_THE FLIGHT OF THE PRISONERS._
Then commenced strategy. The prisoners gathered in a group before the
closed passage, and talked loud, while Grudd established a communication
with Stackridge. In the course of an hour a single stone in the wall had
been removed. Through the aperture thus formed a bottle was introduced.
This Grudd pretended afterwards to take from his pocket; and having
(apparently) drank, he offered it to his friends. All drank, or appeared
to drink, in a manner that provoked Gad's thirst. He vowed that it was
too bad that anything good should moisten the lips of tory prisoners
while a soldier like him went thirsty.
"I never saw the time, Gad," said the captain, "when I wouldn't share a
bottle with you, and I will now."
Gad held his gun with one hand and grasped the bottle with the other.
Penn seized the moment when his eyes were directed upwards at the cobweb
festoons that adorned the cellar, and the sound of gurgling was in his
throat, to whisper in Carl's ear,--
"Appear to drink, and by and by pass the bottle up stairs."
Carl understood the game in an instant.
"Here, you fish!" he said, in the midst of Gad's potation. "Leafe a
little trop for me, vill you?"
It was some time before the torrent in Gad's throat ceased its
murmuring, and he removed his eyes from the cobwebs. Then, smacking his
lips, and remarking that it was the right sort of stuff, he passed the
bottle to Carl.
"Who's the fish this time?" said he, enviously, after Carl had made
believe swallow for a few seconds.
He snatched the bottle, and was drinking as before, when the guard
above, hearing what passed, called for a taste.
"You shust vait a minute till Gad trinks it all up, then you shall pe
velcome to vot ish left," said Carl. And, possessing himself of the
bottle, he handed it up to his comrades.
All the soldiers above were asleep except the sentinels. They drank
freely, and returned the bottle to Gad. He had not finished it before he
began to be overcome by drowsiness, its contents having been drugged for
the occasion.
He sat down on the stairs, and soon slid off upon the ground. Carl, who
had not in reality swallowed a drop, followed his example. Their guns
were then taken from them. Penn stole softly up the stairs, and
reconnoitred while Grudd and his companions opened the passage in the
wall.
"All asleep!" Penn whispered, descending. "Carl!"
Carl opened one eye, with a droll expression.
"Are you asleep?"
"Wery!" said Carl.
"Will you stay here, or go with us?"
"You vill take me prisoner?"
"If you wish it."
"Say you vill plow my brains out if I say vun vord, or make vun noise."
"Come, come! there's no time for fooling, Carl!"
"It ish no vooling!" And Carl insisted on Penn's making the threat.
"Veil, then, I vill vake up and go 'long mit you."
Mr. Villars had been for some time sleeping soundly; for it was now long
past midnight, and weariness had overcome him. Penn awoke him; but the
old man refused to escape. "Go without me. I shall be too great a burden
for you." But not one of his fellow-prisoners would consent to leave him
behind; and, listening to their expostulations, he at length arose to
accompany them.
Stackridge was in the passage, with the old man Ellerton, whom Penn had
sent to warn him. They had brought a supply of ammunition for the guns,
which they had loaded and placed ready for use. Penn, supporting and
guiding the old minister, was the first to pass through into the cellar
under Jim's shop. Stackridge, preceding them with a lantern, greeted
their escape with silent and grim exultation. Carl came next. Then, one
by one, the others followed, each grasping his gun; the rays of the
lantern lighting up their determined faces, as they emerged from the low
passage, and stood erect, an eager, whispering group, around Stackridge.
Brief the consultation. Their plans were soon formed. Leaving Gad asleep
in the cellar behind them; the guard asleep, the soldiers all asleep, in
the room above; the sentinels outside the old storehouse keeping watch,
pacing to and fro around the cellar, in which not a prisoner
remained,--Stackridge and his companions filed out noiselessly through
Jim's closed and silent shop, upon the other street, and took their way
swiftly through the town.
Having appointed a place of meeting with his friends, Penn left them,
and hastened alone to Mr. Villars's house. The lights had long been out.
But the sisters were awake; Virginia had not even gone to bed. She was
sitting by her window, gazing out on the hushed, gloomy, breathless
summer night,--waiting, waiting, she scarce knew for what,--when she was
aware of a figure approaching, and knew Penn's light, quick tap at the
door.
She ran down to admit him. His story was quickly told. Toby was roused
up; blankets were rolled together, and all the available provisions that
could be carried were thrust into baskets.
"How shall we get news to you? You will want to hear from your father."
Penn hastily thought of a plan. "Send Toby to the round rock,--he knows
where it is,--on the side of the mountain. Between nine and ten o'clock
to-morrow night. I will try to communicate with him there." And Penn,
bidding the young girl be of good cheer, departed as suddenly as he had
arrived.
