If there had been sufficient light the battle might have continued in spite of the tropical downpour, but darkness became so intense that friend and foe were alike disguised from each other. At this crisis, Scoville's horse was shot and fell, dragging his rider down also. A flash of lightning revealed the mishap to Mad Whately, who secured the capture of the Union officer before he could extricate himself.

By a sort of mutual consent the contending forces drew apart. Prisoners had been taken on both sides, and Whately, who had badly sprained his arm, unfitting himself for active duty, was given charge of those secured by the Confederates.

General Marston withdrew the Union forces to the ridge again. He was satisfied that prudence required rapid progress toward his somewhat distant destination. True, he had severely checked his foes, but he knew that they had reinforcements near, while he had not. He deeply regretted Scoville's absence and possible death, but he had the map, and the men who had been out with the scout were acquainted with the selected road. Therefore, as soon as the violence of the storm abated and the moon shed a faint radiance through the murky clouds, he renewed his march as rapidly as the rain-soaked ground permitted. Fires were lighted along the ridge to deceive the enemy, and a rearguard left to keep them burning.

The trembling household within the mansion slowly rallied as the sounds of battle died away. As soon as the fury of the conflict and storm decreased, Mr. Baron lighted a candle and they looked into one another's white faces.

Miss Lou was the first to recover some intrepidity of spirit. "Well," she said, "we are still alive, and these torrents are evidently stopping the fighting as they would put out fire."

"Oh, Madison, Madison!" Mrs. Whately moaned, "are YOU living, or are you dead? If you are dead it is little to me that I am spared."

Miss Lou did not give very much thought to her cousin. In overpowering solicitude she asked herself, "Where is he whose eyes looked such strange, sweet truth into mine to-day? Are they unseeing, not because it is dark, but because the light of life is quenched?"

The brunt of the storm soon passed and was followed by a drizzling rain and the promise of a gloomy night. As the howling wind ceased their clamor, new blood-curdling sounds smote the girl's ears—the cries of wounded and dying men and horses. Then the ghastly truth, scarcely thought of in the preceding excitement, sickened her heart, for she remembered that, scattered over the lawn and within the grove, were mutilated, bleeding forms. They were all the more vividly presented to her fancy because hidden by the night.

But little time elapsed before the activity of the surgeons began. Mr. Baron was summoned and told that his piazzas and as many rooms as possible must be occupied, and part of the wide hall fitted up with appliances for amputations. Every suitable place in the out-buildings was also required.

Mrs. Baron almost shrieked as she heard this, seeing at one mental glance the dwelling which it had been her ruling passion to maintain in immaculate order, becoming bloodstained and muddy from top to bottom.

Mrs. Whately asked only for her son, and he soon appeared, with the excitement of battle still in his eyes. She rushed to his arms and sobbed on his breast.

"Come, mother," he exclaimed, "we've no time for this now. Please get a sling for this left arm, which aches horribly—only a sprain, but right painful all the same."

Before the agitated lady could recover herself, Miss Lou ran to her room and returned with a scarf which answered the purpose.

"Oh, you deign to do something for me?" he said bitterly.

"Come, cousin," she replied, "since I have not lost my senses after what's happened it's time you regained yours."

"Thank you, my dear," said his mother fervently, as she adjusted the support for the disabled arm. "Yes, I trust that we may all regain our senses, and, if we outlive these scenes, begin to act as if we were sane."

"There, that will do," he said impatiently. "I must go now, for I have important duties," and he hastened away.

Meantime General Marston had sent word through his picket line that he would not interfere with the care of the wounded and that the dwelling would not be fired upon if used as a hospital. He accompanied this assurance with the offer of medical stores, coffee, sugar and the services of two surgeons. The Confederate general accepted the offer. The trembling negroes were routed out of their quarters, and compelled more or less reluctantly to help bring in the wounded. Uncle Lusthah showed no hesitancy in the humane work and soon inspired those over whom he had influence with much of his spirit. It had been a terribly anxious day for him and those about him. Hope had ebbed and flowed alternately until night, when the day which seemed to him the dawning of the millennium ended as he imagined the world might end. Now, however, he was comforted in the performance of good works, and he breathed words of Christian hope into more than one dying ear that night.

Perkins, the overseer, was animated by a very different spirit. At the first alarm of Scoville's return in the morning he had dashed into the grove, and next concealed himself on a distant eminence from which he could watch events. Under the cover of darkness he returned, and experienced grim satisfaction when he discovered the hated Union officer among the prisoners.

As Whately was making his final arrangements for the night, Perkins touched his arm saying, "Leftenant, I'll help watch that Yank thar" (pointing to Scoville). "They say he's ez slip'ry ez a eel."

"Do so, Perkins. We both have a heavy score to settle with him. At daylight I'll send him where he won't fare as well as he did on this plantation."

"Is your arm woun'ed?"

"No, only sprained, but it pains like the devil. Watch that Yank well.
I'd rather they all got away than he."

"He'll never get away alive," was the ominous reply.

