“Yes; and all alone too. The family knowed it wa’n’t safe for ’em here, pertic’lar Mr. Rouse. And so dey left me to see after tings. Gen. Baker, nor none of ’em’ dar’n’t _touch dis house_, cause the Post Office is yere, and dat’s dee United States—they are ’afeared o’ de Yankees you see. But, oh my! Ha’n’t it been a long night, and a _awful one_! ’Pears like I’m a hundred yeah old. How many’s been killed?” “I don’t know. Enough, anyhow.” “Dey didn’t git yo’? I’m surprised, Doc.” “No, nor they won’t;” and waving an adieu to Dick, the Captain walked noiselessly to the back part of the garden, and leaped the fence into Mercer street. There, stiff and stark lay the body of John Carr, the Town Marshal; and further up, close beside the fence, a shapeless heap, as it appeared, which Doc knew must be the body of Moses Parker, whom the slave-catcher had “got” on the previous evening. Keeping on towards the hills and near the railroad, he escaped unobserved; till, when ascending the hill, he heard his name spoken, quite near him. Though startled for an instant, he was immediately joined by Ned O’Bran, who came out from a clump of bushes where he had spent the night in terror; and, in company, the two men walked to the county seat, distant nearly twenty miles. There they found an excited people, and several refugees from the scene of massacre, among whom was Elder Jackson. “Phebe,” said Uncle Jesse, early that morning, “I don’t believe you’d best go up to church to-day. I don’t believe there’ll be many women there, for I reckon they all would leave the town last night.” “And _I_ don’t believe dar’ll be _no men_, nor no church nuther; fo’ Eldah Jackson bein a Legislatur man, an’ a Radical, ’ll have to streak it, yo’ may be sho; fo’ of co’se de white folks has beat de niggahs, as dey allus does.” “Well, now, it’s queer; but I never did thought about the Elder last night? For certain they’ll be after him; for there’s a political side to this ’ere fuss. Now you git breakfast just as quick as you can, and I’ll go over and see.” “I’m afeared to have yo’ go.” “But somebody ought to see after Elder Jackson.” “Dat’s so; I wish I could go wid yo’.” “No, no. Maybe I shall have to escape myself, and it’s a heap easier to escape on horseback, than it would be in a wagon, and two of us.” “Hadn’t yo’ best git Den Barden to go ’long, Jesse?” asked his wife as he arose from his hasty breakfast. “No, Phebe, I’m just agoing to leave the Laud Jesus Christ here, to take care of you and the children, and get God Almighty to go ’long with me, and see after me; and I’m going to go without anybody else at all.” So after reading with much needful moderation, and not without verbal errors, the 69th Psalm, he knelt with his little family upon the cottage floor, and repeated the same sentiments from a full heart.