ur young friends was
frustrated for the time being. They agreed to "watch, pray _and act_" at
the very first opportunity that presented. It was not long before that
opportunity came.

Early upon the day following that of their disappointment, the
conspirators arranged that each should make a reconnaissance of the
lines, discover the weak points of the enemy, and, that being
accomplished, rendezvous at a given spot, ready to act upon any likely
plan that might suggest itself to them. Glazier had become a tolerably
expert physiognomist, and singled out an unsophisticated-looking
giant, who was patrolling a certain beat, as the best man among the line
of sentries on whom to practise an imposition. This individual was
evidently a good-natured lout, not long in the service, and very much
resembling our conception of "Jonas Chuzzlewit," in respect to his
having been "put away and forgotten for half a century." It is only
necessary to add that his owners "had stuck a musket in his hand, and
placed him on guard." Yet there was some pluck in him. He was just the
sort of man who, led by a good officer, would fight like a lion, but
whose animal instincts had so befogged his intellect that, if left to
his own resources, he would be as likely to ruin friend as foe.

[Illustration: The Escape From Columbia--crossing The Dead Line.]

When Glazier rejoined his comrade, he described this man, and the
friends agreed that they would boldly cross the "dead-line" immediately
in front of him, be ready to answer promptly his challenge, and, by the
audacity of their movement, attempt to deceive him in regard to their
real character and purpose. With such a man as they had to deal with,
this scheme was certain to result in one of two things: he would let
them pass, or he would kill them both; therefore, courage and
_sang-froid_ were matters of first necessity.

Accordingly, with the utmost coolness, and laughing and chatting
together, they sauntered up to and upon the fatal line. The sentinel
looked at them in amazement. He then brought his piece to bear upon
Glazier completely covering his person, and, with the usual order to
"Halt!" added: "Whar in hell are you going, Yanks?" As if his dignity
was seriously offended by this demand, our hero answered this question
by asking another: "Do you halt paroled prisoners here?" "His meek 'No,
sir!'" Glazier relates, "was not yet lost in the distance when I boldly
crossed the dreaded line, adding: