Andy now felt that he must be alert for the enemy in front as well as behind, for the two soldiers not having come back, must have gone forward. He strained his eyes to their utmost and clutched his pistol tighter. A half-articulated prayer for deliverance arose to his lips. Oh, if only he could get safely into Virginia again! Presently a welcome sound broke upon his ears. It was the murmur of the swollen river, as it rushed over the rocks in the shallows and made a bend southward. Soon he parted the final line of brush and saw the dancing water before him. Catching the hammer of the pistol in his hat, so as to hold the weapon dry, he jammed the headgear down tightly and waded into the stream. He advanced with extreme caution, knowing how treacherous the Potomac is at certain times of the year, and aware that the whole northern side was picketed by Union soldiers, while the southern shore was guarded by men of his own stamp. To be shot by one or the other of the military guards would be equally unpleasant and, perhaps, equally fatal. “If I only had some way of letting our men know that I am all right,” he thought, as he paused when about one-fourth of the stream had been passed. He knew they could not see his uniform in the gloom, and, having lost his cavalry hat, he was now wearing one which had formerly belonged to Mr. Lemming, and which Mrs. Lemming had kindly given him. A few steps farther and he suddenly went down almost to his armpits. The current now took him off his feet and sent a shiver over him. He felt very cold, and realized that he was not yet half as strong as he had imagined. But turning back was out of the question, and he struck out boldly for the opposite bank, a distance of over a hundred and fifty feet. The middle of the stream had been gained and he was congratulating himself on the fine progress made, when suddenly a challenge rang out from a point some distance below him. “Hullo, there, in the river! Who are you?” “A friend!” cried Andy, but instead of halting, he swam on faster than ever. “If you are a friend, turn in here and give the countersign.” “I can’t turn in--I’m bound for the other shore,” answered Andy, but the last words were so low the picket did not hear them--nor did the young Confederate intend that he should. “Can’t turn in?” queried the guard. “Yes, you can. Come now, or I’ll fire.” “Don’t fire!” yelled back Andy, and then having swam a few more strokes he clutched his pistol and dove out of sight. He was none too soon, for feeling he was being duped, the Union picket brought his gun into range and pulled the trigger. From under the surface of the stream Andy heard a muffled report, but the bullet passed wide of its mark.