_BREAD ON THE WATERS._
The next morning a singular procession set out from the cave. Stretchers
had been framed of the trunks and boughs of saplings, and upon these the
dead and wounded of yesterday were placed. They were borne by the
prisoners of yesterday, who had been paroled for the purpose. Carl
walked by the side of the litter that conveyed his cousin Fritz, talking
cheerfully to him in their native tongue. Behind them was carried the
dead body of Salina, followed by old Toby with uncovered head. With him
went Pepperill, charged with the important business of seeing that all
was done for the Villars family which had been stipulated, and of
reporting to Pomp at the cave afterwards.
Last of all came Virginia, leaning on Penn's arm. He was speaking to her
earnestly, in low, quivering tones: she listened with downcast
countenance, full of all tender and sad emotions; for they were about to
part.
Pepperill was intrusted with a second letter from Bythewood to the
colonel, couched in these terms:--
"_Deslow was taken last night, and slaughtered in cold blood. The same
will happen to me if all is not done as agreed. I am to be retained as a
hostage until Pepperill's return. For Heaven's sake, help Mr. Villars
and his family off with all convenient despatch, and oblige,_" &c.
Virginia was going to try her fortune with her father; but Penn's lot
was cast with his friends who remained at the cave. From these he could
not honorably separate himself until all danger was over; and, much as
he longed to accompany her, he knew well that, even if he should be
permitted to do so, his presence would be productive of little good to
either her or her father. Moreover, it had been wisely resolved not to
demand too much of the military authorities. A safe conduct could be
granted with good grace to a blind old minister and his daughter, but
not to men who had been in arms against the confederate government. Nor
was it thought best to trust or tempt too far these minions of the new
slave despotism, whose recklessness of obligations which interest or
revenge prompted them to evade, was so notorious.
Penn would have attended Virginia to the base of the mountain, risking
all things for the melancholy pleasure of prolonging these last moments.
But this she would not permit. Hard as it was to utter the word of
separation,--to see him return to those solitary and dangerous rocks,
not knowing that he would ever be able to leave them, or that she would
ever see him again in this world;--still, her love was greater than her
selfishness, and she had strength even for that.
"No farther now! O, you must go no farther!" And, resolutely pausing,
she called to Carl,--for Carl's lot too lay with his. Toby and Pepperill
also stopped.
"Daniel," said Penn, with impressive solemnity, "into thy hands I commit
this precious charge. Be faithful. Good Toby, I trust we shall meet
again in God's good time. Farewell! farewell!"
And the procession went its way; only Penn and Carl remained gazing
after it long, with hearts too full for words.
When it was out of sight, and they were turning silently to retrace
their steps, they saw a man come out of the woods, and beckon to them.
It was a negro--it was Barber Jim.
Permitted to approach, he told his story. Since the escape of the
arrested Unionists through his cellar, he had been an object of
suspicion; and last night his house had been attacked by a mob. He had
managed to escape, and was now hiding in the woods to save his life.
"Deslow betrayed you with the rest," said Penn; "that explains it."
"My wife--my two daughters: what will become of them?" said the wretched
man. "And my property, that I have been all this while laying up for
them!"
"Do not despair, my friend. Your property is mostly real estate, and
cannot be so easily appropriated to rebel uses, as the money deposited
for me in the bank, from which I was never allowed to draw it! It will
wait for you. A kind Providence will care for your family, I am sure. As
for you, I do not see what else you can do but share our fortunes. There
is one comfort for you,--we are all about as badly off as yourself."
"You shall have your pick of some muskets," said Carl, gayly; "and you
vill find us as jolly a set of wagabonds as ever you saw!"
"Have you plenty of arms?"
"Arms is more plenty as prowisions. Vat is vanted is wittles. Vat is
vanted most is wegetables. Bears and vild turkeys inwite themselves to
be shot, but potatoes keep wery shy, and ve suffers for sour krout."
Barber Jim mused. "I will go with you. I am glad," he added, as if to
himself, "that I paid Toby off as I did."
What he meant by this last remark will be seen.
* * * * *
Mr. Villars had taken the precaution to invest his available funds in
Ohio Railroad stock some time before. Arrived in Cincinnati, he would be
able to reap the advantages of this timely forethought. But in the mean
time the expenses of a long journey must be defrayed; and he found it
impossible now to raise money on his house or household goods. All the
ready cash he could command was barely sufficient to afford a decent
burial to his daughter. He was discussing this serious difficulty with
Virginia, whilst preparations for Salina's funeral and their own
departure were going forward simultaneously, when Toby came trotting in,
jubilant and breathless, and laid a little dirty bag in his lap.
"I's fotched 'em! dar ye got 'em, massa!" And the old negro wiped the
sweat from his shining face.
"What, Toby! Money!" (for the little bag was heavy). "Where did you get
it?"
"Gold, sar! Gold, Miss Jinny! Needn't look 'spicious! I neber got 'em by
no underground means!" (He meant to say _underhand_.) "I'll jes' 'splain
'bout dat. Ye see, Massa Villars, eber sence ye gib me my freedom, ye
been payin' me right smart wages,--seben dollah a monf! Dunno' how much
dat ar fur a year, but I reckon it ar a heap! An' you rec'lec' you says
to me, you says, 'Hire it out to some honest man, Toby, and ye kin draw
inference on it,' you says. So what does I do but go and pay it all to
Barber Jim fast as eber you pays me. 'Pears like I neber knowed how much
I was wuf, till tudder day he says to me, 'Toby,' he says, 'times is so
mighty skeery I's afeard to keep yer money for ye any longer; hyar 'tis
fur ye, all in gold.' So he gibs it to me in dis yer little bag, an' I
takes it, an' goes an' buries it 'hind de cow shed, whar 'twould keep
sweet, ye know, fur de family. An' hyar it ar, shore enough, massa, jes'
de ting fur dis yer 'casion!"
"So you got it by _underground means_, after all!" said Virginia, with
mingled laughter and tears, opening the bag and pouring out the bright
eagles.
The old clergyman was silent for a space, overcome with emotion.
"God bless you for a faithful servant, Toby! and Barber Jim for an
honest man."
"Dat's nuffin!" said Toby, snuffing and winking ludicrously. "Why
shouldn't a cullud pusson hab de right to be honest, well as white
folks? If you's gwine to tank anybody, ye better jes' tink and tank
yersef! Who gib ol' Toby his freedom, an' den 'pose to pay him wages?
Reckon if 't hadn't been fur dat, massa, I neber should hab de bressed
chance to do dis yer little ting fur de family!"
"We will thank only our heavenly Father, whose tender care we will never
doubt, after this!" said the old minister, with deep and solemn joy.
"Wust on't is, Jim hissef's got inter trouble now," said Toby. "He hab
to put fur de woods; an' his family wants to git to de norf, whar dey
tinks he'll mabby be gwine to meet 'em; but dey can't seem to manage
it."
"O, father, I have an idea! You will have a right to take your
_servants_ with you; and Jim's wife and daughters might pass as
servants."
"I shall be rejoiced to help them in any way. Go and find them, Toby.
Thus the bread we cast on the water sometimes returns to us _before_
many days!"