He explained his plan to his three comrades. They would steal a boat, row or drift down the James by night, hide and sleep by day, forage for food upon the rich plantations, many of them the historic homes of Virginia, that bordered the broad river, and finally float to freedom where our war-ships lay. But the three men would have nothing to do with it. By land the Union lines were much nearer. They meant to stick to the land. They asked the boy to go with them, but he stuck to his plan. So, with hearty handshakes and a whispered "good luck!" he left them, went over a canal-bridge, and found himself upon the bank of the river. He was again alone. Of his three temporary companions, one finally reached our lines, one was shot within a few hundred yards of his goal, and one was recaptured. Of the 109 who escaped from Libby, 48 were caught and thrust back into prison. Tom walked along the river bank, prying in the welcome darkness for a boat. It would not have been difficult to steal it, if he could have found it. But at this point the James is wide and shallow and full of miniature rapids. It was utterly bare of boats. The boy's search could not be carried on after dawn. He spent that day hidden in a clump of willows by the waterside. The excitement of the night had kept him up. Now the reaction from it left him limp and miserable and hungry as he never remembered being hungry before. It was hard work to "grin and bear it," but at least he tried to grin and he reminded himself a thousand times through that long, long day that he was much better off than if he were still a prisoner in Libby.