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!”