“But is it certain that Davis is there?” asked the man Jones called Moon, who seemed to be his intimate.

“Ah, that we will learn so soon as Nasmyd reports.  We will give the signal when we reach that fringe of wood yonder.  It’s back of the grounds, separated from them by a hard piece of swamp and water.—­Men, you must follow now in single file, and when we get in the swamp, mind, a single step out of line will cost you your lives, for, sucked into that morass, wild horses can’t pull you out.”

Then, as they plunged anew in the gloomy deeps of swamp and brake, the friendly lights were lost and the depressed wayfarers struggled on with something of the feeling of a crew cast away at sea, who, thrown upon the crest of a rising billow, catch a near glimpse of a great ship, light and taut, riding serenely havenward to lose it the next in the dire waste.  Presently the melancholy bird-notes that had puzzled Jack in the same vicinity days before broke out just in front of Barney, who was clambering along, the third man from the head of the little column.  Again, after a long pause, the sweet, plaintive note was re-echoed from a distance.

“Ah, all is well!” he heard Jones ejaculate triumphantly.  “We are in time and we are waited for.—­Now, men, put all the heart that’s in you to the next half-hour’s work.  No danger, but just cool heads and strong arms.”

This good news was conveyed from man to man, and the toilsome movement briskly accelerated under the inspiring watchword.  Shortly afterward the larger growth—­cypress and oak—­diminished, as the band straggled into the open, starry night at the margin of what they could tell was water by the croaking of frogs and plashing of night birds and reptiles.  Then the train was halted.  Jones left Nasmyd in command and plunged into a thick skirt of bushes.  Now Barney, hot and dirty from the march, had shot ahead when he heard the ripple of the water.  He had taken off his shoes to bathe his blistered and swollen feet, and sat quite still and restful under the leafy sprays of an odorous bush that even in the dark he knew to be honeysuckle.

“Well,” he heard Jones cry in an exultant whisper, “we’ve done it.  The woman is a trump.  There are a hundred nearly of the prisoners gone to the boats.  Now we are ready for Boone.  Is Davis here?”

“Yes; he came over from Williamsburg at eight o’clock; they were feasting when Clem came away a three or more ago.”

“Any cavalry at the house?”

“A squadron; but they are ordered to be in saddle for their quarters at midnight.  There’s the bugle for boots and saddles now.”

“Yes; by the Eternal, what luck!  Davis will sleep there.”

“So Clem says; the state chamber has been prepared for him; all the rest except Lee go back to Williamsburg.”

“We couldn’t have arranged it better if we had been given the ordering of it.  Are all the boats here?”