"He'll never get away alive," was the ominous reply.
As was true after the first skirmish recorded in this history, Mrs. Whately now again appeared to the best advantage. Relieved from overwhelming anxiety in regard to her son, her heart overflowed with pity for the injured. From the outer darkness, limp, helpless forms, in bloodstained garments, were borne in. Groans and half-stifled cries began to resound through the house. Even Mrs. Baron forgot all else now but the pressing necessity of relieving pain and saving life, but she had eyes only for those who wore the gray. Mrs. Whately, on the contrary, made no distinction, and many a poor fellow, in blue as well as gray, blessed her as she aided the surgeons, two of whom were from the Union lines. Miss Lou remained chiefly in her own room and busied herself preparing bandages, sparing not her own rather scanty store of underclothing in the task.
Mr. Baron was in the dining-room, dispensing wines and liquors to the officers who were coming and going. The Confederate general had made the wide hearth, on which roared an ample fire, his headquarters for the time, and was turning first one side then the other toward the blaze, in order to dry his uniform. Poor Aun' Suke had been threatened into renewed activity, and with many colored assistants had begun a stewing, baking and frying which promised to be interminable. Chickens, pigs and cattle had been killed wherever found, for hungry soldiers after a battle and in darkness ask no questions on either side. Mr. Baron knew he was being ruined, but since it was in behalf of his friends, he maintained remarkable fortitude, while his wife, with her thin, white, set face, honored every requisition.
Some of the negroes, sighing for what seemed vanishing freedom, sought to reach the Union force, but were stopped at the picket line by which General Marston masked his retirement from the field. The majority of the slaves, however, were kept at work indoors and out, under the eyes of the Confederates, who quickly showed themselves to be savage toward any disposition to shirk orders.
There was one who would have received short shrift if hands could have been laid upon him—Chunk. None knew this better than he, yet he was as fearless as he was shrewd. Scoville had already won from him unlimited devotion—bought him, body and soul, with kindness and freedom. When he found his new master had not returned from the final charge, Chunk questioned one and another until he learned that Scoville had been seen to go down and then disappear in the gloom. Whether he had been killed or captured, no one knew, but Chunk resolved to find out before morning at all risks. Yet in the darkness and rain he felt much confidence in his ability to elude danger, for he knew every inch of the ground and of numerous places for concealment.
He set about his task in the most matter-of-fact way, resolving to begin operations with a good supper. At this early stage Aun' Jinkey and her cabin were both forgotten, and the poor old woman was half dead from terror. When Chunk tapped at the one window, she feared the spooks of dead soldiers had already begun their persecutions. Never was there a more welcome and reassuring sound than the impatient voice of her grandson, and she soon so rallied as to get him something to eat.
"I darsn't come in," he said. "I got ter be whar I kin run en hide. Now granny, lis'n wid all yo' ears. Marse Scoville killed, woun'ed or took. I'se gwine ter fin' out which. Wen dey gits mo' settle down lak anuff dey be lookin' fer me yere, en I kyant come yere no mo', but I kin git ter Miss Lou's winder ef she hab no light in her room. I safest whar dey ain' lookin' fer me. Tell her ter put no light sho! Mebbe she hafter hep me git Marse Scoville off, ef he took en ef he woun'ed she de one ter 'tect en keer fer 'im. Dat ar Perkins kill 'im sho, ef he git de charnce. Now ef you years me toot twice lak a squinch-owl, you knows dat you got ter go en tell Miss Lou dat I need her hep en dat I gwine ter creep 'long de pazzer roof ter her winder. Ef I doan toot you keeps quiet till you sees me agin," and he disappeared.
"Who'd a thunk dat ar boy had sech a haid!" ejaculated Aun' Jinkey, lighting her pipe. Deep as would now be her solicitude and great as her fears, her grandson's appearance and words had dispelled the spook-phase of her tribulations.
Chunk could run on all fours as easily as in an upright position, and he made his way rapidly through the darkness. His first aim was to get his eye on Perkins and Mad Whately, from whom he felt that he and Scoville had the most to fear. He was now armed with a knife and short club, as well as a revolver, and was determined to use them rather than be captured. Skulking, creeping and hiding in deep shadow, he at last saw Perkins issuing from his house, carrying his lantern. Following, he distinctly observed the brief interview between the overseer and Whately, and guessed correctly that Scoville was among the prisoners. He was soon able so to shift his position as to satisfy himself on this point, and also to note that Perkins, from his movements, would be one of the guard. By the gleams of the lantern Chunk also saw that Scoville appeared to be watching the overseer as if suspecting treachery. "I watch 'im too," the negro soliloquized. "Ef he play eny debil trick he hissef gwine ter de debil sud'n."
Scoville was indeed anxious about his position, for while he believed that Whately was scarcely capable of transcending the usages of war, he knew well that opportunity only limited the malignity of Perkins. He therefore rarely took his eyes from this personal enemy.