“We’ll be dead men, then,” answered George.  “You will never take us there alive.”

The fugitives did not linger to converse, but made all haste to get into the open air.  The horses belonging to the rebels, which were found fastened in front of the house, were immediately turned loose, and a thrust from the captain’s bayonet sent them galloping up the road.

George silently led the way to the place where they had left their prisoner, and, as soon as he was set at liberty, they bent their steps across the plantation, toward the woods at the rear.  Although George had borne up bravely while in the presence of his rebel parents, he could control himself no longer, and tears, which he could not repress, coursed down his cheeks, as ever and anon he turned to take a long, lingering look at the place he could no longer call home.  Every emotion he experienced found an echo in the generous heart of Frank, who was scarcely less affected than himself.  He could not believe that the scene through which they had just passed was a reality.  It did not seem possible that parents could address a son in the language that he had heard used toward George.

The unexpected denouement at the house had rendered the major and captain doubly anxious; for now nothing but the most consummate skill and daring could save them from recapture; and, while the former kept close watch on the house to catch the first sign of pursuit that should be made, the latter gave vent to his feelings by railing, in his broken English, first at George for proposing such an expedition, and then by deprecating his own folly for yielding his consent to it.  But there was no help now; regrets could not mend the matter, and nothing but rapid flight could save them.

When they reached the end of the field, George became suddenly aroused.  Brushing away the tears that dimmed his eyes, he placed himself at the head of the party, and started on at a rapid pace through the woods.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Almost Betrayed.

Whither he was leading them no one knew, or cared to ask; for, if they had entertained any suspicions in regard to George, the scene at the house had dispelled them; and knowing that he had as much, if not more, cause to dread recapture than themselves, they relied implicitly on him to get them out of their present difficulty.

The woods were pitch-dark, but George seemed to understand what he was about, and, for two hours, not a word was spoken, except, perhaps, now and then a growl of anger, as some one stumbled over a log or bush that lay in his way.  Finally, the softness of the ground under their feet indicated that they were approaching a swamp.  George now paused, and said: 

“Major, with your permission, we will stop here until daylight.  It is impossible to go further in this darkness, for it is an ugly road to travel.”