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It wasn't quite clear in his mind what such means might be. However, luck had been with him in escaping from the hotel. Poor Wilson and Shadrack! They were in Chattanooga by this time. At any event, swimming was out of the question for the present. Sleep was the most important thing. The thoughts which had been hammering through his head were lost as he dozed off.
I feel as though I could sleep forever." It was just dawn when Tom awoke. From his head to his feet, he was sore and stiff. He sat up, rubbing his legs and stretching painfully. "Hey, Wilson! Shadrack! Come on. It's getting light." He went to the door and looked out. "If we drop straight down between the barn and the wagon, they can't see us from the house."
We passed a pleasant evening, during which the wit of my friend Shadrack kept us in a continual roar of laughter. At last morning came, and we went down to the bank of the river to cross. The ferryman had just swung the boat into the stream, and we were getting into it, when a man arrived with positive orders from the military authorities to let no one across for three days.
Shadrack sprawled face downward, and got up muttering something about "eating the filthy stuff." Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark; then a door opened, and a man stood looking out. "Call your dog off," yelled Wilson. "Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the farmer. The dog continued to bark, but he did not approach them.
"I suppose they have a telegraph line between Wartrace and headquarters." "I hope so," replied Shadrack. "I wonder how far the others got?" Tom had been wondering the same thing. "Probably not much farther than we did," he answered. More than an hour later they saw a light buggy drawn by two horses approaching them; then they distinguished Wilson and the Sergeant.
They glanced about from one to another. Shadrack was not among them. Tom jumped up to the edge of the tender and let himself down into the freight car. "Shadrack!" he called; then louder, "Shadrack! Shadrack!" There was no answer. The dense smoke choked and blinded him. "Shadrack!" He ran down the car, holding his breath and dodging the flames. "Shadrack!" "Here!" "Where?" "Outside."
Good-by, Wilson and Shadrack. Luck to you." He turned the horse into the road, and started southward. Now he was alone, with the South before him. Wednesday dawned in a drizzle of rain. It had seemed to Tom, riding through the long night on a horse whose legs trembled at every step, that the dawn would never come; that the world had been conquered by the downpour.
Shadrack broke in, "he'd better have something to eat, or he'll fall off the horse. We were just going to the Widow Fry's to persuade her to give us a meal." Andrews reached into his pockets, and drew forth two paper packages. "Here's some bread and meat. I'm sorry I haven't anything more, or anything better. You can eat it while you ride." Tom thanked him and mounted the horse. "Good-by, sir.
"What I hope," remarked Shadrack, with a chuckle, "is that our pickets are sleepy dreaming of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keeping on the alert. Whew! what a storm!" The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road was becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and they put all their strength into the laborious task of walking.
We need it." "Joe, you show them their rooms. I'll keep these for the present, if you don't mind." He motioned towards the revolvers. "You can take the other things." They nodded and said good-night. Joe handed them candles and they followed him upstairs. "Here's one room," he said. "Two of you can sleep there." "You and Shadrack take it," said Tom to Wilson. "Good-night." They shook hands.
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