The old negro accompanied him, assisting to carry the burdens. They
found Stackridge's horse where he had been fastened. Penn made Toby
mount, take a basket in each hand, and hold the blankets before him on
the neck of the horse; then, seizing the bridle, and running by his
side, he trotted the beast away across the field in a manner that shook
the old negro up in lively style.
"O, Massa Penn! I can't stan' dis yere! I's gwine all to pieces! I shall
drap some o' dese yer tings, shore!"
"You must stand it! hold on to them!" said Penn. "And now keep still,
for we are near the road."
The party had halted at the rendezvous. Mr. Villars, quite exhausted by
his unusual exertions, was seated on the ground when Penn came up with
Toby and the horse. Toby dismounted; the old minister mounted in his
place, and the negro was sent back.
All this passed swiftly and silently; the fugitives were once more on
the march, Penn walking by the old man's side. Scarce a word was spoken;
the tramp of feet and the sound of the horse's hoofs alone broke the
silence of the night. Suddenly a voice hailed them:--
"Who goes there?"
And they discovered some horsemen drawn up before them beside the road.
It was the night-patrol.
"Friends," answered Stackridge, marching straight on.
"Halt, and give an account of yourselves!" shouted the patrol.
"We are peaceable citizens, if let alone," said Stackridge. "You'd
better not meddle with us."
The horsemen waited for them to pass, then, firing their pistols at the
fugitives, put spurs to their horses, and galloped away towards the
village.
"Don't fire!" cried Stackridge, as half a dozen pieces were levelled in
the darkness. "We've no ammunition to throw away, and no time to lose.
They'll give the alarm. Take straight to the mountains!"
Nobody had been hit. Turning aside from the road, they took their way
across the broad pasture lands that sloped upwards to the rocky hills.
The dark valley spread beneath them; on the other side rose the dim
outlines of the shadowy mountain range; over all spread a still,
cloudless sky, thick-strewn with glittering star-dust.
In the village, the ringing of bells startled the night with a wild
clamor. Stackridge laughed.
"They'll make noise enough now to wake Gad himself! But noise won't hurt
anybody. Hear the drums!"
"They are coming this way," said Penn.
"Fools, to set out in pursuit of us with drums beating!" said Captain
Grudd. "Very kind in them to give us notice! They should bring lighted
torches, too."
"Once in the mountains," said Stackridge, "we are safe. There we can
defend ourselves against a hundred. Other Union men will join us, or
bring us supplies. We ought to have made this move before; and I'm glad
we've been forced to it at last. If every Union man in the south had
made a bold stand in the beginning, this cursed rebellion never would
have got such a start."
Suddenly bells and drums were silent. "The less noise the more danger,"
said Stackridge. The way was growing difficult for the horse's feet. The
cow-paths, which it had been easy to follow at first, disappeared among
the thickets. At length, on the crest of a hill, the party halted to
rest.
"Daylight!" said Stackridge, turning his face to the east.
The sky was brightening; the shadows in the valley melted slowly away;
far off the cocks crew.
"Hark!" said the captain. "Do you hear anything?"
"I heard a woice!" said Carl.
"Hist!" said Penn. "Look yonder! there they come! around those bushes at
the foot of the oak!"
"Sure as fate, there they are!" said the captain.
The fugitives crowded to his side, eager, grasping their gunstocks, and
peering with intent eyes through the darkness in the direction in which
he pointed.
"Take the horse," said Stackridge to Penn, "and lead him up through that
gap out of the reach of the bullets. We'll stay and give these rascals a
lesson. Go along with him, Carl, if you don't want to fight your
friends."
There were not guns enough for all; and Grudd had Stackridge's revolver.
There was nothing better, then, for Penn and Carl to do than to consent
to this arrangement.
Penn went before, leading the horse up the dry bed of a brook. Carl
followed, urging the animal from behind. Mr. Villars rode with the
baggage, which had been lashed to the saddle. Only the clashing of the
iron hoofs on the stones broke the stillness of the morning in that
mountain solitude. Stackridge and his compatriots had suddenly become
invisible, crouching among bushes and behind rocks.
The retreat of Penn and his companions was discovered by the pursuing
party, who mistook it for a general flight of the fugitives. They rushed
forward with a shout. They had a rugged and barren hill to ascend. Half
way up the slope they saw flashes of fire burst from the rocks above,
heard the rapid "crack--crackle--crack!" of a dozen pieces, and
retreated in confusion down the hill again.
Stackridge and his companions coolly proceeded to reload their guns.
"They didn't know we had arms," said the farmer, with a grim smile.
"They'll be more cautious now."
"We've done for two or three of 'em!" said Captain Grudd. "There they
lie; one is crawling off."
"Let him crawl!" said Stackridge. "Sorry to kill any of 'em; but it's
about time for 'em to know we're in 'arnest."
"They've gone to cover in the laurels," said Grudd. "Let's shift our
ground, and watch their movements."
