“Yes.”

“And the negroes—­how many have you?”

“I can’t say.  They’ve been dropping across in twos and threes since ten o’clock.  The curious thing is that the women are more taken with the idea of fight than the men.  We shall have enough—­too many, I fear.”

“We’ll make them our safety, Jim, my boy; we’ll divide them up, and, in case of pursuit, send them in different directions to confuse the troops.”

“How many men are you going to take to the house?”

“Six, with you and me.  It will be unsafe to take more, as the boats are small.  I will go back and select the men.  You get the boats ready.”

Barney hurried on his shoes, crawled through the bushes, and was in his place when Jones presently appeared.  The men, dead tired, were disposed about on the ground asleep, not minding the damp grass or the heavy dew that made the air fairly misty.

“Wake four of the men,” Jones whispered, and when they were aroused he said to a tall, reeling shadow, idly waiting orders: 

“We’ll be back in a half-hour, or an hour at the farthest.  Let the men sleep; they need it.  Sleep yourself if you want to.  Moon or I will come to rouse you, and we will bring you plenty of bacon and hominy.  Have no fears if you hear movements just beyond you; there are a couple of contrabands here who go with us.  Here’s a ration of tobacco for the men when they wake, and a gallon of whisky, which you must serve out gradually.”

Revived by this stimulating news quite as much as by the whisky, Barney and his three comrades followed Jones to the boats.  There were four—­the dug-outs we saw Jack manoeuvring in the same waters a few nights before.  A negro sat silent, shadowy in each, and, when Jones gave the word, “Let drive!” the barks shot through the waters, propelled by the single scull, as swiftly as an Indian canoe.  In a few moments all debarked on the grassy knoll behind the black line of hedge.  Jones made straight for the high doorway, and inserting a key it was noiselessly opened.

“Men,” he whispered, “no names must be used in any case.  I’m number one, Jim here is number two, Moore number three, and so on.  Each one remember his number.  Clem will remain here with number six to guard the gate.  All the rest follow me.”

Two negroes joined the party that stole forward through the rose-field to the negro quarters.  All was silent.  As they reached the great kitchen behind the house and connected with it by a trellised pavilion, only an occasional light could be seen in the house.  All were apparently there.  The ball had ended.  Leaving Barney in charge of the rest, Jones and Number Two crept along the trellis toward the house and soon disappeared around the southern corner.  Jones presently returned and said, exultingly: 

“The cavalry is gone; we have nothing to fear.—­Plato, you go with Number Two to the stables and bring the horses out; hold six and send the rest scattering in the fields, so that in case of anybody’s being in the mind to follow hell have to use his legs, and we can beat them at that game.  Where are the ropes?” he asked the black man left in the group.