“Yes, that’s the best way.  I wish to take no risks of being seen till after I make my attempt.”

Zany reconnoitred the hall.  No one was in sight.  Even Mrs. Baron, wearied out, had retired, and Mr. Baron had resolved to spend the night in the dining-room, partly out of courtesy to the Confederate general and partly to be ready for any emergency.  In the hall and on the front and rear piazzas were alert sentinels who would have observed and reported any unusual proceeding—­therefore Chunk’s plan was the only feasible one.  In the darkness Zany helped Miss Lou don her cousin’s uniform and slouched hat which, limp from the rain, fell over her face.  She was not so very much shorter than he as to make the fit a bad one when seen in the partial light.  The trousers had to be turned up, but that would be expected on account of the mud.  Her plumpness filled out the coat very comfortably, and her arm in a sling made the disguise almost perfect.

While Miss Lou was dressing Chunk again reconnoitred and reported the coast clear.  It was now about midnight and all were sleeping except those whom imperative duty or pain kept awake.  Chunk led the way, steadying Miss Lou with a firm hand, and Zany followed.

“Now, Miss Lou,” Chunk whispered, “I tek you de s’curest way, so you git back en’ nobody see you ef I git cotched.”

They made a circuit to avoid the kitchen and climbed over a low fence into the garden.  On the further side, opening on the driveway to the stables, was a gate.  Before reaching this, Miss Lou said to Zany, “You stay here.  If there’s an alarm, go to the kitchen.  You must not be known to have had anything to do with this affair.  It might cost you your life.”

“Ve’y well, Miss Lou.”

The young girl and her guide paused at the gate some moments, for attendants upon the wounded, with whom the outbuildings were filled, were passing to and fro.  At last they stole across the roadway to the shelter of a clump of trees beyond.  From this point they could see the group of prisoners about the fire, which was in a rather dying condition.  It was evident that some of the guards had succumbed to weariness, but Perkins still watched with the tirelessness of hate, his lantern so placed that its rays fell on Scoville, who could not make a movement without being observed.  Indeed, it was clear that he, too, was almost overcome with sleep, for he occasionally nodded and swayed before the fire.

“Now, Miss Lou,” whispered Chunk, “I gwine ter wake Marse Scoville up by tootin’ lak a squinch-owl,” and he did so briefly.

The Union officer was much too wary to start and look around, but he gradually proved that he was alert.  Close scrutiny of Perkins showed that the signal had no significance to him.

“Miss Lou,” resumed Chunk, “dere’s not’n fer you but ter walk right down de road ter de fire, berry quiet like, put yo’ finger on yo’ lips ter Perkins so he tink you ‘bout ter play de debil trick, en’ den lead Marse Scoville into de gyardin.  Ef Perkins foller, I foller ’im.  My hoss down by de run en we git off dat away.”