Penn and Carl in the mean time made haste to get the horse and his
burden beyond the reach of bullets. They toiled up the bed of the brook
until it was no longer passable. Huge bowlders lay jammed and crowded in
clefts of the mountain before them. Penn remembered the spot. He had
been there in spring, when down over the rocks, now covered with lichens
and dry scum, poured an impetuous torrent.
"Now I know where I am," he said. "I don't believe it is possible to get
the horse any farther. We will wait here for our friends. Mr. Villars,
if you will dismount, we will try to get you up on the bank."
"I pity you, my children," said the old man. "You should never have
encumbered yourselves with such a burden as I am. I can neither fight
nor run. Is it sunrise yet?"
"It is sunrise, and a beautiful morning! The fresh rays come to us here,
sifted through the dewy trees. Sit down on this rock. Find the luncheon,
Carl. Ah, Carl!"--Penn regarded the boy affectionately,--"I am glad to
have you with me again, but I can't forget that you are a rebel! and a
deserter!"
"I a deserter? you mishtake," said Carl. "I am a prisoner."
"You disobeyed me, Carl! I told you not to enlist. You did wrong."
"Now shust listen," said Carl, "and I vill tell you. I did right. Cause
vy. You are alive and vell now, ain't you?"
Penn smilingly admitted the fact.
"And that is petter as being hung?"
"I am not so very certain of that, Carl!"
"Vell, I am certain for you. Hanging ish no goot. Hunderts of vellers
that don't like the rebels no more as you do, wolunteer rather than to
be hung. Shows their goot sense."
"But you have taken an oath--you are under a solemn engagement, Carl, to
fight against the government."
"You mishtake unce more--two times. I make a pargain. I say to that man,
'You let Mishter Hapgoot go free, and not let him be hurt, and I vill be
a rebel.' Vell, he agrees. But he don't keep his vord. He lets 'em go
for to hang you vunce more. Now, if he preaks his part of the pargain,
vy shouldn't I preak mine?"
"Well, Carl," said Penn, laughing, while his eyes glistened, "I trust
thy conscience is clear in the matter. I can only say that, though I
don't approve of thy being a rebel, I love thee all the better for it.
What do you think, Mr. Villars?"
"Sometimes people do wrong from a motive so pure and disinterested that
it sanctifies the action. This is Carl's case, I think."
"Hello!" cried Carl, jumping up from the bank on which they were seated.
"Guns! They are at it again! I vill go see!"
The boy disappeared, scrambling down the dry bed of the torrent.
The firing continued at irregular intervals for half an hour. Carl did
not return. Penn grew anxious. He stood, intently listening, when he
heard a noise behind him, and, turning quickly, saw the glimmer of
musket-barrels over the rocks.
"Fire!" said a voice.
And Penn threw himself down under the bank just in time to avoid the
discharge of half a dozen pieces aimed at his head.
"What is the trouble?" asked the old man, who was lying on some blankets
spread for him there in the shade.
Before Penn could reply, Silas Ropes and six men came rushing down upon
them. Stackridge had been out-generalled. Whilst he and his men were
being diverted by a feigned attack in front, two different parties had
been despatched by circuitous routes to get in his rear. In executing
the part of the plan intrusted to him, Ropes had unexpectedly come upon
the schoolmaster and his companion. A minute later both were seized and
dragged up from the bed of the torrent.
"Ye don't escape me this time!" said Silas, with brutal exultation. "Tie
him up to the tree thar; serve the old one the same. We can't be
bothered with prisoners."
"What are you going to do to that helpless, blind old man?" cried Penn.
"Do what you please with me; I expect no mercy,--I ask none. But I
entreat you, respect his gray hair!"
The appeal seemed to have some effect even on the savage-hearted Silas.
He glanced at his men: they were evidently of the opinion that the
slaughter of the old clergyman was uncalled for.
"Wal, tie the old ranter, and leave him. Quick work, boys. Got the
schoolmaster fast?"
"All right," said the men.
"Wal, now stand back here, and les' have a little bayonet practice."
Penn knew very well what that meant. His clothes were stripped from him,
in order to present a fair mark for the murderous steel; and he was
bound to a tree.
"One at a time," said Silas. "Try your hand, Griffin.
_Charge--bayonet!_"
In vain the old minister endeavored to make himself heard in his
friend's behalf. He could only pray for him.
Penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet
thrust straight at his heart. In an instant the murder would have been
done. But when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching
his breast, Griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands,
and fell dead at Penn's feet.
At the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped
bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack
reverberated among the rocks.
The assassins were terror-struck. They looked all around; not a human
being was in sight. Distant firing proclaimed that Stackridge and his
men were still engaged. The death that struck down Griffin seemed to
have fallen from heaven. They waited but a moment, then fled
precipitately, leaving Penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead
rebel at his feet.
Then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. Penn uttered
a cry of joy. It was Pomp and Cudjo.