feels when he has just escaped a peril which menaced him with instant death. It was singular that the soldier had not fired, but the fact that he did not convinced Tom that there is an amazing power in impudence.

For half an hour, he pursued his way with haste and diligence, but without knowing where he was going—whether he was moving toward Richmond or Washington. As the musket which he had taken from the church was not only an encumbrance, but might betray him, he threw it away, though, thinking some means of defence might be useful, he retained the bayonet, and thrust it in his belt. Thus relieved of his burden, he walked till he came to a road. As there was no appearance of an enemy in any direction, he followed this road for some time, and finally it brought him to the object of his search—the railroad.

But then came up the most perplexing question he had yet been called upon to decide. To that railroad, as to all others, there were, unfortunately, two ends—one of which lay within the Federal lines, and the other within the rebel lines. If Tom had been an astronomer, which he was not, the night was too cloudy to enable him to consult the stars; besides, some railroads are so abominably crooked that the heavenly orbs would hardly have been safe pilots. He did not know which was north, nor which was south, and to go the wrong way would be to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.

Tom sat down by the side of the road, and tried to settle the difficult question; but the more he thought, the more perplexed he became—which shows the folly of attempting to reason when there are no premises to reason from. He was, no doubt, an excellent logician; but bricks cannot be made without straw.

"Which way shall I go?" said Tom to himself, as he stood up and peered first one way and then the other through the gloom of the night.

But he could not see Washington in one direction, nor Richmond in the other, and he had not a single landmark to guide him in coming to a decision.

"I'll toss up!" exclaimed he, desperately, as he took off his cap and threw it up into the air. "Right side up, this way—wrong side, that way; and may the fates or the angels turn it in the proper way."

He stooped down to pick up the cap, and ascertain which way it had come down. It came down right side up, and Tom immediately started off in the direction indicated. Although he had no confidence in the arbitrament of the cap, he felt relieved to find the question disposed of even in this doubtful manner.

He kept both eyes wide open as he advanced, for if he had taken the wrong way a few miles of travel would bring him to the main camp of the rebels in the vicinity of Manassas Junction. He pursued his lonely journey for some time without impediment, and without discovering any camp, either large or small. He gathered new confidence as he proceeded. After he had walked two or three hours upon the railroad, he thought it was about time for Fairfax station to heave in sight, if he had chosen the right way—or for the rebel camps to appear if he had chosen the wrong way. With the first place he was familiar, as his regiment had encamped a short distance from it.

He was sorely perplexed by the non-appearance of either of these expected points. The country began to look wilder and less familiar as he proceeded. The region before him looked rugged and mountainous, and the dark outlines of several lofty peaks touched the sky in front of him. But with the feeling that every step he advanced placed a wider space between him and his captors at Sudley church, he continued on his way till the gray streaks of daylight appeared behind him.

This phenomenon promised to afford him a gleam of intelligence upon which to found a correct solution of his course. Tom knew that, in the ordinary course of events, the sun ought to rise in the east and set in the west. If he was going to the north, the sun would rise on his right hand—if to the south, on his left hand. The streaks of light grew more and more distinct, and the clouds having rolled away, he satisfied himself where the sun would appear. Contrary to both wings of his theory, the place was neither on his right nor his left, for it was exactly behind him. But his position might be upon a bend of the railroad whose direction did not correspond with the general course of the road. For half an hour longer, therefore, he pursued his way, carefully noting every curve, until he was fully convinced that his course was nearer west than north. The sun rose precisely as had been laid down in the programme, and precisely where he expected it would rise.

It was clear enough that he was not moving to the south; and, satisfied that he was in no danger of stumbling upon Richmond, his courage increased, and he plodded on till he discovered a small village—or what would be called such in Virginia—though it contained only a few houses. As he still wore the uniform of the United States army, he did not deem it prudent to pass through this village; besides, he was terribly perplexed to know what station it could be, and what had become of Fairfax. Though he must have passed through the country before, it did not look natural to him.

Leaving the railroad, he took to the fields, intending to pass round the village, or conceal himself in the woods till he could go through it in safety. After walking diligently for so many hours, Tom was reminded that he had a stomach. His rations on the preceding day had not been very bountiful, and he was positively hungry. The organ which had reminded him of its existence was beginning to be imperative in its demands, and a new problem was presented for solution—one which had not before received the attention which it deserved.

In the fields and forest he found a few berries; but all he could find made but a slight impression upon the neglected organ. If Tom was a philosopher, in his humble way, he was reasonable enough to admit that a man could not live without eating. At this point, therefore, the question of rations became a serious and solemn problem; and the longer it remained unsolved the more difficult and harassing it became.

After he had rested all the forenoon in a secluded spot, without interruption from man or beast, he decided to settle this question of rations once for all. If impudence had enabled him to pass a line of rebel sentries, it ought to furnish him with a dinner. Leaving his hiding place, he walked till he discovered a small house, at which he determined to apply for something to eat.



CHAPTER XVII.

DINNER AND DANGER.

The house at which Tom applied for food evidently did not belong to one of the "first families," or, if it did, the owner's fortunes had become sadly dilapidated. It was built of rough boards, with a huge stone chimney, which was erected on the outside of the structure. The humblest fisherman in Pinchbrook Harbor would have thought himself poorly accommodated in such a rough and rickety mansion.

If Tom's case had not been growing desperate, he would not have run the risk of showing himself to any person on the "sacred soil" who was "to the manor born;" but his stomach was becoming more and more imperative in its demands, and he knocked at the front door with many misgivings, especially as his exchequer contained less than a dollar of clear cash.

The inmates were either very deaf or very much indisposed to see visitors; and Tom, after he had knocked three times, began to think he had not run any great risk in coming to this house. As nobody replied to his summons, he took the liberty to open the door and enter. The establishment was even more primitive in its interior than its exterior, and the soldier boy could not help contrasting it with the neat houses of the poor in his native town.

The front door opened into a large room without the formality of an entry or hall. In one corner of the apartment stood a bed. At one side was a large fireplace, in which half a dozen sticks of green wood were hissing and sizzling in a vain attempt to make the contents of an iron pot, which hung over them, reach the boiling point. No person was to be seen or heard on the premises, though the fire and the pot were suggestive of humanity at no great distance from the spot.

A door on the back side of the room was open, and Tom looked out in search of the occupants of the house. In the garden he discovered the whole family, consisting of a man and his wife, a girl of twelve, and a boy of ten. The man was digging in the garden, and the rest of the troupe seemed to be superintending the operation. The head of the family was altogether the most interesting person to Tom, for he must either shake hands or fight with him. He did not look like a giant in intellect, and he certainly was not a giant in stature. With the bayonet still in his belt, Tom was not afraid of him.

"How are you, people?" said Tom, as he walked towards the family, who with one accord suspended all operations, and gave their whole attention to the stranger.

"How are ye, yourself?" replied the man, rather gruffly.

"Do you keep a hotel?" demanded Tom, who concealed the anxiety of his heart under a broad grin.

"I reckon I don't. What do you want here?"

"I want something to eat," replied Tom, proceeding to business with commendable straight-forwardness.

"We hain't got nothin' here," said the man, sourly. "That ain't what ye come fur, nuther."

"Must have something to eat. I'm not very particular, but I must have something."

"You can't hev it 'bout yere, no how. That ain't what ye come fur, nuther."

"If you know what I came for better than I do, suppose you tell me what it is," added Tom, who was a little mystified by the manner of the man.

"You air one of them soger fellers, and you want me to 'list; but I tell yer, ye can't do nothin' of the sort. I'll be dog derned if I'll go."

"I don't want you to go," protested Tom. "I'm half starved and all I want is something to eat."

"Yer don't reelly mean so."

"Yes, I do."

"Where d'yer come from?"

"From down below here. Have you seen any soldiers pass through this place?"

"I reckon I hev; but they hain't seen me; and I reckon they won't see me very soon;" and the man chuckled at his own cleverness in keeping clear of recruiting officers.

"I don't want you, and if you will give me something to eat, you will get rid of me very quick."

"Betsey, you kin feed the feller, if yer like, and I'll go over and see whar the hogs is."

The man dropped his shovel, and began to move off towards the woods, probably to see whether Tom would attempt to detain him. At the same time "Betsey" led the way into the house, and the visitor paid no further attention to the master.

"We hain't got much to eat in the house," said the woman, as they entered the room. "There's some biled pork and pertaters in the pot, and we've got some bread, sech as 'tis."

"It will do me very well. I'm hungry, and can eat any thing," replied Tom.

The woman placed a tin plate on the table, and dished up the contents of the kettle on the fire. She added some cold hoe cake to the dinner, and Tom thought it was a feast fit for a king. He took a seat at the table, and made himself entirely at home. The food was coarse, but it was good, and the hungry soldier boy did ample justice to the viands. The boy and girl who had followed him into the house, stood, one on each side of him, watching him in speechless astonishment.

"Where did yer come from?" asked the woman, when Tom had about half finished his dinner.

"From down below," replied Tom, rather indefinitely.

"Don't b'long in these yere parts, I reckon?"

"No, marm."

"Where are ye gwine?"

