Tom’s thoughts were sad and heavy.  He could not banish from his mind the face of the rebel, as he raised his hand to his breast, where he had received his mortal wound.  That countenance, full of hate and revenge, haunted him for weeks afterwards, in the solitude of his tent, and on his midnight vigils as a sentinel.

As he sat in the boat, thinking of the events of the morning, and listening to the mournful rippling of the waters, which, to his subdued soul, sounded like the requiem of his victim, he was challenged from the shore again.

“Who comes there!”

Tom jumped up, and saw a sentinel on the bank pointing his gun at him.  He surveyed the form with anxious interest; but this time he had nothing to fear, for the soldier wore the blue uniform of the United States army.

“Friend,” replied he, as he grasped his paddle.

“Come ashore, or I’ll put a bullet through you,” added the sentinel.

“Don’t do it!” said Tom, with energy.  “Can’t you see the colors I wear.”

“Come ashore, then.”

“I will.”

The soldier boy worked his paddle with vigor and skill, and it was astonishing to observe with what better success than when invited to land by the grayback up the river.  The guard assisted him in landing and securing his boat.

“Who are you?” demanded he, as he gazed at Tom’s wet and soiled garments.

“I was taken prisoner at Bull Run, and came back on my own hook.”

“Perhaps you were, but you can’t pass these lines,” said the soldier.

Tom was sent to the Federal camp, and passed from one officer to another, till he was finally introduced to General Banks, at Harper’s Ferry.  He was questioned in regard to his own adventures, the country he had passed through, and the troops of the enemy he had seen.  When, to use his own expression, he had been “pumped dry,” he was permitted to rest a few days, and then forwarded to his regiment.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Budd’s Ferry.

Though Tom Somers had been absent from the regiment only a fortnight, it seemed to him as though a year had elapsed since the day of the battle when he had stood shoulder to shoulder with his townsmen and friends.  He had been ordered to report to the provost marshal at Washington, where he learned that his regiment was at Bladensburg, about six miles from the city.  Being provided with the necessary pass and “transportation,” he soon reached the camp.

“Tom Somers!  Tom Somers!” shouted several of his comrades, as soon as they recognized him.

“Three cheers for Tom Somers!” shouted Bob Dornton.

The soldier boy was a favorite in the company, and his return was sufficient to justify such a proceeding.  The cheers, therefore, were given with tremendous enthusiasm.

“Tom, I’m glad to see you!” said old Hapgood, with extended hand, while his eyes filled with tears.  “I was afeared we should never see you again.”