“Here, Lieutenant Watta, yo’ go down first, and receive the men; and all yo’ men follow him. Not too fast, now! Some of us will keep firing once and awhile, and so make them think we are here yet. I’ll go last, but yo’ receive the men, and keep them till I come. I know just where we’ve got to make a break, and I’ll get yo’ all off if yo’ keep cool, and not get excited; though yo’ll have to fight right smart to get out even the best way, for we are surrounded.” This was attempted, but when the brave Captain left the dark, deserted hall, and reached the ground, he found but fourteen of the men there. “Where is Lieutenant Watta?” he inquired. “He’s got excited and gone off, and controlled off the best part of the Company. He wanted to take us along too.” “Well, men, we are surrounded, and I think there is over three thousand men here in Baconsville, and there is more coming over from the city all the time. The lower part of Market street is completely blocked up with ’em for two hundred yards; looks like as thick as they can stand; and in Mercer street it’s the same, and in Main street the same. But right in front of the building there isn’t so many; and if yo’re ready to fight pretty sharp and mind orders, I’ll get yo’ out safe, maybe. “We’d best go up to Marmor’s office, and out that way. They won’t expect us to go up street towards old man Baker’s; they’ll expect us to go towards the city bridge, or to Sharp’s hill.” While the crowd was intent upon the arrival, placing, and firing off the cannon, the fifteen men reached the street. “Here they come! Here they come!” shouted the mob, as the men sought to cross Main street. The numbers against them were, of course, overwhelming; but the colored men were fighting for life, and the darkness and their dark skins were to their advantage. They dodged, or hid, or ran, or stood and fought bravely, as either best served them; till, after two or three hours of such effort, they were all safe together out of the town, in a strip of thick bushes which bordered “a branch” (a small tributary of the river), in one of Robert Baker’s fields. Only one was wounded, and be not disabled. Here all sat down to rest and give thanks for deliverance. But the brave Captain was troubled about the Lieutenant and the men he had “controlled off.” He was sure they would “get squandered;” and that if they did, they would be killed. So, leaving his comrades with many injunctions to remain there quietly, where no one would expect them to take refuge, he returned, and through numerous hair-breadth escapes, at length reached the besieged square. The most of the houses there, as is quite common in the South, stood upon wooden spiles, or short brick pillars, for coolness and less miasma. Imagination is active and potent in the Southerner, and his contempt and resentment towards a “nigger” that dares thwart the will of a white, feed his courage best when the dark skin is visible.