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.  In the morning, well satisfied with his night’s work, he laid up for the day in the safest place he could find.

On the second day of his voyage down the river, the old problem of rations again presented itself for consideration, for the ham and chicken he had procured at Leed’s Manor were all gone.  There were plenty of houses on the banks of the river, but Tom had hoped to complete his cruise without the necessity of again exposing himself to the peril of being captured while foraging for the commissary department.  But the question was as imperative as it had been several times before, and twelve hours fasting gave him only a faint hint of what his necessities might compel him to endure in twenty-four or forty-eight hours.  He did not consider it wise to postpone the settlement of the problem till he was actually suffering for the want of food.

On the third night of his voyage, therefore, he hauled up the bateau at a convenient place, and started off upon a foraging expedition, intending to visit some farmer’s kitchen, and help himself, as he had done on a former occasion.  Of course, Tom had no idea where he was; but he hoped and believed that he should soon reach Harper’s Ferry.

After making his way through the woods for half a mile, he came to a public road, which he followed till it brought him to a house.  It was evidently the abode of a thrifty farmer, for near it were half a dozen negro houses.  As the dwelling had no long windows in front, Tom was obliged to approach the place by a flank and rear movement; but the back door was locked.  He tried the windows, and they were fastened.  While he was reconnoitring the premises, he heard heavy footsteps within.  Returning to the door, he knocked vigorously for admission.

“Who’s thar?” said a man, as he threw the door wide open.

“A stranger, who wants something to eat,” replied Tom, boldly.

“Who are ye?”

“My name is Tom Somers,” added the soldier boy, as he stepped into the house.  “Can you tell me whether the Seventh Georgia Regiment is down this way?”

“I reckon ’tis; least wise I don’t know.  There’s three rigiments about five mile below yere.”

“I was told my regiment was down this way, and I’m trying to find it.  I’m half starved.  Will you give me something to eat?”

“Sartin, stranger; I’ll do thet.”

The man, who was evidently the proprietor of the house, brought up the remnant of a boiled ham, a loaf of white bread, some butter, and a pitcher of milk.  Tom ate till he was satisfied.  The farmer, in deference to his amazing appetite probably, suspended his questions till the guest began to show some signs of satiety, when he pressed him again as vigorously as though he had been born and brought up among the hills of New England.