"Going to join my regiment."

"Where is yer rigiment?"

"That's more than I know, marm."

"How long yer been travelling?" persisted the woman, who was perhaps afraid that the guest would eat up the whole of the family's dinner, if she did not make some kind of a feint to attract his attention.

"Only a few days, marm."

"Kin yer till me what all thet noise was about day 'fore yesterday?"

"Yes, marm; it was a big battle."

"Gracious me! Yer don't say so! Whar was it?"

"Down below Centreville."

"Which beat?"

"The Confederates drove the Yankees off the field," answered Tom, suspending business long enough to glance at the woman, and see how the intelligence was received.

"Yer don't! Then they won't want my old man."

Tom was unable to determine whether his hostess was Union or "Secesh" from her words or her looks. He could not inform her whether they would want her old man or not. When he had eaten all he could, he proposed like an honest youth to pay for what he had eaten; but Betsey had the true idea of southern hospitality, and refused to receive money for the food eaten beneath her roof. She had a loaf of coarse bread, however, in which she permitted Tom to invest the sum of six cents.

"I am very much obliged to you, marm; and I shall be glad to do as much for you, any time," said Tom, as he went towards the front door.

As he was about to open it, his ears were startled by an imperative knock on the outside. He stepped back to one of the two windows on the front of the house, where he discovered an officer and two "grayback" soldiers. The ghost of his grandmother would not have been half so appalling a sight, and he retreated to the back door with a very undignified haste.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed the lady of the house. "Who kin thet be?"

"An officer and two soldiers," replied Tom, hastily.

"Then they are arter my old man!" said she, dropping into the only chair the room contained.

"Don't say I'm here, marm, and I'll help your husband, if they catch him. Tell them he has gone off to be absent a week."

"He'd be absent more'n thet if he knowed them fellers was arter him."

The woman moved towards the front door, and Tom through the back door; but as he was about to pass into the garden, he caught a glimpse of one of the graybacks in the rear of the house. For a moment his case seemed to be hopeless; but he retreated into the room again, just as the woman opened the front door to admit the officer. He could not escape from the house, and his only resource was to secure a hiding place within its walls. There were only two which seemed to be available; one of these was the bed, and the other the chimney. If any search was made, of course the soldiers would explore the bed first; and the chimney seemed the most practicable.

There was no time for consideration, for the woman had already opened the door, and was answering the questions of the Confederate officer; so Tom sprang into the fireplace, and, by the aid of the projecting stones, climbed up to a secure position. The chimney was large enough to accommodate half a dozen boys of Tom's size. The fire had gone out, and though the stones were rather warm in the fireplace, he was not uncomfortable.

The fears of the lady of the house proved to be well grounded this time, for the party had actually come in search of her "old man;" and what was more, the officer announced his intention not to leave without him.

"He's gone away fur a week, and he won't be hum before the fust of August, no how," said the woman resolutely, and adopting Tom's suggestion to the letter.

"All nonsense, woman! He is about here, somewhere, and we will find him."

"You may, if you kin."

The officer then went out at the back door, as Tom judged by his footsteps, and the woman asked one of the children what had become of the other soldier man. The boy said he was up chimney. She then told them not to tell the officer where he was.

"What shell I do?" said she, placing herself before the fireplace.

"Don't be alarmed. He will keep out of their way," replied Tom.

"But the officer man said he was gwine to stay 'bout yere till he gits hum," moaned the poor woman.

"He will not do any such thing. Your husband has the woods before him, and he won't let them catch him."

"Deary me! I'm 'feared they will."

"Where are they now?"

"They're gone out to look for him."

The officer and his men returned in a few moments, having satisfied themselves that the proprietor of the place was not on the premises.

"Now we'll search the house," said the officer; and Tom heard them walking about in the room.

Of course the militia man could not be found, and the officer used some very unbecoming language to express his disapprobation of the skulker, as he called him.

"Woman, if you don't tell me where your husband is, I'll have you arrested," said he, angrily.

"I don't know myself. He's gone off over the mountains to git some things. Thet's all I know about it, and if yer want to arrest me, yer kin."

But the officer concluded that she would be a poor substitute for an able bodied man, and he compromised the matter by leaving one of the privates, instructing him not to let the woman or the children leave the house, and to remain till the skulker returned.

This was not very pleasant information for Tom who perceived that he was likely to be shut up in the chimney for the rest of the day, and perhaps be smoked or roasted out at supper time. Climbing up to the top of his prison house, he looked over, and saw the officer and one private disappear in the woods which lay between the house and the railroad. Looking over the other way, he saw the coveted recruit approaching the house from beyond the garden.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE REBEL SOLDIER.

Tom Somers was not very well satisfied with his situation, for the soldier who had been left in possession of the house was armed with a musket, and the prospect of escaping before night was not very flattering. The patriarch of the family, who had such a horror of recruiting officers, was approaching, and in a few moments there would be an exciting scene in the vicinity.

Independent of his promise made to the woman to help her husband, if she would not betray him, Tom deemed it his duty to prevent the so-called Confederate States of America from obtaining even a single additional recruit for the armies of rebellion and treason. Without having any personal feeling in the matter, therefore, he was disposed to do all he could to assist his host in "avoiding the draft." What would have been treason in New England was loyalty in Virginia.

The unfortunate subject of the Virginia militia law was unconsciously approaching the trap which had been set for him. He had, no doubt, come to the conclusion, by this time, that the hungry soldier boy was not a recruiting officer, or even the corporal of a guard sent to apprehend him, and he was returning with confidence to partake of his noonday meal. Tom, from his perch at the top of the chimney, watched him as he ambled along over the rough path with his eyes fixed upon the ground. There was something rather exciting in the situation of affairs, and he soon found himself deeply interested in the issue.

The unhappy citizen owing service to the Confederate States climbed over the zigzag fence that enclosed his garden, and continued to approach the rude dwelling which the law had defined to be his castle. Tom did not dare to speak in tones loud enough to be heard by the innocent victim of the officer's conspiracy, for they would have betrayed his presence to the enemy. Sitting upon the top stones of the chimney, he gesticulated violently, hoping to attract his attention; but the man did not look up, and consequently could not see the signals.

He had approached within ten rods of the back door of the house, when Tom, fearing his footsteps might attract the attention of the soldier, ventured to give a low whistle. As this was not heeded, he repeated the signal when the man was within two or three rods of the house; but even this was not noticed, and throwing his head forward, so that the sound of his voice should not descend the chimney, he spoke.

"Halloo!" said he.

The man suddenly stopped, and looked up. Tom made signals with his hands for him to leave; but this mute language appeared not to be intelligible to him.

"Consarn yer picter, what are yer doin' up thar?" said the proprietor of the castle, in tones which seemed to Tom as loud as the roar of the cannon at Bull Run.

"Hush! Hush!" replied Tom, gesticulating with all his might, and using all his ingenuity to invent signs that would convey to the militiaman the idea that he was in imminent danger.

"You be scotched!" snarled the man. "What are yer doin'? What ails yer?"

"They are after you!" added Tom, in a hoarse whisper.

The fellow most provokingly refused to hear him, and Tom thought his skull was amazingly thick, and his perceptions amazingly blunt.

"Now you come down from thar," said he, as he picked up a couple of stones. "You act like a monkey, and I s'pose yer be one. Now make tracks down that chimley."

But instead of doing this, Tom retreated into his shell, as a snail does when the moment of peril arrives. The soldier in the house was not deaf; and if he had been, he could hardly have helped hearing the stentorian tones of his victim. Instead of going out the back door, like a sensible man, he passed out at the front door, and in a moment more Tom heard his voice just beneath him.

"Halt!" shouted the soldier, as he brought his musket to his shoulder. "Your name is Joe Burnap."

"That's my name, but I don't want nothin' o' you," replied the embarrassed militiaman, as he dropped the stones with which he had intended to assault Tom's citadel.

"I want something of you," replied the soldier. "You must go with me. Advance, and give yourself up."

"What fur?" asked poor Joe.

"We want you for the army. You are an enrolled militiaman. You must go with me."

"Ill be dog derned if I do," answered Joe Burnap, desperately.

"If you attempt to run away, I'll shoot you. You shall go with me, dead or alive, and hang me if I care much which."

Joe evidently did care. He did not want to go with the soldier; his southern blood had not been fired by the wrongs of his country; and he was equally averse to being shot in cold blood by this minion of the Confederacy. His position was exceedingly embarrassing, for he could neither run, fight, nor compromise. While matters were in this interesting and critical condition, Tom ventured to raise his head over the top of the chimney to obtain a better view of the belligerents. Joe stood where he had last seen him, and the soldier was standing within three feet of the foot of the chimney.

"What ye going to do, Joe Burnap?" demanded the latter, after waiting a reasonable time for the other to make up his mind.

"What am I gwine to do?" repeated Joe, vacantly, as he glanced to the right and the left, apparently in the hope of obtaining some suggestion that would enable him to decide the momentous question.

"You needn't look round, Joe; you've got to come or be shot. Just take your choice between the two, and don't waste my time."

