_A COUNCIL OF WAR._
Owing to the disturbances of the night the old clergyman had slept
little. He now lay down on the couch, and soon sank into a profound
slumber. When he awoke he heard the hum of voices. The cave was filled
with armed men.
"It is Mr. Stackridge and his friends," said Virginia. "They have come
to hold a council of war; and they look upon you as their grand sachem."
"I have brought them here," said Pomp, "at their request--all except
Deslow."
"Where is he?"
"Deslow, I believe, has deserted!" said Stackridge.
"Ah! What makes you think so?"
"Well, I've watched him right close, and I've seen a good deal of what's
been working in his mind. He's one o' them fools that believe Slavery is
God; and he can't get over it. Pomp, here, saved our lives in the fire
the other night; and Deslow couldn't stand it. To owe his life to a
runaway slave--that was too dreadful!" said Stackridge with savage
sarcasm. "He's a man that would rather be roasted alive, and see his
country ruined, I suppose, than do anything that might damage in the
least degree his divine institution! There's the difference 'twixt him
and me. Sence slavery has made war agin' the Union, and turned us out of
our homes, I say, by the Lord! let it go down to hell, as it desarves!"
"You use strong language, neighbor!"
"I do; and it's time, I reckon, when strong language, and strong actions
too, are called fur. You hate a man that you've befriended, and that's
turned traitor agin' ye, worse'n you hate an open inemy, don't ye? Wal,
I've befriended slavery, and it's turned traitor agin' me, and all I
hold most sacred in this world, and I'm jest getting my eyes open to it;
and so I say, let it go down! I've no patience with such men as Deslow,
and I'm glad, on the whole, he's gone. He don't belong with us anyhow. I
say, any man that loves any kind of property, or any party, or
institution, better than he loves the old Union"--Stackridge said this
with tears of passion in his eyes,--"such a man belongs with the rebels,
and the sooner we sift 'em out of our ranks the better."
"When did he go?"
"Some of us were out foraging again last night; Withers and Deslow with
the rest. Tell what he said to you, Withers."
The group of fugitives had gathered about the bed on which the old
clergyman sat. Withers was scraping his long horny nails with a huge
jackknife.
"He says to me, says he, 'Withers, we've got inter a bad scrape.' 'How
so?' says I; for I thought we war gittin' out of a right bad scrape when
we got out of that temp'rary jail. 'The wust hain't happened yet,' says
he. 'That's bad,' says I, 'fur it's allus good fur a feller to know the
wust has happened.' And so I told him a little story. Says I, 'When I
was a little boy 'bout that high, I was helping my daddy one day secure
some hay. Wal, it looked like rain, and we put in right smart till the
fust sprinkles begun to fall,--great drops, big as ox-eyes,--and they
skeert me, for I war awful 'fraid of gittin' wet. So what did I do but
run and git under some boards. My daddy war so busy he didn't see me,
till bime-by he come that way, rolling up the hay-cocks to kill, and
looked, and thar I war under the pile o' boards, curled up like a
hedgehog to keep dry. 'Josh,' says he, 'what ye doin' thar? Why ain't ye
to work?' ''Fraid o' gittin' wet!' says I. 'Pon that he didn't say a
word, but jest come and took me by the collar, and led me to a little
run close by, and jest casoused me in the water, head over heels, and
then jest pulled me out agin. 'Now,' says he, 'ye can go to work, and
you won't be the leastest mite afeard o' gittin' wet. Wal, 'twas about
so. I didn't mind the rain, arter that. 'Wal, Deslow,' says I, 'that
larnt me a lesson; and ever sence I've always thought 'twas a good thing
fur us, when trouble comes, to have the wust happen, and know it's the
wust, fur then we'se prepared fur't, and ain't no longer to be skeert by
a little shower.' That's what I said to Deslow." And Withers continued
scraping his nails.
