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.