to obtain the repose he so much
needed.

He thought of home, and wondered whether he should ever see the cottage of
his parents again; and while he was thinking, overcome by the excitement
and fatigue of the day, he dropped asleep. It was strange that he could do
so, consciously environed by so many perils; but he had in a measure
become callous to danger, and he slept long and deep.

When he awoke, it was dark and silent around him. The roar of battle had
ceased, and the calm of death seemed to have settled upon the scene of
strife. Tom's bones still ached; but he was wonderfully refreshed by the
nap he had taken. He had no idea of the time, and could not tell whether
he had slept one hour or six. He was strong enough to walk now, and the
first consideration was to escape from the vicinity of the rebel camps;
but he had no conception of where he was, or what direction would lead him
to the Federal lines.

A kind Providence had watched over him thus far; had spared his life in
the fury of battle; had fed him in the wilderness, like Elijah of old; and
restored his wasted strength. He could only trust to Providence for
guidance, and, using his best judgment in choosing the direction, he
entered upon the difficult task of finding his way out of the woods. He
had walked an hour or more, when, suddenly, three men sprung up in the
path before him.

"Halt! Who comes there?" demanded one of them.

"Friend!" replied Tom; though he had a great many doubts in regard to the
truth of his assertion.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign!"

But the soldier boy had no countersign to give. He had fallen upon a rebel
picket post, and was made a prisoner.

CHAPTER XV.

TOM A PRISONER.

Tom could not exactly understand how he happened to be made a prisoner. He
had certainly moved with extreme caution, and he wondered that he had not
received some intimation of the presence of the enemy before it was too
late to retreat. But, as we have before hinted, Tom was a philosopher; and
he did not despair even under the present reverse of circumstances, though
he was greatly disconcerted.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the rebel soldiers, when they had duly
possessed his body, which, however, was not a very chivalrous adventure,
for the prisoner was unarmed, his gun having been thrown away by the
friendly Zouave, after he had so terribly avenged his murdered companion.

"I'm a soldier," replied Tom, greatly perplexed b