"I s'pose I can't help myself," replied Joe. "I'll tell ye what I'll do. I want to fix up things about hum a little, and I'll jine ye down to the Gap to-morrow."

"No you don't, Joe Burnap!" said the soldier, shaking his head.

"Then I'll jine ye to-night," suggested the strategist.

"My orders are not to return without you, and I shall obey them."

Mrs. Burnap, who had followed the soldier out of the house, stood behind him wringing her hands in an agony of grief. She protested with all a woman's eloquence against the proceedings of the soldier; but her tears and her homely rhetoric were equally unavailing. While the parties were confronting each other, the soldier dropped his piece, and listened to the arguments of Joe and his wife. When he turned for a moment to listen to the appeals of the woman, her husband improved the opportunity to commence a retreat. He moved off steadily for a few paces, when the enemy discovered the retrograde march, and again brought the gun to his shoulder.

"None of that, Joe," said the soldier, sternly. "Now march back again, or I'll shoot you;" and Tom heard the click of the hammer as he cocked the piece. "I've fooled long enough with you, and we'll end this business here. Come here, at once, or I'll put a bullet through your head."

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! For mercy's sake don't shoot," cried Mrs. Burnap.

"I'll give him one minute to obey the order; if he don't do it then, I'll fire. That's all I've got to say."

Tom saw by the soldier's manner that he intended to execute his threat. He saw him brace up his nerves, and otherwise prepare himself for the bloody deed. But Tom did not think that Joe had the stubbornness or the courage, whichever it might be called, to run the risk of dodging the bullet. He foresaw, too, that, if Joe gave himself up, his hiding place would be exposed, and the soldier would have two prisoners to conduct back to his officer, instead of one. It was therefore high time for him to do something for his own protection, if not for that of his host.

The necessity of defending himself, or of doing something to cover his retreat in an emergency, had been anticipated by Tom, and he had made such preparations as the circumstances would admit. His first suggestion was to dart his bayonet down at the rebel soldier, as he had seen the fishermen of Pinchbrook harpoon a horse mackerel; but the chances of hitting the mark were too uncertain to permit him to risk the loss of his only weapon, and he rejected the plan. He adopted the method, however, in a modified, form, deciding to use the material of which the chimney was constructed, instead of the bayonet. The stones being laid in clay instead of mortar, were easily detached from the structure, and he had one in his hands ready for operations.

"Come here, Joe Burnap, or you are a dead man," repeated the soldier, who evidently had some scruples about depriving the infant Confederacy of an able-bodied recruit.

Tom Somers, being unembarrassed by any such scruples, lifted himself up from his hiding place, and hurled the stone upon the soldier, fully expecting to hit him on the head, and dash out his brains. The best laid calculations often miscarry, and Tom's did in part, for the missile, instead of striking the soldier upon the head, hit him on the right arm. The musket was discharged, either by the blow or by the act of its owner, and fell out of his hands upon the ground.

Now, a stone as big as a man's head, does not fall from the height of fifteen feet upon any vulnerable part of the human frame without inflicting some injury; and in strict conformity with this doctrine of probabilities, the stone which Tom hurled down upon the rebel, and which struck him upon the right arm, entirely disabled that useful member. The hero of this achievement was satisfied with the result, though it had not realized his anticipations. Concluding that the time had arrived for an effective charge, he leaped out of the chimney upon the roof of the house, descended to the eaves, and then jumped down upon the ground.

The soldier, in panic and pain, had not yet recovered from the surprise occasioned by this sudden and unexpected onslaught. Tom rushed up to him, and secured the musket before he had time to regain his self-possession.

"Who are you?" demanded the soldier, holding up the injured arm with his left hand.

"Your most obedient servant," replied Tom, facetiously, as he placed himself in the attitude of "charge bayonets." "Have you any dangerous weapons about your person?"

"Yes, I have," replied the soldier, resolutely, as he retreated a few steps, and attempted to thrust his left hand into the breast pocket of his coat.

"Hands down!" exclaimed Tom, pricking his arm with the bayonet attached to the musket. "Here, Joe Burnap!"

"What d' yer want?" replied the proprietor of the house, who was as completely "demoralized" by the scene as the rebel soldier himself.

"Put your hand into this man's pocket, and take out his pistol. If he resists, I'll punch him with this," added Tom, demonstrating the movement by a few vigorous thrusts with the bayonet.

With some hesitation Joe took a revolver from the pocket of the soldier, and handed it to Tom.

"Examine all his pockets. Take out everything he has in them," added Tom, cocking the revolver, and pointing it at the head of the prisoner.

Joe took from the pockets of the rebel a quantity of pistol cartridges, a knife, some letters, and a wallet.

"Who's this fur?" asked Joe, as he proceeded to open the wallet, and take therefrom a roll of Confederate "shin-plasters."

"Give it back to him."

"But this is money."

"Money!" sneered Tom. "A northern beggar wouldn't thank you for all he could carry of it. Give it back to him, and every thing else except the cartridges."

Joe reluctantly restored the wallet, the letters, and the knife, to the pockets from which he had taken them. Tom then directed him to secure the cartridge box of the soldier.

"You are my prisoner," said Tom; "but I believe in treating prisoners well. You may go into the house, and if your arm is much hurt, Mrs. Burnap may do what she can to help you."

The prisoner sullenly attended the woman into the house, and Tom followed as far as the front door.

"Now, what am I gwine to do?" said Joe. "You've got me into a right smart scrape."

"I thought I had got you out of one," replied Tom. "Do you intend to remain here?"

"Sartin not, now. I must clear."

"So must I; and we have no time to spare. Get what you can to eat, and come along."

In ten minutes more, Tom and Joe Burnap were travelling towards the mountains.



CHAPTER XIX.

THROUGH THE GAP.

Joe Burnap was perfectly familiar with the country, and Tom readily accepted him as a guide; and, as they had a common object in view, neither had good cause for mistrusting the other. They walked, without stopping to rest, till the sun set behind the mountains towards which they were travelling.

"I reckon we needn't hurry now," said Joe, as he seated himself on a rock.

"I don't think there is any danger of their catching us," replied Tom, as he seated himself beside his fellow-traveller. "Can you tell me where we are?"

"I reckon I can. There ain't a foot of land in these yere parts that I hain't had my foot on. I've toted plunder of all sorts through these woods more'n ten thousand times."

"Well, where are we?" asked Tom, whose doubts in regard to the locality had not yet been solved.

In the pressure of more exciting matters, he had not attempted to explain why he did not come to Fairfax station while following the railroad.

"If we keep on a little while longer, I reckon we shall come to Thoroughfare Gap," answered Joe.

"But where do you live? What town is your house in?" asked Tom, who had never heard of Thoroughfare Gap before.

"Haymarket is the nearest town to my house."

"What railroad is that over there?" asked Tom, who was no nearer the solution of the question than he had been in the beginning.

"That's the Manassas Gap Railroad, I reckon," replied Joe, who seemed to be astonished at the ignorance of his companion.

"Just so," added Tom, who now, for the first time, comprehended where he was.

When he left Sudley church, he walked at random till he came to the railroad; but he had struck the Manassas Gap Railroad instead of the main line, and it had led him away from the great body of the rebels, though it also conducted him away from Washington, where he desired to go. He was perplexed at the discovery, and at once began to debate the question whether it was advisable for him to proceed any farther in this direction.

"I suppose you are a Union man—ain't you?" said Tom, after he had considered his situation for some time.

Instead of answering this question, Joe Burnap raised his eyes from the ground, and fixed his gaze intently upon Tom. He stared at him for a moment in doubt and silence, and then resumed his former attitude.

"You don't want to fight for the south," added Tom; "so I suppose you don't believe in the Southern Confederacy."

"I don't want to fight for nuther of 'em," replied Joe, after a moment of further consideration. "If they'll only let me alone, I don't keer which beats."

His position was certainly an independent one, and he appeared to be entirely impartial. The newspapers on either side would not have disturbed him. Patriotism—love of country—had not found a resting place in his soul. Tom had not, from the beginning, entertained a very high respect for the man; but now he despised him, and thought that a rebel was a gentleman compared with such a character. How a man could live in the United States, and not feel an interest in the stirring events which were transpiring around him, was beyond his comprehension. In one word, he so thoroughly despised Joe Burnap, that he resolved, at the first convenient opportunity, to get rid of him, for he did not feel safe in the company of such a person.

"Now which side do you fight fur?" asked Joe, after a long period of silence.

"For the Union side," replied Tom, promptly.

"What are yer doin' here, then?"

"I was in the battle below, and was taken prisoner, got away, and I want to get to Washington."

"I reckon this ain't the way to git thar," added Joe.

"I doubt whether I can get there any other way."

Just then, Tom would have given all the money he had in the world, and all that the government owed him, for a good map of Virginia—or even for a knowledge of geography which would have enabled him to find his way by the safest route to Washington. But he had been a diligent scholar in school, and had faithfully improved the limited opportunities which had been afforded him. His mind could recall the map of Virginia which he had studied in school, but the picture was too faint to be of much practical benefit to him.

He had treasured up some information, derived from the newspapers, in regard to the Manassas Gap Railroad. He knew that it passed through the Blue Ridge, at the western base of which flowed the Shenandoah River: this emptied into the Potomac, which would certainly conduct him to Washington. In following these two rivers, he should have to describe nearly a circle, which was not an encouraging fact to a boy on foot, with no resources, and in an enemy's country.

If he returned by the way he came, the country was filled with rebel soldiers, and he could hardly expect to pass through their lines without being captured. Difficult and dangerous as the route by the Shenandoah appeared, he decided to adopt it.

Joe Burnap proposed that they should have supper and opened the bag which he had filled with such eatables as he could hastily procure on leaving home. They ate a hearty meal, and then resumed their walk for another hour.

"I reckon we'd better stop here," said Joe. "The Gap's only half a mile from here, and it's too arly in the night to go through thar yet. Thar's too many soldiers goin' that way."

"What time will you go through?" asked Tom.

"Not afore midnight."

"Then I'll turn in and take a nap. I didn't sleep any last night."

"I'm agreed," replied Joe, who seemed to be indifferent to every thing while he could keep out of the rebel army.

Tom coiled up his body in the softest place he could find, and went to sleep. Exhausted by fatigue and the want of rest, he did not wake for many hours. He came to his senses with a start, and jumped upon his feet. For a moment, he could not think where he was; but then came the recollection that he was in the country of his enemies—a wanderer and a fugitive.

He looked about him in search of his travelling companion; but the fact that he could not see him in the night was no argument that he was not near him. He supposed Joe had chosen a place to sleep in the vicinity, and thinking he might not wake in season to pass through the Gap before daylight, he commenced a search for him. He beat about the place for half an hour, calling his companion by name; but he could not see him, and no sound responded to the call but the echoes of his own voice.

The independent Virginia farmer had anticipated Tom's intention to part company with him, and, by this time, perhaps, had passed through the Gap. The soldier boy was not quite ready to dispense with the services of his guide, inasmuch as he did not even know where the Gap was, or in what direction he must travel to reach it. While he was debating his prospects, an enterprising rooster, in the distance, sounded his morning call. This assured him that he must be near some travelled road, and, taking the direction from the fowl, he resumed his journey.

A short walk brought him out of the woods, and, in the gray light of the dawn, he discovered a house. As he did not care to make any new acquaintances, he avoided the house, and continued his travels till he arrived at a road. As it was too early in the morning for people to be stirring, he ventured to follow the highway, and soon perceived an opening in the mountains, which he doubted not was the Gap.

At sunrise he arrived at another house, which suddenly came into view as he rounded a bend in the road. Near it were several negroes engaged in various occupations. As he passed the house, the negroes all suspended operations, and stared at him till he was out of sight. He soon reached the Gap; but he had advanced only a short distance before he discovered a battery of light artillery stationed on a kind of bluff, and whose guns commanded the approaches in every direction.

Deeming it prudent to reconnoitre before he proceeded any farther, he also ascertained that the Gap was picketed by rebel infantry. Of course it was impossible to pass through under these circumstances, and he again took to the woods. The scanty supply of food which he had purchased from Mrs. Burnap was now produced, and he made an economical breakfast. Finding a secluded place, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep. Though he slept till the sun had passed the meridian, the day was a very long one.

When it was fairly dark, he resolved to attempt the passage of the Gap, for he was so tired of inaction that peril and hardship seemed preferable to doing nothing. Returning to the road, he pursued his way with due diligence through the narrowing defile of the mountains, till he suddenly came upon a sentinel, who challenged him. Before he started from his hiding place, Tom had carefully loaded the revolver which he had taken from the rebel soldier; and, as he walked along, he carried the weapon in his hand, ready for any emergency that might require its use.

The guard questioned him, and Tom replied that he had fought in the battle down below, and had a furlough to go home and see his father, who was very sick.

"Where's your furlough?" demanded the soldier.

"In my pocket."

"Let me see it."

"Here it is," replied Tom, producing an old letter which he happened to have in his pocket.

The sentinel took the paper, unfolded it, and turned it over two or three times. It was too dark for him to read it if he had been able to do so, for all the rebel soldiers are not gifted in this way.

"I reckon this won't do," he added, after patiently considering the matter. "Just you tote this paper up to the corporal thar, and if he says it's all right, you kin go on."

"But I can't stop to do all that. Here's my pass, and I want to go on. My father may die before I get home."

"What regiment do you b'long to?" asked the guard, who evidently did not wish to disoblige a fellow-soldier unnecessarily.

"The Second Virginia," replied Tom, at a venture.

"Where does your father live?" continued the sentinel.

"Just beyond the Gap, if he's living at all."

"What town?"

Tom was nonplussed, for he did not know the name of a single place on the route before him; and, of course, he did not dare to answer the question.

"About five or six miles from here," he answered.

"Is it Salem or White Plains?" demanded the soldier, whose cunning was inferior to his honesty.

"White Plains," added Tom, promptly accepting the suggestion.

"What's the matter with your father?"

"I don't know; he was taken suddenly."

"Pears like your uniform ain't exactly our sort," added the soldier.

"Mine was all used up, and I got one on the battle-field."

"I wouldn't do that. It's mean to rob a dead man of his clothes."

"Couldn't help it—I was almost naked," replied Tom, who perfectly agreed with the rebel on this point.

"You kin go on, Old Virginny," said the soldier, whose kindly sympathy for Tom and his sick father was highly commendable.

The soldier boy thanked the sentinel for his permission, of which he immediately availed himself. Tom did not yet realize the force of the maxim that "all is fair in war," and his conscience gave a momentary twinge as he thought of the deception he had practised upon the honest and kind-hearted rebel. He was very thankful that he had not been compelled to put a bullet through his head; but perhaps he was more thankful that the man had not been obliged to do him a similar favor.

The fugitive walked, with an occasional rest, till daylight the next morning. He went through three or four small villages. After passing through the Gap, he had taken the railroad, as less likely to lead him through the more thickly settled parts of the country. Before him the mountains of the Blue Ridge rose like an impassable wall, and when the day dawned he was approaching Manassas Gap. He had walked twenty-five miles during the night, and prudence, as well as fatigue, required him to seek a place of rest.



CHAPTER XX.

DOWN THE SHENANDOAH.

In that wild mountain region, Tom had no difficulty in finding a secluded spot, where there was no probability that he would be molested. He had been in a state of constant excitement during the night, for the country was full of soldiers. The mountaineers of Virginia were rushing to the standard of rebellion. They were a wild, rude set of men, and they made the night hideous with their debauchery. Tom succeeded in keeping out of the way of the straggling parties which were roaming here and there; but he was filled with dread and anxiety lest he should, at the next moment, stumble upon a camp, or a squad of these marauders.

The nook in the mountains which he had chosen as his resting place was a cleft in the rocks, concealed by the overhanging branches of trees. Here he made his bed, as the sun rose, and, worn out with fatigue and anxiety, he dropped asleep.

When he awoke, the sun was near the meridian. He rose and walked out a short distance from his lodging place, and listened for any sounds which might indicate the presence of an enemy. All was still; silence deep and profound reigned through the solitudes of the mountains. Tom returned to his place of concealment, and after eating the remainder of the food he had brought with him, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep again. He had nothing else to do, and he needed all the rest he could obtain. It was fortunate for him that he had self-possession enough to sleep—to banish his nervous doubts and fears, and thus secure the repose which was indispensable to the success of his arduous enterprise.

It was after sundown when he finished his second nap. He had slept nearly all day,—at least ten hours,—and he was entirely refreshed and restored. He was rather stiff in some of his limbs when he got up; but he knew this would wear off after a little exercise. He had no supper with which to brace himself for the night's work; so he took a drink from the mountain stream, and made his way back to the railroad. But it was too early then to commence the passage of the Gap, and he sat for a couple of hours by the side of the road, before he ventured to resume his journey.

While he was passing through the narrow gorge in the mountains, he met several persons, on foot and on horseback; but as he was armed with a pistol, he did not turn out for them; but when a party of soldiers approached, he sought a hiding place by the side of the road until they were out of hearing. When he had passed through the Gap, he came to a road crossing the track, and after debating the question thoroughly, he decided to abandon the railroad, and pursued his course by the common highway towards the North.

Continuing his journey diligently for a time longer, he came to another road, branching off to the left from the one he had chosen, which required further consideration. But his conclusion was satisfactory, and he continued on the same road, which soon brought him to a more thickly settled country than that through which he had been travelling.

By this time Tom's stomach began to be rebellious again, and the question of rations began to assume a serious aspect. He was not suffering for food, but it was so much more comfortable to travel upon a full stomach than an empty one, that he could not pass a dwelling house without thinking of the contents of the cellar and closets. It was perfectly proper to forage on the enemy; but he could not eat raw chicken and geese, or the problem of rations would have been effectually settled by a demonstration on the hen-coops of the Shenandoah valley.

He came to a halt before a large mansion, which had the appearance of belonging to a wealthy person. Its larder and kitchen cupboards, he doubted not, were plentifully supplied with the luxuries of the season; and Tom thought he might as well obtain his provisions now, as wait till he was driven to desperation by hunger. He entered the front gate of the great house, and stepped upon the veranda in front of it. The windows reached down to the floor. He tried one of them, and found that it was not fastened. He carefully raised the sash and entered.

