But Hugh was too weak for that, and after several ineffectual efforts to rise, fell back half fainting on the turf; while Rocket took his stand directly over him, a powerful and efficient guard until help from some quarter should arrive. Patiently, faithfully he stood, waiting as quietly as if he knew that aid was coming, not far away, in the form of an old man, whose hair was white as snow, and whose steps were feeble with age, but who had the advantage of knowing every inch of that ground, for he had trodden it many a time, with a homesick heart which pined for “old Kentuck,” whence he had been stolen. _Uncle Sam!_ He it was whose uncertain steps made Rocket prick up his ears and listen, neighing at last a neigh of welcome, by which he, too, was recognized. “De dear Father be praised if that be’nt Rocket hisself. I’ve found him, I’ve found my Massah Hugh. I tole Miss Ellis I should, ’case I knows all de way. Dear Massah Hugh, I’se _Sam_, I is,” and with a convulsive sob the old negro knelt beside the white-faced man who, but for this timely aid, could hardly have survived that fearful night. CHAPTER XXXVIII. HUGH AND SAM. It is more than a year now since last we looked in upon the inmates of Spring Bank, and during that time Kentucky had been the scene of violence, murder, and bloodshed. The roar of artillery had been heard upon its hills. Soldiers wearing the Federal uniform had marched up and down its beaten paths, encamping for a brief season in its capital, and then departing to other points where their services were needed more. Morgan, with his fierce band of guerillas, had carried terror, dismay, and sometimes death, to many a peaceful home; while _Harney_, too, disdaining open, honorable warfare, had joined himself, it was said, to a horde of savage marauders, gathered, some from Texas, some from Mississippi, and a few from Tennessee; but none, to her credit be it said, none from Kentucky, save their chief, the _Rebel Harney_, who, despised and dreaded almost equally by Unionists and Confederates, kept the country between Louisville and Lexington in a constant state of excitement. As the storm grew blacker, it had seemed necessary for Colonel Tiffton openly to avow his sentiments, and not “sneak between two fires, for fear of being burned,” as Harney wolfishly told him one day, taunting him with being a “villainous Yankee,” and hinting darkly of the punishment preparing for all such.