"Very good philosophy, indeed!" said Mr. Villars. "And what did he
reply?"
"He said, when the wust happened to us, we'd find we had no home, no
property, and no country left; and fur his part he had been thinking
we'd better go and give ourselves up, make peace with the authorities,
and take the oath of allegiance. 'Lincoln won't send no army to relieve
us yet a-while,' says he, 'and even if he does, you know, victory for
the Federals means the death of our institootions! So I see where the
shoe pinched with him; and I said, 'If that continners to be your ways
of thinkin', I hain't the least objections to partin' comp'ny with ye,
as the house dog said to the skunk; only,' says I, 'don't ye go to
betrayin' us, if you conclude to go.' Soon arter that we separated, and
that's the last any on us have seen of him."
"They've begun to whip women, too," said Stackridge. "But, by right good
luck, when this scamp here--" glowering upon Lysander--"sent to have my
wife whipped, he got his own mother whipped in her place! He's a
connection o' your family, I know, Mr. Villars; but I never spile a
story for relation's sake."
"Nor need you, friend Stackridge. Sorry I am for that deluded young man;
but he reaps what he has sown, and he has only himself to blame."
"'Twas a regular secesh operation, that of having his own mother strung
up," said Captain Grudd. "They are working against their own interests
and families without knowing it. When they think they are destroying the
Union, they are destroying their own honor and influence; for so it 'ill
be sure to turn out."
"It was Liberty they intended to have beaten," said Penn; "but they will
find that it is the back of their own mother, Slavery, that receives the
rods."
"Just what I meant to say; but it took the professor to put it into the
right shape. By the way, neighbors, we owe the professor an apology.
Some of us found fault with his views of slavery and secession; but
we've all come around to 'em pretty generally, I believe, by this time.
Here's my hand, professor, and let me say I think you was right enough
in all but one thing--your plaguy non-resistance."
"He has thought better of that," said Mr. Villars, pleasantly.
"Yes, zhentlemen," said Carl, anxious to exonerate his friend, "he has
been conwerted."
"We have found that out, to his credit," said Stackridge.
And, one after another, all took Penn cordially by the hand.
"We are all brothers in one cause, OUR COUNTRY," said Penn. Nor did he
stop when the hand of the last patriot was shaken; he took the hand of
Pomp also. "We are all men in the sight of God!" His heart was full;
there was a thrill of fervent emotion in his voice. His calm young face,
his firm and finely-cut features, always noticeable for a certain
massiveness and strength, were singularly illumined. He went on, the
light of the cave-fire throwing its ruddy flash on the group. "We are
all His children. He has brought us together here for a purpose. The
work to be done is for all men, for humanity: it is God's work. To that
we should be willing to give everything--even our lives; even our
selfish prejudices, dearer to some than their lives. I believe that upon
the success of our cause depends, not the prosperity of any class of
men, or of any race of men, only, but of all men, and all races. For
America marches in the van of human progress, and if she falters, if she
ignobly turns back, woe is to the world! Perhaps you do not see this
yet; but never mind. One thing we all see--a path straight before us,
our duty to our country. We must put every other consideration aside,
forget all minor differences, and unite in this the defence of the
nation's life."
An involuntary burst of applause testified how ardently the hearts of
the patriots responded to these words. Some wrung Penn's hand again.
Pomp meanwhile, erect, and proud as a prince, with his arms folded upon
his massive and swelling chest, smiled with deep and quiet satisfaction
at the scene. There was another who smiled, too, her face suffused with
love and pride ineffable, as her eyes watched the young Quaker, and her
soul drank in his words.
"That's the sentiment!" said Stackridge. "And now, what is to be done?
We have been disappointed in one thing. Our friends don't join us. One
reason is, no doubt, they hain't got arms. But the main reason is, they
look upon our cause as desperate. Desperate or not, it can't be helped,
as I see. With or without help, we must fight it through, or go back,
like that putty-head Deslow, and take the oath of allegiance to the
bogus government. Mr. Villars, you're wise, and we want your opinion."
