“Cato, you go out towards Silver Springs, and learn, if you can, the whereabouts of the rebels. Call at Edghill on your way, and tell Mr Marchant and his family to hurry on here, and that we’ll do our best to protect them.”
“Yes, massa,” answered Cato, who, for a black, was a man of few words, and was evidently a trustworthy fellow.
Caesar looked somewhat disappointed. I suspect that if he had found the rebels approaching, we should not have seen his face again. We were kept fully employed improving the fortifications. Mr Talboys, who was full of resources, devised three platforms, which were run from the upper windows above the doorway, with holes in them through which hot water or stones, or other missiles, could be dropped on the heads of the assailants. We had also means of access to the roof, so that if it were set on fire, we might extinguish the flames.
Still the enemy didn’t appear, nor did Cato return to bring us information. Had we been idle, the suspense might have been more trying; but as we were actively engaged, we scarcely thought of what might possibly happen. At last Cato’s voice was heard shouting—
“Massa Marchant and de piccaninnies come, but de rebels cum too, and dis nigger not know which get in first.”
“We must go and help our friends then. Who’ll accompany me?” asked Mr Talboys.
“I will, sir,” said I.
“And I,” said Tom Pim. And our other two messmates said the same.
The overseer seemed inclined to stop and defend the house. We immediately set out, Mr Talboys leading the way, and we keeping close to him. The night was dark, and we might easily have missed our road. After going some distance he stopped for a moment to listen. There came through the night air the tramp of feet, and the hum of voices, though apparently a long way off.
“What can have become of Marchant?” exclaimed Mr Talboys, after we had gone some way further.