No further information could I get; for the poor creatures seemed ignorant of everything except that some of their friends, perhaps relations, had been dangerously hurt. On I went then as fast as possible, till I reached the group of cabins which I have before described. Round the door of one of them the greater part of the negroes seemed to have collected; and thither I rode, judging at once that the wounded man lay there. A boy sprang, forward to hold my horse. Another whispered as I dismounted,-- "Doctor's wid him, sir." But I went in notwithstanding; and there, upon the lowly, pallet-bed, saw extended the large frame of the negro I had beheld in the morning, full of life and energy, but now apparently reduced to almost infant weakness. Bending over him with what I suppose was a pair of forceps plunged into a wound in his right side, was Doctor Christy, the surgeon who had attended me when suffering from a much lighter wound. The poor negro's eyes were closed, and he did not open them till the ball was extracted; but when he did, and they fell upon me, he raised himself a little on his elbow, as if about to speak. "There! lie still, my good fellow, lie still," said the surgeon. "We have got the bullet out; keep quiet and all will go well." "I want to speak with that gentleman--I _must_ speak with him, though I die. I'se going to die anyhow, I know dat, and I will speak with him when I can." "I hope he is likely to recover, Mr. Christy," I said advancing. "I hope so," answered the surgeon, in a somewhat doubtful tone. "But he must keep quiet, and not speak much; for I am not sure that the lower edge of the lung has not been touched." While he spoke, he was busily engaged in putting on compresses and bandages; but the negro eagerly beckoned me towards him, and judging that he would not remain quiet till he had said what he wished to say, I walked up and bent down my head, telling him to speak slowly and calmly. "Miss Bessy was dere, I'se sure," said the poor man. "Bob Thornton never shoot us for asking after her, if she warn't. She mayn't be dere now, for I dar say he send her away, 'case she saw all he do." "Then was it Robert Thornton himself who shot you?" I asked. "I thought he was still too ill to move." "Ay, but he shot me himself," said the negro. "He came to de window in his dressing-gown, and leaned de gun on de chair. Ole Bill and de two Irishmen shot de others; but _he_ shot me. But hark'ee, mas'r, if you and sheriff don't find Miss Bessy, go right across de Swamp. He got de ole house dere--right across, mind, straight east. You find her dere, I tink. Dat's anoder State. He won't keep her in Virginny after what he hab done." "I cannot really let this go on," said Doctor Christy. "The poor man's life depends upon his being quiet." "Well, good-bye, Hercules," I said. "I will see you tomorrow." "Ah, you bring me word dat Miss Bessy found all safe," answered the wounded man. "Dat do me more good nor anything."