Somers knew that he could not—that he was under the influence of the brandy, and over-estimated his strength. When he left the hospital he was as feeble as an infant, and nothing but the flashing hope of freedom could have sustained his weak body in the battle with the blood-hounds, and the walk from the creek. His friend determined to keep him quiet for a few days, if possible, assured that otherwise the enterprise must fail.
“Do you feel warm?” asked Somers, when he had told the story of his visit to the house.
“All but my feet,” replied the patient.
“I will warm them,” added the devoted nurse, as he took from his pocket a pair of socks, which he had transferred from the old to the new suit. “These are my fighting socks, but they shall do the best work now they have ever done.”
De Banyan protested, but Somers persisted, and put the cherished mementoes of Lilian upon his feet.
“Now go to sleep,” continued Somers, as he adjusted the overcoat, and placed the rags—of which the major had divested himself—on his feet.
He went to sleep, and Somers departed on an exploring expedition. In a pine forest, half a mile distant, he found an old shanty, which had been used for men engaged in drawing pitch from the trees. To this he transferred his patient, and kept him there for a week. The negroes on the plantation discovered the fugitives, but they were faithful friends, and supplied them with food and bed-clothes, so that they were quite comfortable.
From these devoted allies of the Union army, Somers learned that the deceased person he had seen in the house was the son of the planter, who had been sent home wounded. The articles taken had been missed, but the robbery was attributed to a couple of negroes who had run away at the time.
De Banyan gained strength each day, now that he was well clothed and well fed. After a week’s rest, the fugitives started again, guided by a negro belonging to the plantation, who conducted them to the river, and provided them with a boat. Night after night they floated down the stream, guided and fed by the negroes, till they reached the sea, and went on board of one of the blockaders.
Once more they were beneath the old flag; once more they were in the hands of friends; and from their hearts went up the song of jubilee to Him who had guided and strengthened them in their pilgrimage from darkness and death to light and liberty. When they reached Port Royal, they heard of the capture of Savannah and the conquering march of Sherman from Atlanta to the sea. Then they sang a new song of jubilee, for the days of the rebellion were numbered.