Tom was determined to put himself upon his impudence on the present occasion; but he satisfied himself that his revolver was in condition for instant use before he proceeded any farther. Passing from the front room to an apartment in the rear, he found a lamp and matches, and concluded that he would have some light on the subject, which was duly obtained. Leaving this room, he entered another, which proved to be the kitchen. A patient search revealed to him the lurking place of a cold roast chicken, some fried bacon, bread, and crackers.

Placing these things on the table, he seated himself to partake of the feast which the forethought of the occupants had provided for him. Tom began to be entirely at home, for having thrown himself on his impudence now; he did not permit any doubts or fears to disturb him; but the handle of his pistol protruded from between the buttons of his coat. He ate till he had satisfied himself, when he happened to think that the coffee pot he had seen in the closet might contain some cold coffee; and he brought it out. He was not disappointed, and even found sugar and milk. He poured out a bowl of the beverage, and, having prepared it to his taste, was about to conclude the feast in this genteel style, when he heard footsteps in the adjoining entry.

Tom determined not to be cheated out of his coffee, and instead of putting himself in a flurry, he took the bowl in one hand and the pistol in the other. The door opened, and a negro timidly entered the room.

"Well, sar!" said the servant, as he edged along the side of the room. "Hem! Well, sar!"

Tom took no notice of him, but continued to drink his coffee as coolly as though he had been in his mother's cottage at Pinchbrook.

"Hem! Well, sar!" repeated the negro, who evidently wished to have the interloper take some notice of him.

But the soldier boy refused to descend from his dignity or his impudence. He finished the bowl of coffee as deliberately as though the darkey had been somewhere else.

"Well, sar! Who's you, sar?"

"Eh, Blackee?"

"Who's you, sar?"

"Good chicken! Good bread! Good bacon!" added Tom. "Are the folks at home, Blackee?"

"No, sar; nobody but de women folks, sar. Who's you, sar?"

"It don't make much difference who I am. Where's your master?"

"Gone to Richmond, sar. He's member ob Congress."

"Then he's in poor business, Blackee," said Tom, as he took out his handkerchief, and proceeded to transfer the remnants of his supper to its capacious folds.

"Better luff dem tings alone, sar."

But Tom refused to "luff dem alone," and when he had placed them on the handkerchief, he made a bundle of them.

"Golly, sar! I'll tell my missus what's gwine on down here," added the servant, as he moved towards the door.

"See here, Blackee," interposed Tom, pointing his pistol at the negro; "if you move, I'll put one of these balls through your skull."

"De Lud sabe us, massa! Don't shoot dis nigger, massa."

"Hold your tongue then, and mind what I say."

"Yes, massa," whined the darkey, in the most abject tones.

"Now come with me, Blackee, and if you open your mouth, one of these pills shall go down your throat."

Tom flourished his pistol before the negro, and led the way to the window by which he had entered the house. Passing out upon the veranda, he cautiously conducted the terrified servant to the road; and when they had gone a short distance, he halted.

"Now, Blackee, what town is this?" demanded Tom.

"Leeds Manor, sar," replied the trembling negro.

"How far is it to the Shenandoah River?"

"Only two or tree miles, massa. Now let dis chile go home again."

"Not yet."

"Hab mercy on dis nigger dis time, and sabe him."

"I won't hurt you, if you behave yourself."

Tom questioned him for some time in regard to the river, and the towns upon its banks; and when he had obtained all the information in regard to the valley which the servant possessed, he resumed his journey, driving the negro before him.

"Spare dis chile, massa, for de sake ob de wife and chil'n," pleaded the unwilling guide.

"I tell you I won't hurt you if you behave yourself," replied Tom. "You'll have the whole place down upon me in half an hour, if I let you go now."

"No, massa; dis nigger won't say one word 'bout you, nor de tings you took from de house—not one word, massa. Spare dis chile, and luff him go home."

But Tom compelled him to walk before him till they came to the river. The place was called Seaburn's Ford.

"Now, Blackee, if anybody wants me, tell them I've gone to Winchester," said Tom, when he had ordered his escort to halt.

"No, massa, I won't say one word," replied the servant.

"If you do, I'll shoot you the very next time I see you—depend upon that. You can go now."

The negro was not slow to avail himself of this privilege, and ran off, evidently expecting a bullet from the revolver would overtake him before he had gone far, for he glanced fearfully over his shoulder, begging his captor not to shoot him.

Tom stood upon the bank of the Shenandoah. The negro had told him that he was about thirty miles from Harper's Ferry, which he knew was in possession of General Patterson's forces. Attached to a tree on the shore was a small flat-bottomed boat, which attracted the attention of the soldier boy. Tom was accustomed to boats, and the sight of this one suggested a change of programme, for it would be much easier to float down the stream, than to walk the thirty miles. This was a point which needed no argument; and unfastening the painter of the boat, he jumped in, and pushed off. Seating himself in the stern, with the paddle in his hand, he kept her head with the current, and swept down the rapid stream like a dreamy youth just starting upon the voyage of life.

Like the pilgrim on the sea of time, Tom was not familiar with the navigation of the Shenandoah, and he had neither chart nor compass to assist him. The current was very swift, and once in a while the bateau bumped upon a concealed rock, or bar of sand. Fortunately no serious accident occurred to him, though he found that the labor of managing the boat was scarcely less than that of walking.

There was one consolation about it; he was in no danger of missing the road, and he was not bothered by Confederate soldiers or inquisitive civilians. His light bark rushed on its way down the stream, without attracting the notice of any of the inhabitants, if any were abroad at that unseemly hour of the night. The difficulties of the navigation were overcome with more or less labor, and when the day dawned, Tom made up his mind that he had done a good night's work; and choosing a secluded nook by the side of the river, he hauled up his boat, intending to wait for the return of darkness.

The place he had chosen appeared to be far from any habitation, and he ate his breakfast in a very hopeful frame of mind. Though he was not very tired or very sleepy, yet for the want of something better to do, he felt compelled to go to sleep, hoping, as on the previous day, to dispose of the weary hours in this agreeable manner. His pastime, however, was soon interrupted by loud shouts and the tramp of men, not far from the spot where he lay. A hurried examination of the surroundings assured him that he had chosen a resting place near one of the fords of the river, over which a rebel regiment was then passing.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE PROBLEM OF RATIONS.

The ford over which the rebel regiment was passing was only a few rods distant from the place where Tom had concealed himself and his boat. When he discovered the soldiers, he was thrilled with terror; and, fully believing that his hour had come, he dropped upon the ground, to wait, in trembling anxiety, the passage of the troops. It was a regiment of Virginia mountaineers, clothed in the most fantastic style with hunting-shirts and coon-skin caps. They yelled and howled like so many wildcats.

From his hiding place on the bank of the stream, he obtained a good view of the men, as they waded across the river. He was fearful that some of them might stray from the ranks, and stumble upon his place of refuge; but a kind Providence put it into their heads to mind their own business, and Tom gathered hope as the yells of the mountaineers grew indistinct in the distance.

"This is no place for me," said Tom to himself, when the sounds had died away in the direction of the Blue Ridge. "A whole army of them may camp near that ford, and drive me out of my hiding place."

Jumping into the bateau again, he waited till he was satisfied no carriage or body of troops was in the vicinity; and then plying the paddle with the utmost vigor, he passed the ford. But then he found that the public highway ran along the banks of the river, which exposed him to increased risk of being seen. A couple of vehicles passed along the road while he was in this exposed situation; but as the occupants of them seemed to take no notice of him, he congratulated himself upon his escape, for presently the boat was beneath the shadows of the great trees. Finding a suitable place, he again hauled up, and concealed himself and the bateau.

As all danger seemed to have passed, Tom composed his nerves, ate his dinner, and went to sleep as usual; but his rest was not so tranquil as he had enjoyed in the solitudes of the mountains. Visions of rebel soldiers haunted his dreams, and more than once he started up, and gazed wildly around him; but these were only visions, and there was something more real to disturb his slumbers.

"Hi! Who are you?" exclaimed a wildcat soldier, who had penetrated the thicket without disturbing the sleeper.

Tom started up, and sprang to his feet. One of the tall mountaineers, whom he had seen crossing the ford, stood before him; and the reality was even more appalling than the vision.

"Who mought you be?" demanded the tall soldier, with a good-natured grin upon his greasy face.

"Faith! I believe I've been asleep!" said Tom, rubbing his eyes, and looking as innocent as a young lamb.

"You may bet your life on thet, my boy," replied the rebel, laughing. "Hi! Jarvey!" added he, apparently addressing a companion at no great distance from the spot.

Heavy footsteps announced the approach of Jarvey, who soon joined them. He was not less than six feet three inches in height, and, with two such customers as these, Tom had no hope except in successful strategy. He had no doubt they had obtained information of him from the persons in the vehicles, and had come to secure him. He fully expected to be marched off to the rebel regiment, which could not be far off.

"Who is he, Sid?" asked Jarvey, when he reached the spot.