As was true after the first skirmish recorded in this history, Mrs. Whately now again appeared to the best advantage. Relieved from overwhelming anxiety in regard to her son, her heart overflowed with pity for the injured. From the outer darkness, limp, helpless forms, in bloodstained garments, were borne in. Groans and half-stifled cries began to resound through the house. Even Mrs. Baron forgot all else now but the pressing necessity of relieving pain and saving life, but she had eyes only for those who wore the gray. Mrs. Whately, on the contrary, made no distinction, and many a poor fellow, in blue as well as gray, blessed her as she aided the surgeons, two of whom were from the Union lines. Miss Lou remained chiefly in her own room and busied herself preparing bandages, sparing not her own rather scanty store of underclothing in the task.

Mr. Baron was in the dining-room, dispensing wines and liquors to the officers who were coming and going. The Confederate general had made the wide hearth, on which roared an ample fire, his headquarters for the time, and was turning first one side then the other toward the blaze, in order to dry his uniform. Poor Aun' Suke had been threatened into renewed activity, and with many colored assistants had begun a stewing, baking and frying which promised to be interminable. Chickens, pigs and cattle had been killed wherever found, for hungry soldiers after a battle and in darkness ask no questions on either side. Mr. Baron knew he was being ruined, but since it was in behalf of his friends, he maintained remarkable fortitude, while his wife, with her thin, white, set face, honored every requisition.

Some of the negroes, sighing for what seemed vanishing freedom, sought to reach the Union force, but were stopped at the picket line by which General Marston masked his retirement from the field. The majority of the slaves, however, were kept at work indoors and out, under the eyes of the Confederates, who quickly showed themselves to be savage toward any disposition to shirk orders.

There was one who would have received short shrift if hands could have been laid upon him—Chunk. None knew this better than he, yet he was as fearless as he was shrewd. Scoville had already won from him unlimited devotion—bought him, body and soul, with kindness and freedom. When he found his new master had not returned from the final charge, Chunk questioned one and another until he learned that Scoville had been seen to go down and then disappear in the gloom. Whether he had been killed or captured, no one knew, but Chunk resolved to find out before morning at all risks. Yet in the darkness and rain he felt much confidence in his ability to elude danger, for he knew every inch of the ground and of numerous places for concealment.

He set about his task in the most matter-of-fact way, resolving to begin operations with a good supper. At this early stage Aun' Jinkey and her cabin were both forgotten, and the poor old woman was half dead from terror. When Chunk tapped at the one window, she feared the spooks of dead soldiers had already begun their persecutions. Never was there a more welcome and reassuring sound than the impatient voice of her grandson, and she soon so rallied as to get him something to eat.

"I darsn't come in," he said. "I got ter be whar I kin run en hide. Now granny, lis'n wid all yo' ears. Marse Scoville killed, woun'ed or took. I'se gwine ter fin' out which. Wen dey gits mo' settle down lak anuff dey be lookin' fer me yere, en I kyant come yere no mo', but I kin git ter Miss Lou's winder ef she hab no light in her room. I safest whar dey ain' lookin' fer me. Tell her ter put no light sho! Mebbe she hafter hep me git Marse Scoville off, ef he took en ef he woun'ed she de one ter 'tect en keer fer 'im. Dat ar Perkins kill 'im sho, ef he git de charnce. Now ef you years me toot twice lak a squinch-owl, you knows dat you got ter go en tell Miss Lou dat I need her hep en dat I gwine ter creep 'long de pazzer roof ter her winder. Ef I doan toot you keeps quiet till you sees me agin," and he disappeared.

"Who'd a thunk dat ar boy had sech a haid!" ejaculated Aun' Jinkey, lighting her pipe. Deep as would now be her solicitude and great as her fears, her grandson's appearance and words had dispelled the spook-phase of her tribulations.

Chunk could run on all fours as easily as in an upright position, and he made his way rapidly through the darkness. His first aim was to get his eye on Perkins and Mad Whately, from whom he felt that he and Scoville had the most to fear. He was now armed with a knife and short club, as well as a revolver, and was determined to use them rather than be captured. Skulking, creeping and hiding in deep shadow, he at last saw Perkins issuing from his house, carrying his lantern. Following, he distinctly observed the brief interview between the overseer and Whately, and guessed correctly that Scoville was among the prisoners. He was soon able so to shift his position as to satisfy himself on this point, and also to note that Perkins, from his movements, would be one of the guard. By the gleams of the lantern Chunk also saw that Scoville appeared to be watching the overseer as if suspecting treachery. "I watch 'im too," the negro soliloquized. "Ef he play eny debil trick he hissef gwine ter de debil sud'n."

Scoville was indeed anxious about his position, for while he believed that Whately was scarcely capable of transcending the usages of war, he knew well that opportunity only limited the malignity of Perkins. He therefore rarely took his eyes from this personal enemy.

