Having disposed of a good share of the contents of the brown basket, Mr. Webster declared that it was time for them to start for the camp, which was located in one of Captain Beardsley's wood lots, and not more than five miles away. He said that, as long as Captain Beardsley continued to trouble him and his friends, they would sleep on his grounds, warm themselves and cook their meals over fires built with wood that was cut from his trees, steal his corn meal and bacon, and shoot his hogs as often as they came within range of the camp. Mr. Webster's canoe was close by, and when he stepped into it he fastened the painter of Marcy's boat to a cleat in the stern, so that the two little crafts would not become separated in the darkness. It might require some talking to bring them together again, and they did not want to do much of that until they were safe in camp. As they shoved off from the bank they took a last look at that bright spot on the clouds, which had been growing brighter and larger every moment since it appeared, bearing unmistakable testimony to the destructive work that was going on beneath it. If the fire had attracted the attention of the Home Guards (and Marcy did not see how it could be otherwise), they did not reach the creek in time to save the schooner. Marcy wondered what Captain Beardsley's feelings were about that time. CHAPTER XVIII. CONCLUSION. When Marcy Gray opened his eyes the next morning at daylight, he was in the camp of the refugees, which was to be his home, at irregular intervals, for long months to come, and surrounded by men who, like himself, were being persecuted for their opinions' sake. The camp was located on an island in a remote corner of the swamp that Marcy had never seen before, although he had hunted through the country for miles on every side of his mother's plantation. In the middle of the island was a cleared space, perhaps fifty feet in diameter, and all the bushes and trees that had been cut from it were piled around the circumference, to serve the double purpose of wind-break and breastwork. There were no horses or mules among the refugees to make a trail through the woods that could be followed by the Home Guards and soldiers, and no dogs to attract their attention by their baying; but there were canoes and boats in plenty, and, except when in use, they were concealed in the bushes, so that they could not be seen from the mainland. There were several snug lean-tos in the camp, to which the refugees retreated in stormy weather; but, when the elements were friendly, they preferred to wrap themselves in their blankets, and sleep under the trees. When the newcomer opened his eyes on this particular morning, the first object they rested on was the bearded face of Ben Hawkins, the paroled prisoner. He was lying under the same tree, and had been waiting half an hour for Marcy to wake up. "I reckon it does you good to sleep in the open air," were the first words he spoke.