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To attempt making a sortie would now have been madness, for, bad marksmen as were the negroes, the whole party might have been shot down even before they could have reached any available shelter. Cudjoe's success for he must have seen the overseer fall by his bullet encouraged his followers, and now, shrieking, leaping, and brandishing their weapons, they rushed forward.
Suddenly an expression of agony crossed her face, and she sprang up, saying, "O, my Harry! Have they got him?" The boy, at this, jumped from Cudjoe's knee, and running to her side put up his arms. "O, he's here! he's here!" she exclaimed. "O, ma'am!" said she, wildly, to Mrs. Bird, "do protect us! don't let them get him!" "Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman," said Mrs. Bird, encouragingly.
The special affair in progress, at the time of these statements, was called Cudjoe's War. Cudjoe was a gentleman of extreme brevity and blackness, whose full-length portrait can hardly be said to adorn Dallas's History of the Maroons; but he was as formidable a guerrilla as Marion. Under his leadership, the various bodies of fugitives were consolidated into one force, and thoroughly organized.
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