“Why, we’re firing upon the wrong men,” cried Mr Anderson.
“No, massa,” said a familiar voice, hoarse with shouting. “All Massa Huggin men. Our boys no got gun.”
“Then we’re all right?”
“Yes, massa.”
“And who are these coming on here?”
“All pore boy run away. Massa Huggin men come out of trees long behind, massa listen.”
There was occasion to hearken, for above the murmurs, wails and shouts of the blacks who were flying from pursuit came the scattered firing of those who had been busy in the massacre that had been taking place.
“Guide us back along the path to Mr Allen’s house,” cried the lieutenant.
“No, massa; boy here do that. Caesar must stop fight.”
“Good! Brave fellow!” cried the lieutenant. “Here, I’ll give those who fired upon us a few shots first to clear the way.”