“They have stopped to load their guns,” replied Tom. “We will use our legs now.”
“See that, Tom!” said Hapgood, suddenly.
“What?”
“There’s one of them rushing towards us all alone.”
“He has thrown up his gun. The others are yelling to him to come back. What does that mean?”
“He is a deserter; he wants to get away from them. There he comes.”
“Yes, and there comes the rest of them—the whole rebel army—more than a million of them,” said Fred Pemberton. “It’s time for us to be going.”
“See! They are firing at him. Forward!” added Tom, leading the way.
The party rushed forward, for a short distance; but the dozen rebels had been reënforced, and it was madness to rush into the very teeth of danger. Tom ordered his men to halt and fire at will. The deserter, probably finding that he was between two fires, turned aside from the direct course he was pursuing, and sought shelter in the woods. The sergeant then directed his men to retire, for whether the retreat of the runaway rebel was covered or not, it was no longer safe to remain.
Fortunately the Confederates were more in doubt than the Unionists; and perhaps expecting to fall upon a larger body of the latter, they abandoned the pursuit, and returned to their posts. Nothing was seen of the deserter for some time, and Tom concluded that he had lost his way in the woods, or had missed the direction taken by the Federal scouts.