Under the new rule it was Ben’s turn to go foraging that night, and he went prepared for a fight. He was armed with three revolvers, Marcy’s pair besides his own, and took with him two soldier comrades who could be depended on in any emergency. They did not separate and give the rebels opportunity to overpower them singly, but kept together, ready to shoot or run as circumstances might require. They were not molested for the simple reason that the Confederates, as we have said, were watching other houses, knowing nothing of the new regulation that was in force. They returned with an ample supply of food, and reported that Marcy’s plan had thrown the enemy off the trail completely.
The next day was Sunday, and Ben devoted a good portion of it to making up for the sleep he had lost the night before, and the rest to selecting and instructing the men that were to accompany him to Mr. Allison’s house. There were nine of them, and with the exception of Mr. Webster and Marcy they were all Confederate soldiers. This made it plain to Marcy that Ben did not expect to find the traitor among the men who wore gray jackets. They set out as soon as night fell, marching along the road in military order, trusting to darkness to conceal their movements, and moving at quick step, for Mr. Allison’s house was nearly eight miles away. They had covered more than three-fourths of the distance, and Ben was explaining to Marcy how the house was to be surrounded by a right-and-left oblique movement, which was to begin as soon as the little column was fairly inside Mr. Allison’s gate, when their steps were arrested by a faint, tremulous hail which came from the bushes by the roadside. In a second more half a dozen cocked revolvers were pointed at the spot from which the voice sounded.
“Out of that!” commanded Ben. “Out you come with a jump.”
“Dat you, Moss’ Hawkins?” came in husky tones from the bushes.
“It’s me; but I don’t know who you are, an’ you want to be in a hurry about showin’ yourself. One—two——”
“Hol’—hol’ on, if you please, sah. Ise comin’,” answered the voice, and the next minute a badly frightened black man showed himself. “Say, Moss’ Hawkins,” he continued, “whar’s you all gwine?”
“I don’t know as that is any of your business,” answered Ben.
“Dat I knows mighty well,” the darky hastened to say. “Black ones aint got no truck wid white folkses business; but you all don’t want to go nigher to Mistah Allison’s. Da’s a whole passel rebels up da’. I done see ’em.”
“What are they doin’ up there?” inquired Ben, who was very much surprised to hear it.
The black man replied that they were not doing anything in particular the last time he saw them, only just loitering about as if they were waiting for something or somebody. They hadn’t come to the house by the road, but through the fields and out of the woods; and the care they showed to keep out of sight of anyone who might chance to ride along the highway, taken in connection with the fact that both Beardsley and Shelby had been there talking to them, and had afterward left by the way of a narrow lane that led to a piece of thick timber at the rear of the plantation—all these things made the darkies believe that the rebels were there for no good purpose, and so some of their number had left the quarter as soon as it grew dark, to warn any Union people they might meet to keep away from Mr. Allison’s house.