When Lieut. Watta had “controlled off” more than half the men who escaped from the armory, he took them right into the teeth of the enemy. At once the little squad was scattered in every direction, in their own expressive dialect, “squandered;” but most of them soon rendezvoused in Marmor’s printing office, entering at the back door, as Doc and his men had done.
“Boys, let’s run out. They’ll ketch us here, shor,” suggested one of the party, and opened the front door, but quickly and noiselessly closed it again, as the foe were numerous there.
“If you go that way, you’ll get killed,” said the Lieutenant; and all immediately ran out at the back door, and secreted themselves in the yards and under the houses; all but Corporal Free, who crept under a counter in the office.
When the door was eventually broken in, and the mob proceeded to demolish the machinery and whatever else they could find, a fragment struck the wall, and, rebounding, threatened the concealed head of the Corporal, who dodged, and thus revealed his presence.
“Hello! There’s a great nigger poking his head out,” exclaimed the rioters.
“I surrender! I surrender,” cried the poor fellow, as they dragged him out. “Where is Gen. Baker? Where is Gen. Baker?”
“Who is this?” asked one of the white men, pausing in his work of demolition, and approaching where the light of their lantern fell upon the face of their captive.
“Why it’s John Free. Don’t yo’ know me?—de man dat libed neighbor to yo’, Tom Sutter, for a year or mo’?” replied the prisoner. “I’m John Free, John Free. Yo’ know I’m a honest man as don’t do nobody no harm. I wants to see Gen. Baker.”
“—— —— you!” said the white man Tom Sutter, looking down into the dark face, “you’re one of Capt. Doc’s militia-men, first corporal. We’ll fix you to-night.”
“Oh, please send Gen. Baker to me if yo’ please. He is a high-toned gem’man, I’ve heard ’em say, and he won’t let any of his men hurt a prisoner dat surrenders. I tell yo’ I surrender! I surrender!”