Louis felt he was in one of the most trying situations of his life. The Confederate picket had drawn a bead upon him, and unless he answered promptly he would undoubtedly be shot and killed. “Stop! do yer hear?” came the voice again. Louis put down his oar and found the river less than a foot and a half deep. The blade was sunk into the mud and the headway of the craft checked. “We are friends,” shouted the young Union soldier. “You have no right to detain us.” “Who are yer?” Louis leaned down. “Tell them who you are and say I am detailed to take you to a farmhouse below here,” he whispered to his prisoner. “If you don’t help me out of this scrape I’ll shoot you!” and he shoved the pistol forth suggestively. “Don’t--don’t shoot me!” pleaded the wounded one. “Then do as I ordered,” returned Louis, as cautiously as before, but his tone was cold and told that he meant what he said. “Air yer goin’ ter answer?” came from the shore. “It’s--it’s all right, men,” answered the prisoner, raising himself with an effort. “I’m Captain Garrison, of the Fourth Infantry. I’ve been wounded and my man is taking me down to a farmhouse below here, where I have friends.” “Humph.” There was a pause. “Got the countersign, cap’n?” “Alabama.” “Thet’s all right, cap’n; pass on, ef yer want to.” “Are we in danger from the Yanks?” asked Louis, as he pulled on the oar with all possible haste. “Ain’t no Yanks inside o’ half a mile, to my way o’ reckonin’,” answered the Confederate picket, and then the boat drifted onward, and Louis breathed a great sigh of relief. The talking had almost exhausted the prisoner, and he lay motionless, with his eyes closed, in too much pain to even speculate over the outcome of his unfortunate adventure. Another half-mile was covered without further interruption. It was now beginning to grow light in the east and Louis cast an anxious eye from shore to shore. Had the river at this point been deserted? It would certainly seem so. Crash! The flat-bottom boat struck a half-submerged log, end on end. The shock was strong enough to rip open the bow, and the water poured in with great rapidity. The collision threw Louis, who was standing up with the oar, overboard, and so unexpected was the happening that he could do nothing but struggle to save himself. Down he went until his arms struck the soft bottom. Then he arose and struck out for the nearest shore. In the meantime, the boat swung around, cleared itself of the log that had done all the damage, and went on its way, half-submerged, with Captain Garrison clinging fast for his life. Soon wreck and prisoner were out of sight. Louis fancied the captain had been drowned, but such was not a fact. He survived, to fall, later on, into the hands of his friends. Dripping with mud and water, Louis crawled up the bank of the Chickahominy and into a tangle of bushes. Was he any better off than he had been? was the question he asked himself.