After the lapse of half an hour Watson and George descended from their uncomfortable perches. Once upon the ground the boy released Waggie from his pocket, and the little party pushed on in the darkness for about a mile. Here they found a hayrick in a field, alongside of which they laid their weary bones and slept the sleep of exhaustion. When daylight came they had awakened, feeling much refreshed and ready for more adventures. "I'll tell you what I think," said Watson. "There's a chance for us yet, provided we try a new means of getting away from the South." "What do you mean?" asked George. "If we try to move northward," continued Watson, "we are sure to be caught. Every countryman between Atlanta and Chattanooga will be on the lookout for us. Instead of that, let us strike out towards the Gulf of Mexico, where we should reach one of the ships of the Union blockading squadron. New Orleans is in the hands of the North, and many of our vessels must be patroling the Gulf. Once we reach the coast we are practically free." "The very thing!" cried the boy. "You're a genius!" Watson smiled. "Not a genius," he said, "but I have what they call horse-sense up our way--and I'm not anxious to return to the delights of the Atlanta prison." Acting upon this new theory the wanderers began their long journey. This they pursued amid many hardships, not the least of which was hunger. Even poor Waggie grew emaciated. First they reached the banks of the Chattahoochee River, after which they secured a boat and rowed their way down via the Apalachicola River, to Apalachicola, Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico. Here they found, to their great delight, that a Federal blockading squadron was patroling on the Gulf, near the mouth of Apalachicola Bay. The two fugitives now pushed their little boat out into the open sea. They were a sorry looking couple, with their old clothes fairly dropping from them, and their thin, gaunt figures showing the consequences of many days of privation. Watson was feverish, with an unnatural glitter in his eyes, while George's face was a sickly white. Waggie reposed at the bottom of the rickety craft, as if he cared not whether he lived or died. "Look!" cried Watson, who was at the oars. He pointed out towards the south, where were to be seen a collection of masts and smoke-stacks, rising above long black hulls. "It's the Federal fleet," said George. He was glad to have a look at it--glad to know that deliverance was at hand--but he felt too exhausted to put any enthusiasm into his voice. "Can you see any flag?" he asked, wearily. "Perhaps we have been fooled after all. The ships may belong to the Confederate navy." Soon they could detect, as they drew nearer, a flutter of bunting from the vessel nearest to them.