"Dunno. Say, who are ye, stranger?"

"Who am I? Tom Somers, of course. Do you belong to that regiment that stopped over yonder last night?" asked Tom, with a proper degree of enthusiasm. "Don't you know me?"

"Well, we don't."

"Didn't you see me over there? That's a bully regiment of yours. I'd like to join it."

"Would you, though, sonny?" said Sid, laughing till his mouth opened wide enough for a railroad train to pass in.

"Wouldn't I, though!" replied Tom. "If there's any big fighting done, I'll bet your boys do it."

"Bet your life on thet," added Jarvey. "But why don't you jine a regiment?"

"Don't want to join any regiment that comes along. I want to go into a fighting regiment, like yours."

"Well, sonny, you ain't big enough to jine ours," said Sid, as he compassionately eyed the young man's diminutive proportions.

"The old man wouldn't let me go in when I wanted to, and I'm bound not to go in any of your fancy regiments. I want to fight when I go."

"You'll do, sonny. Now, what ye doing here?"

"I came out a-fishing, but I got tired, and went to sleep."

"Where's your fish-line?"

"In the boat."

"What ye got in that handkerchief?"

"My dinner," replied Tom. "Won't you take a bite?"

"What ye got?"

"A piece of cold chicken and some bread."

"We don't mind it now, sonny. Hev you seen any men with this gear on in these yere parts?" asked Jarvey, as he pointed to his uniform.

"Yes, sir," replied Tom, vigorously.

"Whar d'ye see 'em, sonny?"

"They crossed the ford, just above, only a little while ago."

"How many?"

"Two," replied Tom, with promptness.

"Where's the other?" asked Jarvey, turning to his companion.

"He's in these yere woods, somewhar. We'll fotch 'em before night. You say the two men crossed the ford—did ye, sonny?"

"Yes, half an hour ago. What is the matter with them?"

"They're mean trash, and want to run off. Now, sonny, 'spose you put us over the river in your boat."

"Yes, sir!" replied Tom, readily.

The two wildcats got into the bateau, nearly swamping it by their great weight, and Tom soon landed them on the other side of the river.

"Thank'e, sonny," said Jarvey, as they jumped on shore. "If you were only four foot higher, we'd like to take you into our regiment. You'll make a right smart chance of a soldier one of these yere days. Good by, sonny."

"Good by," answered Tom, as he drew a long breath, indicative of his satisfaction at being so well rid of his passengers.

He had fully persuaded himself that he should be carried off a prisoner to this wildcat regiment, and he could hardly believe his senses when he found himself again safely floating down the rapid tide of the Shenandoah. His impudence and his self-possession had saved him; but it was a mystery to him that his uniform, or the absence of his fish-line, or the answers he gave, had not betrayed him. The mountaineers had probably not yet seen a United States uniform, or they would, at least, have questioned him about his dress.

Tom ran down the river a short distance farther before he ventured to stop again, for he could not hope to meet with many rebel soldiers who were so innocent and inexperienced as these wildcats of the mountains had been. When the darkness favored his movements, he again embarked upon his voyage. Twice during the night his boat got aground, and once he was pitched into the river by striking upon a rock; but he escaped these and other perils of the navigation with nothing worse than a thorough ducking, which was by no means a new experience to the soldier boy. In the morning, well satisfied with his night's work, he laid up for the day in the safest place he could find.

On the second day of his voyage down the river, the old problem of rations again presented itself for consideration, for the ham and chicken he had procured at Leed's Manor were all gone. There were plenty of houses on the banks of the river, but Tom had hoped to complete his cruise without the necessity of again exposing himself to the peril of being captured while foraging for the commissary department. But the question was as imperative as it had been several times before, and twelve hours fasting gave him only a faint hint of what his necessities might compel him to endure in twenty-four or forty-eight hours. He did not consider it wise to postpone the settlement of the problem till he was actually suffering for the want of food.

On the third night of his voyage, therefore, he hauled up the bateau at a convenient place, and started off upon a foraging expedition, intending to visit some farmer's kitchen, and help himself, as he had done on a former occasion. Of course, Tom had no idea where he was; but he hoped and believed that he should soon reach Harper's Ferry.

After making his way through the woods for half a mile, he came to a public road, which he followed till it brought him to a house. It was evidently the abode of a thrifty farmer, for near it were half a dozen negro houses. As the dwelling had no long windows in front, Tom was obliged to approach the place by a flank and rear movement; but the back door was locked. He tried the windows, and they were fastened. While he was reconnoitring the premises, he heard heavy footsteps within. Returning to the door, he knocked vigorously for admission.

"Who's thar?" said a man, as he threw the door wide open.

"A stranger, who wants something to eat," replied Tom, boldly.

"Who are ye?"

"My name is Tom Somers," added the soldier boy, as he stepped into the house. "Can you tell me whether the Seventh Georgia Regiment is down this way?"

"I reckon 'tis; least wise I don't know. There's three rigiments about five mile below yere."

"I was told my regiment was down this way, and I'm trying to find it. I'm half starved. Will you give me something to eat?"

"Sartin, stranger; I'll do thet."

The man, who was evidently the proprietor of the house, brought up the remnant of a boiled ham, a loaf of white bread, some butter, and a pitcher of milk. Tom ate till he was satisfied. The farmer, in deference to his amazing appetite probably, suspended his questions till the guest began to show some signs of satiety, when he pressed him again as vigorously as though he had been born and brought up among the hills of New England.

"Where d'ye come from?" said he.

"From Manassas. I lost my regiment in the fight; and the next day I heard they had been toted over this way, and I put after them right smart," answered Tom, adopting as much of the Georgia vernacular as his knowledge would permit.

"Walk all the way?"

"No; I came in the keers most of the way."

"But you don't wear our colors," added the farmer, glancing at Tom's clothes.

"My clothes were all worn out, and I helped myself to the best suit I could find on the field."

"What regiment did ye say ye b'longed to?" queried the man, eying the uniform again.

"To the Seventh Georgia. Perhaps you can tell me where I shall find it."

"I can't; but I reckon there's somebody here that can. I'll call him."

Tom was not at all particular about obtaining this information. There was evidently some military man in the house, who would expose him if he remained any longer.

"Who is it, father?" asked a person who had probably heard a part of the conversation we have narrated; for the voice proceeded from a bed-room adjoining the apartment in which Tom had eaten his supper.

"A soldier b'longing to the Seventh Georgia," answered the farmer. "That's my son; he's a captain in the cavalry, and he'll know all about it. He can tell you where yer regiment is," added he, turning to Tom, who was edging towards the door.

"I'm very much obliged to you for my supper," said the fugitive, nervously. "I reckon I'll be moving along."

"Wait half a second, and my son will tell you just where to find your regiment."

"The Seventh Georgia?" said the captain of cavalry, entering the room at this moment with nothing but his pants on. "There's no such regiment up here, and hasn't been. I reckon you're a deserter."

"No, sir! I scorn the charge," replied Tom, with becoming indignation. "I never desert my colors."

"I suppose not," added the officer, glancing at his uniform; "but your colors desert you."

Tom failed to appreciate the wit of the reply, and backed off towards the door, with one hand upon the stock of his revolver.

"Hold on to him, father; don't let him go," said the officer, as he rushed back into his chamber, evidently for his pistols or his sabre.

"Hands off, or you are a dead man;" cried Tom, as he pointed his revolver at the head of the farmer.

In another instant, the captain of cavalry reappeared with a pistol in each hand. A stunning report resounded through the house, and Tom heard a bullet whistle by his head.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE PICKET GUARD.

It was sufficiently obvious to Tom that, on the present occasion, the suspicions of his host were awakened. It is possible that, if he had depended upon his impudence, he might have succeeded in deceiving the Confederate officer; but his evident intention to retire from the contest before an investigation could be had, proved him, in the estimation of the captain, to be either a spy or a deserter, and shooting him was preferable to losing him.

The officer fired quick, and with little attention to the important matter of a steady aim; and Tom had to thank his stars for the hasty shot, for, though it went within a few inches of his head, "a miss was as good as a mile," and the brains of our hero remained intact and complete. But he was not willing to be the subject of any further experiments of this description, and without waiting further to express his gratitude to the host for the bountiful supper he had eaten, he threw open the door, and dashed off at the top of his speed.

The revolver he carried was a very good implement with which to bully a negro, or an unarmed farmer; but Tom had more confidence in his legs than in his skill as a marksman, and before the captain could transfer the second pistol from his left to his right hand, he had passed out of the house, and was concealed from his pursuers by the gloom of the night. He felt that he had had a narrow escape, and he was not disposed to trifle with destiny by loitering in the vicinity of the house.

He had not proceeded far before he heard a hue and cry behind him; and if the captain of cavalry had not stopped to put on his boots, it is more than possible that our humble volume might have contained a chapter or two upon prison life in Richmond. Undoubtedly it was quite proper for the officer to put on his boots before he went out; a decent regard for his individual sanitary condition, and a reasonable horror of ague and rheumatism, would have induced him to do it, even at the risk of losing a Federal prisoner, or a rebel deserter, as the case might be. At any rate, if Tom had known the cause of the delay, he would freely have forgiven him for wasting his time in healthful precautions.

