But Barney—­not caring for a drink, the cynic—­gave him his address, and, dreadfully cast down in spirit, the eager partisan moped up the long hill homeward.  The next day Mrs. Lanview gave him the details of the meditated escape.  There were only sixty or a hundred in position to avail themselves of the subterranean way that had been toilsomely dug, by a few devoted spirits, with tools casually dropped among them by the guileless Veronica during her daily visits.  The plotters counted on at least six hours’ start before discovery.  The guards were not to be disturbed, and the evasion would not be known until eight o’clock, when the miserable breakfast ration was distributed.

Of that amazing-exploit, the digging through twenty solid feet of earth and stone, I do not propose to tell.  It is to be found in the journals of the day:  it is contained in the hundred pathetic narratives of the men who took part.  It has nothing to do with this history beyond the use made of it to mislead the ingenious Barney, and in the end complicate the careers of those in whom we are interested.  Suffice it, therefore, to say that in the dim morning mist, as arranged, a shadowy host emerged on the river-bottom, now dry and footable; that each man, as he crawled from the pit, was directed into the thick willows bordering the banks; that when six score or more had clambered out they obeyed a whispered command, for which Veronica had prepared them, and noiselessly, in shadowy single file, they followed the bed of the stream, even where the water flowed deep and dangerous, until they came to the gentle slopes of Church Hill.  Then, under guidance of Barney, those who were wise followed swiftly down the river-road until daylight, when they hid in the dim recesses of the white-oak swamps, where they lay concealed many hours.  As night fell they faced hopefully forward down the Williamsburg road, until a flaming wave in the air admonished them to strike to the right, and they plunged into the pathless swamps of the Chickahominy.  Here they were secure.  No force able to cope with them could enter; no force at the command of Magruder could surround them.  But Barney’s guiding hand was now replaced by another.  Jones had appeared, and with him men bearing Butler’s commission.  The prisoners of Libby set up a defiant cheer.  They were once more under the flag.  Father Abraham was again their commander.

There were sedate, fatherly men among these rescued bands.  There were men with gray hairs and sober behavior; men who could bow meekly under the chastening rod; but the antics of the juvenile group, in which we are mainly interested, were grave and decorous compared with the abandoned, delirious joy of these grave men as they reached the recesses of a swamp that denied admission to all save practiced explorers.  Why, here they could subsist for weeks!  The rebels might spy them, might surround them, but they need not starve—­the buds were food, the bushes refreshment, the pellucid pools drink and life.  Barney stared in speechless amazement at the unseemly gambols of the motley mass.