CHAPTER XXI.
THE PROBLEM OF RATIONS.
The ford over which the rebel regiment was passing was only a few rods distant from the place where Tom had concealed himself and his boat.

When he discovered the soldiers, he was thrilled with terror; and, fully believing that his hour had come, he dropped upon the ground, to wait, in trembling anxiety, the passage of the troops.

It was a regiment of Virginia mountaineers, clothed in the most fantastic style with hunting-shirts and coon-skin caps.

They yelled and howled like so many wildcats.
From his hiding place on the bank of the stream, he obtained a good view of the men, as they waded across the river.

He was fearful that some of them might stray from the ranks, and stumble upon his place of refuge; but a kind Providence put it into their heads to mind their own business, and Tom gathered hope as the yells of the mountaineers grew indistinct in the distance.
"This is no place for me," said Tom to himself, when the sounds had died away in the direction of the Blue Ridge.