Hour after hour, in the gloom of the solemn night, he was borne by the swift tide towards the lines of the loyal army. The day was dawning, and he was on the lookout for a suitable place to conceal himself, until the friendly shades of night should again favor his movements. After the experience of the former night near the ford, he was very cautious in the selection of a hiding place. It is not always safe to be fastidious; for while Tom was rejecting one location, and waiting for another to appear, the river bore him into a tract of very open country, which was less favorable than that through which he had just been passing. The prospect began to make him nervous; and while he was bitterly regretting that he had not moored the boat before, he was startled to hear a sharp, commanding voice on the bank at his left. "Who comes there? Halt!" Tom looked up, and discovered a grayback, standing on the shore, very deliberately pointing his musket at him. "Who comes there?" demanded the picket; for at this point were stationed the outposts of the rebel force in the Shenandoah valley. "Friend!" replied Tom. "Halt, then!" "I would, if I could," answered Tom, as hastily as possible. "Halt, or I'll fire!" "I tell you I can't halt," replied Tom, using his paddle vigorously, as though he was trying to urge the bateau to the shore. "Don't fire! For mercy's sake, don't fire." Tom appeared to be intensely frightened at the situation in which he was placed, and redoubled his efforts apparently to gain the bank of the stream; but the more he seemed to paddle one way, the more the boat went the other way. However much Tom appeared to be terrified by the peril that menaced him, it must be confessed that he was not wholly unmoved. "Stop your boat, quick!" said the soldier, who had partially dropped his musket from its menacing position. "I can't stop it," responded Tom, apparently in an agony of terror. "I would go ashore if I could." "What's the matter?" "The water runs so swift, I can't stop her; been trying this two hours." "You will be inside the Yankee lines in half an hour if you don't fetch to," shouted the picket. "Gracious!" exclaimed Tom, redoubling his efforts. But it was useless to struggle with the furious current, and Tom threw himself into the bottom of the boat, as if in utter desperation. If Niagara Falls, with their thundering roar and fearful abyss, had been before him, his agony could not have been more intense, as judged from the shore. By this time, the sentinel on the bank had been joined by his two companions, and the three men forming the picket post stood gazing at him, as he abandoned himself to the awful fate of being captured by the blood-thirsty Yankees, to whose lines the relentless current of the Shenandoah was bearing him.