would have thought of such a thing themselves, for the south,
especially the poor white trash, are not largely endowed with inventive
genius.

"Save me! Save me!" cried Tom, as he saw the rebels engaged in a hasty
consultation, the result of which was, that two of them started off upon
the run in a direction at right angles with the stream.

"Try again! Stick to it!" shouted the picket left on the shore.

"I can't do any more; I'm all tired out," replied Tom, throwing himself
for the fourth time in the bottom of the boat, the very picture of
despair.

The picture was very much exaggerated and over-drawn; but as long as the
bullet from the rebel's musket did not come his way, Tom was satisfied
with his acting, and hopeful for the future. The man on the shore, full of
sympathy for the distressed and exhausted voyager, walked and ran so as to
keep up with the refractory barge, which seemed to be spitefully hurling
its agonized passenger into the Federal lines, where death and dungeons
lurked at every corner.

While this exciting drama was in progress, the stream bore Tom to a sharp
bend in the river, where the current set in close to the shore. His
attentive guardian on the bank ran ahead, and stationed himself at this
point, ready to afford any assistance to the disconsolate navigator which
the circumstances might permit.

"Now's your chance!" shouted he. "Gosh all whittaker! put in now, and do
your pootiest!"

Tom adopted this friendly advice, and "put in" with all his might; but the
more he "put in," the more he put out--from the shore, whither the
inauspicious eddies were sweeping him. If Tom had not been born in
Pinchbrook, and had a home by the sea, where boating is an appreciated
accomplishment, he would probably have been borne into the arms of the
expectant rebel, or received in his vitals the ounce of cold lead which
that gentleman's musket contained. As it was, he had the skill to do what
he seemed not to be doing. Mr. Johnny Reb evidently did not suspect that
Tom was "playing 'possum," as the Tennessee sharpshooters would have
expressed it. The voyager's efforts appeared to be made in good faith; and
certainly he applied himself with a degree of zeal and energy which ought
to have overcome the inertia of a small gunboat.

The bateau approached the point not more than a rod from the waiting arms
of the sympathizing grayback. As it passed, he waded a short distance into
the water, and stretched forth hi