The fugitive retraced his steps to the river by the same route he had taken in approaching the hospitable roof of the farmer. As nearly as he could judge by the sounds that reached him from the distance, the officer and his father were gathering up a force to hunt down the fugitive. Tom jumped into the bateau, and pushed off. Keeping under the shadow of the bank of the river, he plied his paddle vigorously, and by the time his pursuers arrived at the river, he was a couple of miles from the spot. He could hear a shout occasionally in the deep silence of the night, but with the distance between him and the enemy, he felt entirely secure. The danger had passed, and he floated leisurely on his voyage, buoyant as his light bark, and hopeful as the dream of youth.

Hour after hour, in the gloom of the solemn night, he was borne by the swift tide towards the lines of the loyal army. The day was dawning, and he was on the lookout for a suitable place to conceal himself, until the friendly shades of night should again favor his movements. After the experience of the former night near the ford, he was very cautious in the selection of a hiding place. It is not always safe to be fastidious; for while Tom was rejecting one location, and waiting for another to appear, the river bore him into a tract of very open country, which was less favorable than that through which he had just been passing.

The prospect began to make him nervous; and while he was bitterly regretting that he had not moored the boat before, he was startled to hear a sharp, commanding voice on the bank at his left.

"Who comes there? Halt!"

Tom looked up, and discovered a grayback, standing on the shore, very deliberately pointing his musket at him.

"Who comes there?" demanded the picket; for at this point were stationed the outposts of the rebel force in the Shenandoah valley.

"Friend!" replied Tom.

"Halt, then!"

"I would, if I could," answered Tom, as hastily as possible.

"Halt, or I'll fire!"

"I tell you I can't halt," replied Tom, using his paddle vigorously, as though he was trying to urge the bateau to the shore. "Don't fire! For mercy's sake, don't fire."

Tom appeared to be intensely frightened at the situation in which he was placed, and redoubled his efforts apparently to gain the bank of the stream; but the more he seemed to paddle one way, the more the boat went the other way. However much Tom appeared to be terrified by the peril that menaced him, it must be confessed that he was not wholly unmoved.

"Stop your boat, quick!" said the soldier, who had partially dropped his musket from its menacing position.

"I can't stop it," responded Tom, apparently in an agony of terror. "I would go ashore if I could."

"What's the matter?"

"The water runs so swift, I can't stop her; been trying this two hours."

"You will be inside the Yankee lines in half an hour if you don't fetch to," shouted the picket.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Tom, redoubling his efforts.

But it was useless to struggle with the furious current, and Tom threw himself into the bottom of the boat, as if in utter desperation. If Niagara Falls, with their thundering roar and fearful abyss, had been before him, his agony could not have been more intense, as judged from the shore.

By this time, the sentinel on the bank had been joined by his two companions, and the three men forming the picket post stood gazing at him, as he abandoned himself to the awful fate of being captured by the blood-thirsty Yankees, to whose lines the relentless current of the Shenandoah was bearing him.

When Tom was first challenged by the grayback, the boat had been some twenty rods above him; and it had now passed the spot where he stood, but the rebels were still near enough to converse with him. Tom heard one of them ask another who he was. Of course neither of them knew who he was, or where he came from.

"Try again!" shouted one of the pickets. "The Yankees will have you in a few minutes."

Tom did make another ineffectual effort to check the progress of the bateau, and again abandoned the attempt in despair. The rebels followed him on the bank, encouraging him with words of cheer, and with dire prophecies of his fate if he fell into the hands of the cruel Yankees.

"Can't you help me?" pleaded Tom, in accents of despair. "Throw me a rope! Do something for me."

Now, this was a suggestion that had not before occurred to the picket guard, and Tom would have been infinitely wiser if he had not put the idea of assisting him into their dull brains; for it is not at all probable that they would have thought of such a thing themselves, for the south, especially the poor white trash, are not largely endowed with inventive genius.

"Save me! Save me!" cried Tom, as he saw the rebels engaged in a hasty consultation, the result of which was, that two of them started off upon the run in a direction at right angles with the stream.

"Try again! Stick to it!" shouted the picket left on the shore.

"I can't do any more; I'm all tired out," replied Tom, throwing himself for the fourth time in the bottom of the boat, the very picture of despair.

The picture was very much exaggerated and over-drawn; but as long as the bullet from the rebel's musket did not come his way, Tom was satisfied with his acting, and hopeful for the future. The man on the shore, full of sympathy for the distressed and exhausted voyager, walked and ran so as to keep up with the refractory barge, which seemed to be spitefully hurling its agonized passenger into the Federal lines, where death and dungeons lurked at every corner.

While this exciting drama was in progress, the stream bore Tom to a sharp bend in the river, where the current set in close to the shore. His attentive guardian on the bank ran ahead, and stationed himself at this point, ready to afford any assistance to the disconsolate navigator which the circumstances might permit.

"Now's your chance!" shouted he. "Gosh all whittaker! put in now, and do your pootiest!"

Tom adopted this friendly advice, and "put in" with all his might; but the more he "put in," the more he put out—from the shore, whither the inauspicious eddies were sweeping him. If Tom had not been born in Pinchbrook, and had a home by the sea, where boating is an appreciated accomplishment, he would probably have been borne into the arms of the expectant rebel, or received in his vitals the ounce of cold lead which that gentleman's musket contained. As it was, he had the skill to do what he seemed not to be doing. Mr. Johnny Reb evidently did not suspect that Tom was "playing 'possum," as the Tennessee sharpshooters would have expressed it. The voyager's efforts appeared to be made in good faith; and certainly he applied himself with a degree of zeal and energy which ought to have overcome the inertia of a small gunboat.

The bateau approached the point not more than a rod from the waiting arms of the sympathizing grayback. As it passed, he waded a short distance into the water, and stretched forth his musket to the unhappy voyager. Tom threw down his paddle, and sprang with desperate energy to obtain a hold upon the gun. He even succeeded in grasping the end of the bayonet. For a moment he pulled so hard that it was doubtful whether the bateau would be hauled ashore, or Secesh drawn into the deep water.

"Hold on tight, my boy! Pull for your life!" shouted the soldier, highly excited by the probable success of his philanthropic efforts.

"Save me! Save me!" groaned Tom, as he tugged, or seemed to do so, at the bayonet.

Then, while the united exertions of the saver and the saved, in anticipation, were on the very point of being successful, the polished steel of the bayonet unaccountably slipped through the fingers of Tom, and the bateau was borne off towards the opposite shore.

"Save me! Save me," cried Tom again, in tones more piteous than ever.

"What d'ye let go fur?" said the grayback, indignantly, as his musket, which he had held by the tip end of the stock, dropped into the water, when Tom let go of the bayonet.

The soldier indulged in a volley of peculiarly southern oaths, with which we cannot disfigure our page, even in deference to the necessity of painting a correct picture of the scene we have described. Tom had a vein of humor in his composition, which has already displayed itself in some of the rough experiences of his career; and when he saw the rebel soldier deprived of all power to make war upon him, either offensive or defensive, he could not resist the temptation to celebrate the signal strategical victory he had obtained over the picket guard. This triumphal demonstration was not very dignified, nor, under the circumstances, very prudent or sensible. It consisted in placing the thumb of his right hand upon the end of his nose, while he wiggled the four remaining digital appendages of the same member in the most aggravating manner, whistling Yankee Doodle as an accompaniment to the movement.

If Secesh did not understand the case before, he did now; and fishing up his musket, he emptied the water out of the barrel, and attempted to fire it. Luckily for Tom, the gun would not go off, and he swept on his way jubilant and joyous.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE END OF THE VOYAGE.

Tom Somers's voyage down the Shenandoah was, in many respects, a type of human life. He experienced the various reverses, the trials and hardships, which attend all sojourners here below. He triumphed over all obstacles, and when he had completely outwitted the grayback who had labored so diligently to save him from his impending fate, he was at the zenith of prosperity. He had vanquished the last impediment, and the lines of the Union army—the haven of peace to him—were only a short distance from the scene of his victory.

Prosperity makes men arrogant and reckless, and I am sorry to say that it had the same effect upon Tom Somers. If he had been content modestly to enjoy the victory he had achieved, it would have been wiser and safer for him; but when Fortune was kind to him, he mocked her, and she turned against him.

When he had passed out of the reach of the rebel soldier, whose musket had been rendered useless for the time being, Tom believed that he was safe, and that he had fairly escaped from the last peril that menaced him on the voyage. But he was mistaken; for as the current swept the bateau around the bend of the river, he discovered, to his astonishment and chagrin, the two secesh soldiers, who had left the picket post some time before, standing at convenient distances from each other and from the shore, in the water, ready to rescue him from the fate before him. The place they had chosen was evidently a ford of the river, where they intended to check the boat in its mad career down the stream. They were painfully persistent in their kind intentions to save him from the horrible Yankees, and Tom wished they had been less humane and less enthusiastic in his cause.