For his own sake and that of the guards, Perkins aided in building a fire, for in the continued rain all were chilled. As Chunk saw the leaping flames and the lantern so placed that its rays fell on Scoville, he was almost in despair of any chance for rescue, but believed that his best course was to watch for some change which promised better. He remembered how Scoville had employed the hootings of the screech-owl as a signal, and resolved by the same means to prepare the prisoner for co-operation with any effort in his behalf. Therefore he hooted softly and was glad to see from Scoville's alert yet wary manner that he had recognized the signal.

So intent was Chunk in watching his master that he did not hear the steps of a bewildered Confederate who stumbled over him and fell headlong with a volley of oaths. The negro employed woful strategy to mislead the soldier, for he grunted like a pig, thus awakening hopes of more fried pork. The result was immediate pursuit by all within hearing, and Chunk with difficulty escaped by the aid of darkness and his complete familiarity with the place. When at last he found himself secure he panted, "Mout ez well be took fer Chunk ez a hog. Stand des ez good a charnce. Won't try dat ar game agin."

He was now sorely puzzled to know what to do, and his nerves were somewhat shaken by his narrow escape. At last he resolved to send his granny to Miss Lou and consult with the girl. Accordingly, he stole into the shrubbery of the garden and hooted twice, rightly thinking that Scoville could hear the signal also and believe that something might be attempted in his behalf. Cowering under a bush, he soon observed Aun' Jinkey tottering toward the house, muttering, "Good Lawd, hep us!" as she went.

As the excitement of battle and exultation over the capture of Scoville subsided in Whately's mind he became excessively weary and his exhausted frame suffered from the chill and wetness of the night. He had sought to keep up by liberal potations in his uncle's dining-room, but was resolved to get a night's sleep if possible. He had urgently charged the sergeant of the guard over the prisoners to be vigilant. When Perkins offered to share in this watch Whately, understanding the vindictive motive, felt that he need give himself no further anxiety. He next sought his mother and obtained a little food which the lady had brought to her room.

"Where is Cousin Lou?" the young man asked.

"She is in her own room, and with Zany's help making bandages. I would advise you not to see her again to-night. You are greatly wearied."

"Little wonder, after riding nearly all last night, and the fighting to-day."

"Yes, I know, and have thought of all nearly every moment. I am only too thankful that you have survived. You have gone to the limit of human endurance and must sleep. The less you and Louise say to each other for a short time the better. After you have both grown calmer and have had a chance to think you will see things in a different light."

"Mother, do you think I mean to be thwarted by that girl? I would marry her now from pure pride—for the sake of humbling her and teaching her that she made the mistake of her life in so crossing my will and in subjecting me to the mortification I endured this morning."

"Madison! actuated by such motives, you'll never win her! If you will closely follow my advice I believe you can succeed. I must tell you plainly that if you join with brother and his wife in their tactics it will always end much as it did this morning."

"Well, anyhow, I have that cursed Yankee cub that she went walking with in my power."

"What! Lieutenant Scoville?"

"Yes; he's a prisoner and Perkins is helping watch him."

"Then I implore you not to let Louise know it. She saw that this Scoville might have killed you. She is merely friendly toward him because, instead of treating us rudely, as she was led to believe he would, he was very polite and considerate when we were in his power. That wretch Perkins tried to shoot him to-day and probably would have succeeded but for Louise," and she narrated the circumstances.

Her son frowned only the darker from jealousy and anger.

"Oh, Madison! why won't you see things as they are?" his mother resumed. "If you had treated this Yankee officer with kindness and thanked him for his leniency toward us, you would have taken a long step in her favor. If you were trying to make her hate you, how could you set about it more skilfully?"

"Mother," he replied doggedly, "if Lou had married me, even if she had yielded reluctantly, I would have been her slave; but she has defied me, humiliated and scoffed at me, and I shall never whine and fawn for her favor again. I don't believe it would be of any use. If I should change my tactics she would only despise and laugh at me. What's more, my very nature revolts at such a change. I can't and won't make it. She shall learn to fear me. Women marry for fear as well as love. This Scoville gives me a chance to teach her the first lesson. He shall be sent by daylight to a Southern prison and that will be the last of him. Lou shall learn, as all will find out, that it's poor policy to thwart me. That major who interfered so impudently in our affairs is dead."

"Oh, Madison!"

"You needn't look so. I had nothing to do with it. There were plenty of
Yankee bullets flying to-day. All I mean to say is that it will prove
serious for any one to cross my path. Fate is on the side of a man who
WILL have his own way, and Lou will discover this fact sooner or later."

Poor Mrs. Whately was compelled to rate these vaporings at their true worth, seeing that between wine, anger and long-indulged arrogance, he was in a melodramatic mood and beyond reason: so she only said soothingly, "Please never let Louise know that I was aware of Scoville's captivity. After you have rested and have had time to think you will see things differently. I warn you however against Perkins," she added solemnly. "If you identify yourself with him in any way you may involve yourself and all of us in ruin. Now come, I will make a bed for you at the end of the hall near my room, and you had better sleep while you can."

He readily acquiesced, for even his lurid schemes for the future could keep him awake no longer. In a few moments he was sleeping soundly on a mattress, wrapped in a blanket. His uniform was hung on the back of a chair near him to dry.