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.
When Tom was first challenged by the grayback, the boat had been some twenty rods above him; and it had now passed the spot where he stood, but the rebels were still near enough to converse with him.

Tom heard one of them ask another who he was.

Of course neither of them knew who he was, or where he came from.
"Try again!" shouted one of the pickets.