When the two prisoners, with their three captors, came in sight of the
Canadian volunteers, they beheld a scene which was much more military
than the Fenian camp. They were promptly halted and questioned by a
picket before coming to the main body; the sentry knew enough not to
shoot until he had asked for the countersign. Passing the picket, they
came in full view of the Canadian force, the men of which looked very
spick and span in uniforms which seemed painfully new in the clear light
of the fair June morning. The guns, topped by a bristle of bayonets
which glittered as the rising sun shone on them, were stacked with neat
precision here and there. The men were preparing their breakfast, and
a temporary halt had been called for that purpose. The volunteers were
scattered by the side of the road and in the fields. Renmark recognized
the colors of the regiment from his own city, and noticed that there
was with it a company that was strange to him. Although led to them
a prisoner, he felt a glowing pride in the regiment and their trim
appearance--a pride that was both national and civic. He instinctively
held himself more erect as he approached.
“Renmark,” said Yates, looking at him with a smile, “you are making a
thoroughly British mistake.”
“What do you mean? I haven’t spoken.”
“No, but I see it in your eye. You are underestimating the enemy. You
think this pretty company is going to walk over that body of unkempt
tramps we saw in the woods this morning.”
“I do indeed, if the tramps wait to be walked over--which I very much
doubt.”
“That’s just where you make a mistake. Most of these are raw boys, who
know all that can be learned of war on a cricket field. They will be the
worst whipped set of young fellows before night that this part of the
country has ever seen. Wait till they see one of their comrades fall,
with the blood gushing out of a wound in his breast. If they don’t turn
and run, then I’m a Dutchman. I’ve seen raw recruits before. They should
have a company of older men here who have seen service to steady them.
The fellows we saw this morning were sleeping like logs, in the damp
woods, as we stepped over them. They are veterans. What will be but a
mere skirmish to them will seem to these boys the most awful tragedy
that ever happened. Why, many of them look as if they might be
university lads.”
“They are,” said Renmark, with a pang of anguish.
“Well, I can’t see what your stupid government means by sending them
here alone. They should have at least one company of regulars with
them.”
“Probably the regulars are on the way.”
“Perhaps; but they will have to put in an appearance mighty sudden,
or the fight will be over. If these boys are not in a hurry with their
meal, the Fenians will be upon them before they know it. If there is to
be a fight, it will be before a very few hours--before one hour passes,
you are going to see a miniature Bull Run.”
Some of the volunteers crowded around the incomers, eagerly inquiring
for news of the enemy. The Fenians had taken the precaution to cut all
the telegraph wires leading out of Fort Erie, and hence those in
command of the companies did not even know that the enemy had left that
locality. They were now on their way to a point where they were to meet
Colonel Peacocke’s force of regulars--a point which they were destined
never to reach. Stoliker sought an officer and delivered up his
prisoners, together with the incriminating paper that Yates had
handed to him. The officer’s decision was short and sharp, as military
decisions are generally supposed to be. He ordered the constable to take
both the prisoners and put them in jail at Port Colborne. There was no
time now for an inquiry into the case,--that could come afterward,--and,
so long as the men were safe in jail, everything would be all right. To
this the constable mildly interposed two objections. In the first place,
he said, he was with the volunteers not in his capacity as constable,
but in the position of guide and man who knew the country. In the second
place, there was no jail at Port Colborne.
“Where is the nearest jail?”
“The jail of the county is at Welland, the county town,” replied the
constable.
“Very well; take them there.”
“But I am here as guide,” repeated Stoliker.
The officer hesitated for a moment. “You haven’t handcuffs with you, I
presume?”
“Yes, I have,” said Stoliker, producing the implements.
“Well, then, handcuff them together, and I will send one of the company
over to Welland with them. How far is it across country?”
Stoliker told him.
The officer called one of the volunteers, and said to him:
“You are to make your way across country to Welland, and deliver these
men up to the jailer there. They will be handcuffed together, but you
take a revolver with you, and if they give you any trouble, shoot them.”
The volunteer reddened, and drew himself up. “I am not a policeman,” he
said. “I am a soldier.”
“Very well, then your first duty as a soldier is to obey orders. I order
you to take these men to Welland.”
The volunteers had crowded around as this discussion went on, and a
murmur rose among them at the order of the officer. They evidently
sympathized with their comrade’s objection to the duties of a policeman.
One of them made his way through the crowd, and cried:
“Hello! this is the professor. This is Mr. Renmark. He’s no Fenian.”
Two or three more of the university students recognized Renmark, and,
pushing up to him, greeted him warmly. He was evidently a favorite with
his class. Among others young Howard pressed forward.
“It is nonsense,” he cried, “talking about sending Professor Renmark to
jail! He is no more a Fenian than Governor-General Monck. We’ll all go
bail for the professor.”
The officer wavered. “If you know him,” he said, “that is a different
matter. But this other man has a letter from the commander of the
Fenians, recommending him to the consideration of all friends of the
Fenian cause. I can’t let him go free.”
“Are you the chief in command here?” asked Renmark.
“No, I am not.”
“Mr. Yates is a friend of mine who is here with me on his vacation. He
is a New York journalist, and has nothing in common with the invaders.
