But he was mistaken; for as the current swept the bateau around the bend of the river, he discovered, to his astonishment and chagrin, the two secesh soldiers, who had left the picket post some time before, standing at convenient distances from each other and from the shore, in the water, ready to rescue him from the fate before him.

The place they had chosen was evidently a ford of the river, where they intended to check the boat in its mad career down the stream.

They were painfully persistent in their kind intentions to save him from the horrible Yankees, and Tom wished they had been less humane and less enthusiastic in his cause.
As soon as Tom perceived this trap, he regretted his imprudence in betraying himself to the soldier from whom he had just escaped.

His sorrow was not diminished, when, a few minutes later, he heard the shouts of the third soldier, who, by hard running across the fields, had reached the ford before him.
"Shoot him! Shoot him! He's a Yankee!" bellowed the grayback on the shore.
Tom was appalled at these words, and wondered how the soldier could have found out that he was a Yankee; but when he recalled the fact that he had entertained him with Yankee Doodle at their last meeting, the mystery became less formidable.
"Shoot him! He's a Yankee!" shouted Secesh on the bank of the stream.
"We've left our guns on shore," replied Secesh in the water.
"I'm very much obliged to you for that," said Tom to himself, as he grasped his paddle, and set the boat over towards the right bank of the river.
No doubt the rebels in the water, when they saw with what facility the boatman moved the bateau in the swift tide, as compared with his futile efforts farther up the stream, were fully satisfied of the truth of their companion's assertion.

Tom decided to run the gauntlet between the right bank and the soldier nearest to that shore.