The danger had passed, and he floated leisurely on his voyage, buoyant as his light bark, and hopeful as the dream of youth.
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.