"That, I fear, will be worth little to you!" answered the old man,
bowing his head with true humility. "It seems to me that you are not to
rely upon any open assistance from your friends. And sorry I am to add,
I think you should not rely, either, upon any immediate aid from the
government. The government has its hands full. The time is coming when
you who have eyes will see the old flag once more floating on the
breezes of East Tennessee. But it may be long first. And in the mean
time it is your duty to look out for yourselves."
"That is it," said Stackridge. "But how?"
"It seems to me that your retreat cannot remain long concealed.
Therefore, this is what I advise. Make your preparations to disperse at
any moment. You may be compelled to hide for months in the mountains and
woods, hunted continually, and never permitted to sleep in safety twice
in the same place. That will be the fate of hundreds. There is but one
thing better for you to do. It is this. Force your way over the
mountains into Kentucky, join the national army, and hasten its
advance."
"And you?" said Captain Grudd.
The old man smiled with beautiful serenity.
"Perhaps I shall have my choice, after all. You remember what that was?
To remain in the hands of our enemies. I ought never to have attempted
to escape. I cannot help myself; I am only a burden to you. My daughters
cannot continue to be with me here in this cave; and, if I am to be
separated from them, I may as well be in a confederate prison as
elsewhere. If the traitors seek my life, they are welcome to it."
"O, father! what do you say!" exclaimed Virginia, in terror at his
words.
"I advise what I feel to be best. I will give myself up to the military
authorities. You, and Salina, if she chooses, will, I am certain, be
permitted to go to your friends in Ohio. But before I take this step,
let all here who have strong arms to lend their country be already on
their way over the mountains. Penn and Carl must go with them. Nor do I
forget Pomp and Cudjo. They shall go too, and you will protect them."
Penn turned suddenly pale. It was the soundness of the good old man's
counsel that terrified him. Separation from Virginia! She to be left at
the mercy of the confederates! This was the one thing in the world he
had personally to dread.
"It may be good advice," he said. "It is certainly a noble
self-sacrifice, Mr. Villars proposes. But I do not believe there is one
here who will consent to it. I say, let us keep together. If necessary,
we can die together. We cannot separate, if by so doing we must leave
him behind."
He spoke with intense feeling, yet his words were but feebly echoed by
the patriots. The truth was, they were already convinced that they ought
to be making their way out of the state, and had said so among
themselves; but, being unwilling to abandon the old minister, and
knowing well that he could never think of undertaking the terrible
journey they saw before them, hither they had come to hear what he had
to suggest.
"What do you think, Pomp?" Penn asked, in despair.
"I think that what Mr. Villars advises these men to do is the best
thing."
Penn was stupefied. He saw that he stood alone, opposed to the general
opinion. And something within himself said that he was selfish, that he
was wrong. He did not venture to glance at Virginia, but bent his eyes
downward with a stunned expression at the floor of the cave.
"But as for himself, and us, I am not so sure. There are recesses in
this cave that cannot easily be discovered. He shall remain, and we will
stay and take care of him, if he will."
These calm words of the negro sounded like a reprieve to Penn's soul. He
caught eagerly at the suggestion.
"Yes, if there must be a separation, Pomp is right. If many go, it will
be believed that all are gone, and the rest can remain in safety."
"You are all too generous towards me," said the old minister. "But I
have nothing more to say. I am very patient. I am willing to accept
whatever God sends, and to wait his own blessed time for it. When you,
Penn, were sick in my house, and the ruffians were coming to kill you,
and I could not determine what to do, the question was decided for me:
Providence decided it by taking you, by what seemed a miracle, beyond
the reach of all of us. So I believe this question, which troubles us
now, will be decided for us soon. Something is to happen that will show
us plainly what must be done."
So it was: something was indeed to happen, sooner even than he supposed.