“Ha’n’t been about here to-night. I’ve been here and could see, and Dan’s all right.”
The ruffians yielded, and the three men, who had been unable to reach the scuttle and escape, were saved; though, confident of a speedy return of their foes, the colored men immediately sought another place of concealment.
The cries and pleadings of another captive were soon afterwards heard in the back-yard, and he was conveyed in triumph to the “dead-ring” which was still insatiable while ungraced by the persons of Marmor and Doc.
Though the house was not again entered by the mob, so strong and general was the suspicion that Mr. Marmor was upon the Jew’s premises, that after his return to his home even Robert Baker was persuaded to believe it, and a vigilant watch was maintained several days thereafter.
While Aunt Phœbe was hastening the preparation of Uncle Jesse’s breakfast the next morning, Jane Marmor sat beside her husband in the Jew’s chamber, and described the condition of things, as she had found them in their home; for she had already ventured there, and had looked in upon her mother-in-law, who had locked herself into her own little shop, and remained there, alone, and (strangely), unharmed, through the night.
Harry Gaston, and Hanson, Tommy, and old man Baker relieved each other on watch all the next day, each being assisted by a band of trusted followers; and Marmor, close behind Dan’s window-shades, listened to their threats against himself, and their attempts to convince such negroes as ventured near them, that he, Kanrasp, and the “carpet-bag Governor,” were solely responsible for the massacre; and while his colored friends were anxiously conjecturing his fate, his experiences in the affair had scarcely begun.
As the day declined, Mrs. Marmor joined her entreaties to those of their host, urging upon her husband the necessity of attempting escape, as there were indications of more decided search of the premises.
Night came at length, and spread her dark mantle over the village; but the hunted man had scarcely escaped the house when the rising of the full moon made concealment almost impossible.
As the weather was very warm, and he must make speed, he went without a coat. Choosing a time when the sentry had passed to the extreme of his beat, he walked up the street with apparently careless moderation, hoping to be mistaken for a laborer, and to reach a small station on the railroad three miles distant, before the arrival of the next train.