Having found the enemy strongly entrenched at, or rather before, Yorktown, General McClellan determined to lay siege to the place, and in the meantime endeavor to obtain more troops, so that when the proper time arrived he could make a grand assault all along the line, drive the enemy from its position and perhaps scatter it and thus open an easy way to Richmond. It was at one time thought that the great battle of the peninsula campaign would be fought here, but affairs proved otherwise. But the Union soldiers did not lie quietly on their arms. Skirmishes took place almost daily, first at one spot and then at another, and presently General William F. Smith was ordered by McClellan to “feel” the enemy at Garrow’s Chimneys, which was directly opposite to the Confederate reserve force under General Smith. A Vermont regiment made the attack, and soon silenced the Confederate battery, and the officers in command made an extensive examination of the ground, which, however, later on proved valueless, for the information was not used. It was this skirmish which Andy witnessed. In the excitement he almost forgot about the order he was carrying, and when it was delivered and he returned to camp he was roundly censured for his neglect. “Never delay while on military duty, my lad,” said Captain Montgomery. “A delay may prove fatal to the best laid plan.” Andy never forgot those words. The young Confederate wondered during the days which followed if Louis was within the lines of the enemy. He would have been somewhat surprised had he known that his former chum was less than a mile away; yet such was the fact, and it was not to be long ere the two should meet again, and under very trying circumstances to each. Louis’s time at the picket line had expired, the regiment to which the Goreville Volunteers belonged had given place to another, and now the boys were back in their regular quarters, on the edge of a dense woods. Louis had tried to learn what had become of Caleb Fox, the spy, but not a word could be gotten out of those in command. The answer to this was very simple, although the boy could not guess it. Caleb Fox had escaped. The Confederate spy had taken a desperate chance, considered in one way, although not so desperate when considered in another. He had taken his life in his hands by stabbing one guard in the breast with an eating knife and hitting another with a rock, and he had been fired at four times before he could gain the shelter of a woods. But all this was done with the knowledge that if he did not get away he would sooner or later be hanged for a spy. “Might ez well die now ez later,” was the way he had argued, and had sped as never before. Once in the woods he drew a deep sigh of relief. They were thick and dark and would afford him ample shelter until an extra black night would make it fairly easy to regain the Confederate lines. He made up his mind that no picket should spot him again.