_STACKRIDGE'S COAT AND HAT GET ARRESTED._
The outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. Toby
had followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, and
Virginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaiting
the negro's return, when Penn arrived.
"You could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," said
Virginia. "There is but one man who could have prevented this cruelty."
"Why not send for him?"
"Alas! he left town this very day. He is a secessionist; but he has
great influence, and appears very friendly to us."
Penn started, and looked at her keenly.
"His name?"
"Augustus Bythewood."
Penn recoiled.
"What's the matter?"
"Virginia, that man is thy worst enemy? I did not tell thee how I
learned that the arrests were to be made. But I will!" And he told her
all.
"O," said she, "if I had only believed what my heart has always said of
that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have
deceived me! If he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? O, my
father!"
"Do not despair!" answered Penn, as cheerfully as he could. "Something
may be done. Stackridge and his friends may have escaped. I will go and
see if I can hear any thing of them. Have faith in our heavenly Father,
my poor girl! be patient! be strong! All, I am sure, will yet be well."
"But you too are in danger! You must not go!" she exclaimed,
instinctively detaining him.
"I am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere."
"True, true! Go to your negro friends in the mountain--there is yet
time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her.
"When I find that nothing can be done for thy father, then I will return
to Pomp and Cudjo--not before."
And he glided out of the back door just as Salina entered from the
street.
He left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to
Stackridge's house.
He approached with great caution. There was a light burning in the
house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. The negroes--for
Stackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. There were
no indications of any disturbance having taken place. Penn reconnoitred
carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced
towards the door.
"Halt!" shouted a voice of authority.
And immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which they
had been concealed. Others at the same time rushed to the spot from dark
corners, where they had lain in wait. Almost in an instant, and before
he could recover from his astonishment, Penn found himself surrounded.
"You are our prisoner, Mr. Stackridge!" And half a dozen bayonets
converged at the focus of his breast.
The young man comprehended the situation in a moment. Stackridge had not
been arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had been
awaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for the
farmer.
The night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat and
hat which had been Stackridge's, and which Penn still wore as a
disguise. Features they could not discern so easily. The prisoner made
no resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for that
would have revealed to them their mistake. He submitted without a word;
and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flew
to the door, calling frantically, "Father! father!" and lamenting his
misfortune.
By proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing,
probably, but a halter on the spot. On the other hand, by accepting the
part forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. It might be, too,
that he was rendering an important service to the real Stackridge by
thus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him an
opportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped.
These considerations passed rapidly through his mind. He slouched his
hat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. In this
manner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse,
which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederate
authorities.
There was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and other
prisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. Amid the press and hurry,
Penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. He immediately found
himself wedged in between the wall and a number of Tennessee Union men,
some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but all
captives like himself.
In the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, with
candles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom Penn owed his
life. He seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conducted
the arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. Beside him sat his aids
and clerks. Before him Penn knew that he must soon appear. He was in
darkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing the
light and the eyes of those who knew him well. What, then, would be his
fate? Would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered over
to the mob that sought his life? He had time to decide upon a course
which he hoped might gain him some favor.
Taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slipped
off his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners,
appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, and
demanded to speak with the commanding officer.
"Sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognize
him. Upon which Mr. Ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath that
it was the schoolmaster himself.
"But I have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "How came
you here, sir?"
"I wish to place myself under your protection," said Penn. "You received
a substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. But your
commands have been disregarded; I have been hunted for two days; and
men, calling themselves confederate soldiers, are still pursuing me.
Under these circumstances I have thought it best to appeal to you,
relying upon your honor as a gentleman and an officer."
"But how came you here? Who brought in this fellow?"
Nobody could answer that question, although the leader of the party that
had brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to make
his report of Stackridge's arrest.
As soon, therefore, as Penn could gain a hearing, he continued.
"I came in, sir, with a crowd of soldiers and prisoners, none of whom
recognized me. The sentinels no doubt supposed I was arrested, and so
let me pass."
"Well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing for
you. Since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, I shall feel
bound to protect you. But I have only one of two alternatives to offer
you--the same I offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, giving
them their choice. Take the oath of allegiance to the confederate
government, and volunteer; that is one condition."
"I am a northern man," replied Penn, "and owe allegiance to the United
States; so that condition it is impossible for me to accept."
"Very well; I'll give you time to think of it. In the mean while, my
only means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain you
a prisoner. Guard, take this man below."
Not another word was said; and, indeed, Penn had already gained more
than he hoped for, with the eyes of Lieutenant Ropes glaring on him so
murderously. He was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, and
ordered to descend. He obeyed, marching down between two soldiers on
guard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs.