As soon as Tom perceived this trap, he regretted his imprudence in betraying himself to the soldier from whom he had just escaped. His sorrow was not diminished, when, a few minutes later, he heard the shouts of the third soldier, who, by hard running across the fields, had reached the ford before him.

"Shoot him! Shoot him! He's a Yankee!" bellowed the grayback on the shore.

Tom was appalled at these words, and wondered how the soldier could have found out that he was a Yankee; but when he recalled the fact that he had entertained him with Yankee Doodle at their last meeting, the mystery became less formidable.

"Shoot him! He's a Yankee!" shouted Secesh on the bank of the stream.

"We've left our guns on shore," replied Secesh in the water.

"I'm very much obliged to you for that," said Tom to himself, as he grasped his paddle, and set the boat over towards the right bank of the river.

No doubt the rebels in the water, when they saw with what facility the boatman moved the bateau in the swift tide, as compared with his futile efforts farther up the stream, were fully satisfied of the truth of their companion's assertion. Tom decided to run the gauntlet between the right bank and the soldier nearest to that shore. He paddled the bateau with all his vigor, until he had obtained the desired position.

The graybacks in the water, realizing that they were engaged on an errand of peace and humanity, had left their muskets on shore. They were, therefore, comparatively harmless; but the one on shore had reached the ford, and picking up one of the muskets of his companions, without threat or warning, fired. It was lucky for Tom that he was not a Tennessee sharpshooter, nor a Texas ranger, for the shot passed harmlessly over him. The soldier dropped the gun, and picked up the other, which he instantly discharged, and with better aim than before, for the ball struck the bateau, though not within four feet of where Tom stood.

"Don't waste your powder, if you can't shoot better than that," shouted one of the soldiers in the water. "You'll hit us next."

"Stop him, then! Stop him!" replied the grayback on the shore. "Kill him if you can."

Tom was paddling with all his might to pass the ford before the soldier nearest to him should reach a position in which he could intercept the boat. The rebel was an enterprising fellow, and the soldier boy's chances were growing amazingly small. Secesh had actually reached a place where he could make a dash at the boat. There he stood with a long bowie-knife between his teeth, and with both hands outstretched, ready to seize upon the unfortunate bark. He looked grim and ferocious, and Tom saw that he was thoroughly in earnest.

It was a trying situation for a boy of Tom's years, and he would fain have dodged the issue. That bowie-knife had a wicked look, though it was mild and tame compared with the savage eye of the rebel who held it. As it was a case of life and death, the fugitive braced himself up to meet the shock. Taking his position in the stern of the boat, he held the paddle in his left hand, while his right firmly grasped his revolver. It was either "kill or be killed," and Tom was not so sentimental as to choose the latter rather than the former, especially as his intended victim was a secessionist and a rebel.

"Keep off, or you are a dead man," shouted Tom, as he flourished his pistol so that his assailant could obtain a fair view of its calibre, and in the hope that the fellow would be willing to adopt a politician's expedient, and compromise the matter by retiring out of range.

"Tew kin play at that game. This yere tooth-pick will wipe you out," coolly replied the fellow, as he made a spring at the boat.

"Stand off!" screamed Tom, as he raised the pistol, and fired.

It was a short range, and Tom would have been inexcusable if he had missed his aim. The rebel struck his chest with his right hand, and the bowie knife dropped from his teeth; but with his left hand he had grasped the gunwale of the boat, and as he sunk down in the shallow water, he pulled the bateau over on one side till the water poured in, and threatened to swamp her. Fortunately the wounded man relaxed his hold, the boat righted, and Tom commenced paddling again with all his strength and skill.

The other soldier in the water, as soon as he discovered where Tom intended to pass, hastened over to assist his associate. The shouts of their companion on shore had fully fired their southern hearts, and both of them were ten times as zealous to kill or capture a Yankee, as they had been to save a Virginian. When the wounded man clutched the boat, the other was not more than ten feet from him, but farther down the stream. His associate fell, and he sprang forward to engage in the affray.

"Stand off, or you are a dead man!" yelled Tom, with emphasis, as he plied his paddle with renewed energy, for he saw that the man could not reach him.

The bateau passed them both, and Tom began to breathe easier. The second rebel, finding he could not capture or kill the detested Yankee, went to the assistance of his companion. The soldier boy suspended his exertions, for the danger seemed to be over, and gazed with interest upon the scene which was transpiring in the water just above him. He was anxious to know whether he had killed the rebel or not. There was something awful in the circumstances, for the soldier boy's sensibilities were too acute to permit him to take a human life, though it was that of an enemy, without producing a deep impression upon his mind. Perhaps, in the great battle in which he had been a participant, he had killed several rebels; if he had done so, he had not seen them fall. This was the first man he had consciously killed or wounded, and the fact was solemn, if not appalling, to the young soldier.

As the rebel raised his companion from the water he seemed to be dead, and Tom was forced to the conclusion that he had killed him. He had done the deed in self-defence, and in the strict line of duty. He could not be blamed even by his enemies for the act. He felt no exultation, and hoped from the bottom of his heart that the man was prepared to meet his Maker, into whose presence he had been so suddenly summoned.

Tom had heard the boys in Pinchbrook talk lightly about killing rebels, and he had talked so himself; but the reality was not so pleasant as it had seemed at a distance. He was sorry for the poor fellow, and wished he had not been obliged to kill him. It was terrible to him, even in battle, to take a human life, to slay a being created in the image of God, and for whom Christ lived and died.

While he was indulging in these sad reflections, he heard a bullet whistle near his head. The Secesh soldier on the shore had loaded up his companions' muskets, and was doing his best to bring down the lucky fugitive. His last shot was not a bad one, and Tom could not help thinking, if the grayback should hit him, that he would not waste any fine feelings over him. He did not like the sound of those whizzing bullets, and as he had never boasted of his courage, he did not scorn to adopt precautionary measures. The water was three inches deep in the bottom of the bateau; but Tom deemed it prudent to lie down there until the current should bear him out of the reach of the rebel bullets.

He maintained this recumbent posture for half an hour or more, listening to the balls that frequently whistled over his head. Once he ventured to raise his head, and discovered, not one man, but a dozen, on the shore, which accounted for the rapid firing he heard. When he looked up again, his bateau had passed round a bend, and he was no longer exposed to the fire of the enemy.

From his heart Tom thanked God for his escape. He was religiously grateful for the aid which Providence had rendered him, and when he thought how near he had stood to the brink of destruction, he realized how narrow the span between the Here and the Hereafter. And the moral of his reflections was, that if he stood so near to the open gate of death, he ought always to live wisely and well, and ever be prepared to pass the portals which separate time from eternity.

Tom's thoughts were sad and heavy. He could not banish from his mind the face of the rebel, as he raised his hand to his breast, where he had received his mortal wound. That countenance, full of hate and revenge, haunted him for weeks afterwards, in the solitude of his tent, and on his midnight vigils as a sentinel.

As he sat in the boat, thinking of the events of the morning, and listening to the mournful rippling of the waters, which, to his subdued soul, sounded like the requiem of his victim, he was challenged from the shore again.

"Who comes there!"

Tom jumped up, and saw a sentinel on the bank pointing his gun at him. He surveyed the form with anxious interest; but this time he had nothing to fear, for the soldier wore the blue uniform of the United States army.

"Friend," replied he, as he grasped his paddle.

"Come ashore, or I'll put a bullet through you," added the sentinel.

"Don't do it!" said Tom, with energy. "Can't you see the colors I wear."

"Come ashore, then."

"I will."

The soldier boy worked his paddle with vigor and skill, and it was astonishing to observe with what better success than when invited to land by the grayback up the river. The guard assisted him in landing and securing his boat.

"Who are you?" demanded he, as he gazed at Tom's wet and soiled garments.

"I was taken prisoner at Bull Run, and came back on my own hook."

"Perhaps you were, but you can't pass these lines," said the soldier.

Tom was sent to the Federal camp, and passed from one officer to another, till he was finally introduced to General Banks, at Harper's Ferry. He was questioned in regard to his own adventures, the country he had passed through, and the troops of the enemy he had seen. When, to use his own expression, he had been "pumped dry," he was permitted to rest a few days, and then forwarded to his regiment.



CHAPTER XXIV.

BUDD'S FERRY.

Though Tom Somers had been absent from the regiment only a fortnight, it seemed to him as though a year had elapsed since the day of the battle when he had stood shoulder to shoulder with his townsmen and friends. He had been ordered to report to the provost marshal at Washington, where he learned that his regiment was at Bladensburg, about six miles from the city. Being provided with the necessary pass and "transportation," he soon reached the camp.

"Tom Somers! Tom Somers!" shouted several of his comrades, as soon as they recognized him.

"Three cheers for Tom Somers!" shouted Bob Dornton.

The soldier boy was a favorite in the company, and his return was sufficient to justify such a proceeding. The cheers, therefore, were given with tremendous enthusiasm.

"Tom, I'm glad to see you!" said old Hapgood, with extended hand, while his eyes filled with tears. "I was afeared we should never see you again."

The fugitive shook hands with every member of the company who was present. His reception was in the highest degree gratifying to him, and he was determined always to merit the good will of his companions in arms.