The young Confederate remained under as long as possible, at the same time reaching out with desperate efforts for the southern shore. He felt himself carried downward by the current and this in itself tended to bring him closer to the picket than ever. At last, unable to hold his breath a second longer, he came up and gave a gasp. The firing of the gun had aroused the picket line for several hundreds of feet up and down the river and on both sides. A rush was made on the Union side, and the picket was asked to explain matters, which he did as well as he could. “We’ll have him yet,” cried the officer in command. “Bring out the flatboat, Carriwell, quick!” His order was obeyed, and the officer and two men entered. But all this had taken time and now Andy was once more where he could touch bottom. He looked back and saw the boat put out. “Save me, brother Confederates!” he cried. “Save me! Shoot the Yankees!” “We will!” came an answer from almost in front of him, and then two guns spoke up spitefully. A groan came from the flatboat, which was immediately turned back. The pursuit was over. Several shots were fired, but in the gloom they went wild, and then the shooting came to an end. Not until it was all over did Andy fully realize what a tremendous strain he had been under. He waded out of the water and up the muddy bank, to find himself confronted by half a dozen anxious men in gray. “What does this mean? Who are you?” demanded one of the number. “I am a Confederate, like yourselves. I have been a prisoner and I just escaped,” answered Andy. “My name is Andy Arlington, and I belong to the Montgomery Grays, cavalry, of Lee Run. If some of you will help--” He could get no further. Everything danced before his eyes, trees, soldiers, and guns, and he fell back into a pair of outstretched arms, utterly exhausted. “A brave youngster, I’ll wager a fortune,” was the comment of the Confederate who held him. “Come, men, let us take him to camp and do the best we can for him.” CHAPTER XIX ANDY GOES TO YORKTOWN When Andy came to his senses, he found himself lying on a cot in a farmhouse, quarter of a mile from where he had crossed the Potomac. The farmhouse was being used as a rebel headquarters, and half a dozen Confederate officers were present, making out various reports and attending to other duties of a military nature. As soon as he felt strong enough, he told his story in detail, to which those present listened with lively interest. An officer knew of the advance to Ball’s Bluff of the Montgomery Grays and what the youth had to say was readily believed. “I suppose you would like to go home as soon as possible,” said one of the officers. “We are going to send some army wagons southward to-morrow, and one of them can go down by the Lee Run road and you can ride with the teamster, if you wish.”