"If you were only four foot higher, we'd like to take you into our regiment.

You'll make a right smart chance of a soldier one of these yere days.

Good by, sonny." "Good by," answered Tom, as he drew a long breath, indicative of his satisfaction at being so well rid of his passengers.
He had fully persuaded himself that he should be carried off a prisoner to this wildcat regiment, and he could hardly believe his senses when he found himself again safely floating down the rapid tide of the Shenandoah.
His impudence and his self-possession had saved him; but it was a mystery to him that his uniform, or the absence of his fish-line, or the answers he gave, had not betrayed him.

The mountaineers had probably not yet seen a United States uniform, or they would, at least, have questioned him about his dress.
Tom ran down the river a short distance farther before he ventured to stop again, for he could not hope to meet with many rebel soldiers who were so innocent and inexperienced as these wildcats of the mountains had been.
When the darkness favored his movements, he again embarked upon his voyage.

Twice during the night his boat got aground, and once he was pitched into the river by striking upon a rock; but he escaped these and other perils of the navigation with nothing worse than a thorough ducking, which was by no means a new experience to the soldier boy.