“All the negroes are Union men,” replied Somers faintly.
“Dat’s so, massa!”
“What’s Dr. Scoville?” asked De Banyan hopefully.
“Secesh, massa—drefful secesh. He done been in de army fur a surgeon.”
“He is a dangerous man, then.”
“Dar, massa, dar!” shouted the negro suddenly, as he pointed down the road over which the fugitives had just come. “Dey’s some more arter you.”
De Banyan started his horse again, followed by Somers; but it was evident from the appearance of the latter that the chase was nearly finished for him. He was beginning to feel very faint from the loss of blood, while the pain of his wounded arm was almost unsupportable. The gait of the horse seemed to wrench the bones asunder, and cause the shattered parts to grate against each other.
“Hurry up, Somers, my dear boy,” said his companion, as he glanced back at the pale face of his friend.
“I am afraid I can’t go much farther, De Banyan,” replied Somers. “I am very faint. I feel sick.”
“Cheer up, and make one effort more. The rebels are upon us!”