In the meantime the third soldier had made an important discovery. Andy was trying to swim beside Firefly and keep the gun above water at the same time, and now he exposed his hand and a portion of the stock of the firearm. Instantly the soldier took aim and fired, and the bullet struck the gun squarely, knocking the weapon from the young Confederate’s grasp and nearly paralyzing his hand and arm for the time being. There was now nothing left to do but to get out of range with all possible speed. Andy felt that the guard would reload and would then either fire at himself or the horse. If Firefly was killed he would have to swim along alone, thus exposing himself to an open attack. “On, Firefly, on!” he cried, and the noble beast seemed to understand. Fortunately, he was used to the water and could swim fully as well as his master. On they went, the swollen stream sending them first towards one shore and then the other. By this time the battle upon Ball’s Bluff was drawing to a close. The gallant but imprudent Colonel Baker had been shot and killed, and this, added to the galling fire poured in by the Confederates stationed in the woods upon three sides of the clearing, threw the Union men into confusion. With fearful loss they came tearing down the uneven path leading to the water and shoved off in their flatboats for Harrison Island. The enemy followed them up, and many a poor soul was sent to eternity before the island or the opposite shore could be gained. The turn of the tide of battle took the attention of all of the guards left on Harrison Island, and from that moment Andy was forgotten by those left behind. But the Confederates on the bluff saw him and thinking him a Union man fired at him several times--shots that did no damage, but which made him feel very uncomfortable. In a few minutes more the feet of the horse struck upon a sandy and rocky bar and instinctively Firefly followed the high bottom shoreward. It led to the northern bank of the Potomac to a spot thickly covered with hickory trees. Feeling himself safe for the time being, Andy dropped upon a rock utterly exhausted. He was chilled to the bone and more than wet, for his cavalry boots were filled with muddy water. Taking off the boots, he emptied them, and then wrung out his coat and cape, and dashed the water from his hat. “Well, Firefly, what next?” he asked, half-aloud, when a crashing in the brush behind him caused him to start. He turned quickly, to find himself face to face with a short, broad-faced, and not unpleasant-looking negro. The darky wore a suit of cast-off army clothing of gray, from which every C. S. A. had been carefully stripped. “Wh--what--how de do, massa,” he stammered, as he came to a sudden halt. “Are you alone?” queried Andy, quickly. “Yes, massa.” “What are you doing here, running away?” “Oh, no, massa,” was the quick reply; but by the way the negro’s eyes dropped before Andy’s sharp gaze the youth knew he was lying.