_PENN'S FOOT KNOCKS DOWN A MUSKET._
Weeks passed. But now every day brought to Penn increasing anxiety of
mind with regard to his situation. His abhorrence of war was as strong
as ever; and his great principle of non-resistance had scarcely been
shaken. But how was he to avoid participating in scenes of violence if
he remained in Tennessee? And how was his escape from the state to be
effected?
"You are welcome to a home with us as long as you will stay," said Pomp.
"I shall miss you--even Cudjo will hate to see you go."
Penn thanked him, fully appreciating their kindness; but his heart was
yearning for other things.
Day after day he lingered still, however. The difficulties in the way of
escape thickened, instead of diminishing. In February, as I have said,
the people had voted against secession. Not content with this, the
governor called an extra session of the legislature, which proceeded to
carry the state out of the Union by fraud. On the sixth of May an
ordinance of separation was passed, to be submitted to the vote of the
people on the eighth of June. But without waiting for the will of the
people to be made manifest, the authors of this treason went on to act
precisely as if the state had seceded. A league was formed with the
confederate states, the control of all the troops raised in Tennessee
was given to Davis, and troops from the cotton states were rushed in to
make good the work thus begun. The June election, which took place under
this reign of terror, resulted as was to have been expected. Rebel
soldiers guarded the polls. Few dared to vote openly the Union ticket;
while those who deposited a close ticket were "spotted." Thus timid men
were frightened from the ballot-box; while soldiers from the cotton
states voted in their places. Then, as it was charged, there were the
grossest frauds in counting the votes. And so Tennessee "seceded."
The state authorities had also achieved a politic stroke by disarming
the people. Every owner of a gun was compelled to deliver it up, or pay
a heavy fine. The arms thus secured went to equip the troops raised for
the Confederacy; while the Union cause was left crippled and
defenceless. Many firelocks were of course kept concealed: some were
taken to pieces, and the pieces scattered,--the barrel here, the stock
there, and the lock in still another place,--to come together again only
at the will of the owner: but, as a general thing, the loyalists could
not be said to have arms. It was in those times that the precaution of
Stackridge and his fellow-patriots was justified. The secrecy with which
they had conducted their night-meetings and drills, though seemingly
unnecessary at first, saved them from much inconvenience when the full
tide of persecution set in. They were suspected indeed, and it was
believed they had arms; but they still met in safety, and the place
where their arms were deposited remained undiscovered.
All this time, Penn had no money with which to defray the expenses of
travel. When his school was broken up, several hundred dollars were due
him for his services. This sum the trustees of the Academy placed to his
credit in the Curryville Bank; but, in consequence of a recent
enactment, designed to rob and annoy loyal men, he could not draw the
money without appearing personally, and first taking the oath of
allegiance to the confederate government. This, of course, was out of
the question.
Meanwhile he learned to rough it on the mountain with the fugitives.
Pomp taught him the use of the rifle, and he was soon able to shoot,
dress, and cook his own dinner. He grew robust with the exercise and
exposure. But every day his longing eyes turned towards the valley where
the friends were whom he loved, and whom he resolved at all hazards to
visit again, if for the last time.
At length, one morning at breakfast, he informed Pomp and Cudjo of his
intention to leave them,--to return secretly to the village, place
himself under the protection of certain Unionists he knew, and attempt,
with their assistance, to make his way out of the state.
"Why go down there at all?" said Pomp. "If you are determined to leave
us, let me be your guide. I will take you over the mountains into
Kentucky, where you will be safe. It will be a long, hard journey; but
you are strong now; we will take it leisurely, killing our game by the
way."
"You are very kind--and----"
Penn blushed and stammered. The truth was, he was willing to risk his
life to see Virginia once more; and the thought of quitting the state
without bidding her good by was intolerable to him.
"And what?" said Pomp, smiling intelligently.
"And I may possibly be glad to accept your proposal. But I am determined
to try the other way first."
Both Pomp and Cudjo endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking, but
in vain. That evening he took his departure. The blacks accompanied him
to the foot of the mountain. Notwithstanding the friendship and
gratitude he had all along felt towards them, he had not foreseen how
painful would be the separation from them.