It was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern
suspended from a beam. By its dim rays he discovered the figures of half
a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized
one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in
an instant.
"My dear Mr. Villars! I have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping
the old clergyman's hand.
"Penn, is it you?" said the blind old man.
He was seated on a dry goods box. Trembling and feeble, he arose to
greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and
touching under the circumstances.
"I cannot tell thee," said Penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved I am to
see thee here!"
"And grieved am I that you should see me here!" Mr. Villars replied. "I
hoped you were a hundred miles away. I was never sorry to have your
company till now! How does it happen?"
Penn made him sit down again, giving him Stackridge's coat for a
cushion, and related briefly his adventures.
"It is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "It seems almost
providential that you are here."
"I think it is so," said Penn. "I think I am here because I may be of
service to you."
"Ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but
little value compared with yours. I am a worn-out servant; my day of
usefulness is past; I am ready to go home. I do not speak repiningly,"
he added. "If I can serve my country or my God by suffering--if nothing
remains for me but that--then I will cheerfully suffer. Our heavenly
Father orders all things; and I am content. All will be well with us, if
we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if
it is true to itself and to Him."
"O, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canst
speak such words!" said Penn, deeply moved.
"Thank God, I have faith! Even in this darkest hour of my life and of my
country, I think I have more faith than ever. And I have love, too--love
even for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. They
know not what they do. They act in ignorance and passion. They seek to
destroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what they
are striving so madly to build up."
"Yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined by
those very men! They are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and I
hate 'em worse!"
"Hate their errors, Captain Grudd, hate their crimes, but hate no man,"
Mr. Villars softly replied.
"And you would have us submit to them?"
"Submit, when you can do no better. But even for their sakes, even for
the love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. No man
will stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. It will be
better for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't you
think so, Penn?"
"I do," said Penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, not
for the rest. "I am thoroughly convinced. You were always right on that
subject; and I was always wrong."
"I perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. It is not
I that have convinced you; it is the logic of events."
One by one, the prisoners from above followed Penn down the dismal
stairs. Only now and then a fainthearted Unionist consented to regain
his liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." At
length the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. Penn,
who had kept anxious watch for his friend Stackridge, was congratulating
himself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal who
had brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied by
Lieutenant Ropes.
"Stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is Medad
Stackridge here?"
No man had seen him.
"Then I tell you," said the corporal to Silas, "he is hid somewhere up
stairs, or else he has escaped; for I can swear I arrested him."
"I can swear you was drunk," said Silas, much disgusted. "You have let
the wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain he
ain't here."
Penn trembled for a minute. But both Ropes and the corporal passed him
without a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immensely
relieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remained
unexplained.
The prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. Nearly all were
sturdy, earnest men. Penn noticed that they were not cast down by their
misfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchanging
glances of intelligence and defiance. At length Captain Grudd came to
him, and taking him aside, said,--
"Well, professor, what do you think of the situation?"
"We seem to be at the mercy of the villains," replied Penn.
"Not so much at their mercy either, if we choose to be men! What we want
to know is, will you join us? And if there should be a little fighting
to do, will you help do it?"
Penn grasped his hand. "Show me that we have any chance of escape, and I
am with you!"
"I thought you would come to it at last!" Grudd smiled grimly. "What we
want, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. But we have all been
disarmed. Have you anything? I noticed they did not search you, probably
because you came voluntarily and gave yourself up."
"I have Stackridge's pistol. It is in the coat Mr. Villars is sitting
on."
Grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "It will come in
play! We must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have their
guns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard.
"But the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guard
posted outside, probably surrounding the building."
"We will have as little to do with them as possible. Young man, I have a
secret for you. Do you know whose property this is?"
"Barber Jim's, I believe."
"And do you know there's a secret passage from this cellar into the
cellar under Jim's shop? It was dug by Jim himself, as a hiding-place
for his wife and children. He had bought them, but the heirs of their
former owner had set up a claim to them. After that matter was settled,
he showed Stackridge the place; and that's the way we came to make use
of it. We stored our guns in the passage, and came through into this
cellar at night to consult and drill. The store being shut, and the
windows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. As good
luck would have it, the night before the military took possession, Jim
warned us, and we carefully put back every stone in the wall, and left.
But some of our guns are still in the passage, if they have not been
discovered. We have only to open the wall again to get at them. But
before that can be done, the guard must be disposed of."
Penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew a
long breath.
"Is the passage behind the spot where Mr. Villars is sitting?"
"Within three feet of the box."
"Then I fear it is discovered. I heard a noise behind that wall not ten
minutes ago."