Tom Somers, who had had some experience, in a small way, in the kind of business now before him, was filled with hope when he had adopted his plan.  He was a resolute and energetic young man, and to resolve upon any thing was almost equivalent to doing it.  There were a great many difficulties in the way of success, it is true; but, nothing daunted by these, he determined to persevere.  The church in which the prisoners were confined was carefully guarded on the exterior, and the sentinels carried loaded muskets in their hands—­so that the affair before him was more hazardous and trying than that of escaping from the attic chamber of Squire Pemberton’s house in Pinchbrook.

If he succeeded in making his way out of the church and eluding the guard which surrounded it, even then his trials would only have commenced; for there were many miles of hostile country between him and Washington, whither he supposed the Federal army had been driven.  The captain who intended to escape at the same time gave him some information which would be of service to him in finding his way to the Potomac.  He charged him particularly to follow the railroad, which would conduct him to Alexandria, in the vicinity of which he would probably find the regiment.

At dark the prisoners disposed of themselves as well as they could for the night.  Tom saw the captain go through all the forms of preparing for a comfortable lodging, and he did the same himself.  For hours he lay ruminating upon his purpose.  When it was midnight, he thought it was time for him to commence the enterprise.  He worked himself along on the floor till he reached the principal entrance.  The door was open, as it had been all day, to enable the guards to obtain an occasional view of the prisoners.

The sentinels were evidently in no condition to discharge their duties with fidelity, for they had been marching and fighting for two or three days, and were nearly exhausted.  Leaning against the door, Tom discovered a musket, which the careless guard had left there.  On the floor in the entry lay two rebel soldiers.  They had stretched themselves across the threshold of the door, so that no one could pass in or out of the church without stepping over them.

Tom carefully rose from his recumbent posture, and took possession of the musket.  Then, with the utmost prudence, he stepped over the bodies of the sleeping soldiers; but with all his circumspection, he could not prevent one of his shoes from squeaking a little, and it required only a particle of noise to rouse the guard.

“Who goes there?” demanded one of them, springing to his feet.

“Is this the way you do your duty?” replied Tom, as sternly as though he had been a brigadier general.

“Who are you?” said the soldier, apparently impressed by the words and the tones of him who reproved his neglect.

“Who am I, you sleepy scum!  I’ll let you know who I am in about ten minutes,” added Tom, as he passed out at the front door of the church.