"I never quitted friends more reluctantly!" he said, choked with his
emotion. "Never, never shall I forget you--never shall I forget those
rambles on the mountains, those days and nights in the cave! Let me hope
we shall meet again, when I can make you some return for your kindness."
"We may meet again, and sooner than you suppose," said Pomp. "If you
find escape too difficult, be sure and come back to us. Ah, I seem to
foresee that you will come back!"
With this prediction ringing in his ears, and filling him with vague
forebodings, Penn went his way; while the negroes, having shaken hands
with him in sorrowful silence, returned to their savage mountain home,
which had never looked so lonely to them as now, since their beloved and
gentle guest had departed.
The night was not dark, and Penn, having been guided to a bridle-path
that led to the town, experienced no difficulty in finding his way on
alone. He approached the minister's house from the fields. Although late
in the evening, the windows were still lighted. He was surprised to see
men walking to and fro by the house, and to hear their footsteps on the
piazza floor. He drew near enough to discern that they carried muskets.
Then the truth flashed upon him: they were soldiers guarding the house.
Whether they were there to protect the venerable Unionist from
mob-violence, or to prevent his escape, Penn could only conjecture. In
either case it would have been extremely indiscreet for him to enter the
house. Bitter disappointment filled him, mingled with apprehensions for
the safety of his friends, and remorse at the thought that he himself
had, although unintentionally, been instrumental in drawing down upon
them the vengeance of the secessionists.
Penn next thought of Stackridge. It was indeed upon that sturdy patriot
that he relied chiefly for aid in leaving the state. He took a last,
lingering look at the minister's house,--the windows whose cheerful
light had so often greeted him on his way thither, in those delightful
winter evenings which were gone, never to return,--the soldiers on the
piazza, symbolizing the reign of terror that had commenced,--and with a
deep inward prayer that God would shield with his all-powerful hand the
beleaguered family, he once more crossed the fields.
By a circuitous route he came in sight of Stackridge's house. There were
lights there also, although it must have been now near midnight. And as
Penn discerned them, he became aware of loud voices engaged in angry
altercation around the farmer's door. It was no time for him to
approach. He stole away as noiselessly as he had come. In the still,
quiet night he paused, asking himself what he should do.
The Academy was not far off. He remembered that he had left there, among
other things, a pocket Bible, a gift from his sister, which he wished to
preserve. Perhaps it was there still; perhaps he could get in and
recover it. At all events, he had plenty of leisure on his hands, and
could afford to make the trial.
He heard the mounted patrol pass by, and waited for the sound of hoofs
to die in the distance. Then cautiously he drew near the gloomy and
silent school-house. Not doubting but the door was locked,--for he still
had the key with him which he had turned for the last time when he
walked out in defiance of the lynchers,--he resolved not to unlock it,
but to keep in the rear of the building, and enter, if possible, by a
window.
The window was unfastened, as it had ever remained since he had opened
it, on that memorable occasion, to communicate with Carl. Softly he
raised the sash, and softly he crept in. His foot, however, struck an
object on the desk, and swept it down. It fell with a loud, rattling
sound upon the floor.
It was a musket; the owner of which bounded up on the instant from a
bench where he was lying, and seized Penn by the leg. The school-house
had been turned into a barrack-room for recruits, and the late master
found that he had descended upon a squad of confederate soldiers.
Lights were struck, and the sleepy sentinels, rubbing their eyes open,
recognized, struggling in the arms of their companion, the unfortunate
young Quaker.
"I knowed 'twas him! I knowed 'twas him!" cried his overjoyed captor,
who proved to be no other than Silas Ropes's worthy friend Gad. "I heern
him gittin' inter the winder, but I kept dark till he knocked my gun
down; then I grabbed him! He's a traitor, and this time will meet a
traitor's doom!"
"My friends," said Penn, recovering from the agitation of his first
surprise and struggle, "I am in your power. It is perhaps the best thing
that could happen to me; for I have committed no crime, and I cannot
doubt but that I shall receive justice all the sooner for this accident.
You need not take the trouble to bind me; I shall not attempt to
escape."
His captors, however, among whom he recognized with some uneasiness more
than one of those who had been engaged in lynching him, persisted in
binding him upon a bench, in no very comfortable position, and then set
a guard over him for the remainder of the night.