If you insist on sending him to Welland, I must demand that we be taken
before the officer in command. In any case, he and I stand or fall
together. I am exactly as guilty or innocent as he is.”
“We can’t bother the colonel about every triviality.”
“A man’s liberty is no triviality. What, in the name of common sense,
are you fighting for but liberty?”
“Thanks, Renmark, thanks,” said Yates; “but I don’t care to see the
colonel, and I shall welcome Welland jail. I am tired of all this
bother. I came here for rest and quiet, and I am going to have them, if
I have to go to jail for them. I’m coming reluctantly to the belief that
jail’s the most comfortable place in Canada, anyhow.”
“But this is an outrage,” cried the professor indignantly.
“Of course it is,” replied Yates wearily; “but the woods are full of
them. There’s always outrages going on, especially in so-called free
countries; therefore one more or less won’t make much difference. Come,
officer, who’s going to take me to Welland? or shall I have to go
by myself? I’m a Fenian from ‘way back, and came here especially to
overturn the throne and take it home with me. For Heaven’s sake, know
your own mind one way or other, and let us end this conference.”
The officer was wroth. He speedily gave the order to Stoliker to
handcuff the prisoner to himself, and deliver him to the jailer at
Welland.
“But I want assistance,” objected Stoliker. “The prisoner is a bigger
man than I am.” The volunteers laughed as Stoliker mentioned this
self-evident fact.
“If anyone likes to go with you, he can go. I shall give no orders.”
No one volunteered to accompany the constable.
“Take this revolver with you,” continued the officer, “and if he
attempts to escape, shoot him. Besides, you know the way to Welland, so
I can’t send anybody in your place, even if I wanted to.”
“Howard knows the way,” persisted Stoliker. That young man spoke up with
great indignation: “Yes, but Howard isn’t constable, and Stoliker is.
I’m not going.”
Renmark went up to his friend.
“Who’s acting foolishly now, Yates?” he said. “Why don’t you insist on
seeing the colonel? The chances are ten to one that you would be allowed
off.”
“Don’t make any mistake. The colonel will very likely be some fussy
individual who magnifies his own importance, and who will send a squad
of volunteers to escort me, and I want to avoid that. These officers
always stick by each other; they’re bound to. I want to go alone with
Stoliker. I have a score to settle with him.”
“Now, don’t do anything rash. You’ve done nothing so far; but if you
assault an officer of the law, that will be a different matter.”
“Satan reproving sin. Who prevented you from hitting Stoliker a short
time since?”
“Well, I was wrong then. You are wrong now.”
“See here, Renny,” whispered Yates; “you get back to the tent, and see
that everything’s all right. I’ll be with you in an hour or so. Don’t
look so frightened. I won’t hurt Stoliker. But I want to see this fight,
and I won’t get there if the colonel sends an escort. I’m going to use
Stoliker as a shield when the bullets begin flying.”
The bugles sounded for the troops to fall in, and Stoliker very
reluctantly attached one clasp of the handcuff around his own left
wrist, while he snapped the other on the right wrist of Yates, who
embarrassed him with kindly assistance. The two manacled men disappeared
down the road, while the volunteers rapidly fell in to continue their
morning’s march.
Young Howard beckoned to the professor from his place in the ranks. “I
say, professor, how did you happen to be down this way?”
“I have been camping out here for a week or more with Yates, who is an
old schoolfellow of mine.”
“What a shame to have him led off in that way! But he seemed to rather
like the idea. Jolly fellow, I should say. How I wish I had known you
were in this neighborhood. My folks live near here. They would only have
been too glad to be of assistance to you.”
“They have been of assistance to me, and exceedingly kind as well.”
“What? You know them? All of them? Have you met Margaret?”
“Yes,” said the professor slowly, but his glance fell as it encountered
the eager eyes of the youth. It was evident that Margaret was the
brother’s favorite.
“Fall back, there!” cried the officer to Renmark.
“May I march along with them? or can you give me a gun, and let me take
part?”
“No,” said the officer with some hauteur; “this is no place for
civilians.” Again the professor smiled as he reflected that the whole
company, as far as martial experience went, were merely civilians
dressed in uniform; but he became grave again when he remembered Yates’
ominous prediction regarding them.
“I say, Mr. Renmark,” cried young Howard, as the company moved off, “if
you see any of them, don’t tell them I’m here--especially Margaret. It
might make them uneasy. I’ll get leave when this is over, and drop in on
them.”
The boy spoke with the hopeful confidence of youth, and had evidently no
premonition of how his appointment would be kept. Renmark left the road,
and struck across country in the direction of the tent.
Meanwhile, two men were tramping steadily along the dusty road toward
Welland: the captor moody and silent, the prisoner talkative
and entertaining--indeed, Yates’ conversation often went beyond
entertainment, and became, at times, instructive. He discussed
the affairs of both countries, showed a way out of all political
difficulties, gave reasons for the practical use of common sense in
every emergency, passed opinions on the methods of agriculture adopted
in various parts of the country, told stories of the war, gave instances
of men in captivity murdering those who were in charge of them, deduced
from these anecdotes the foolishness of resisting lawful authority
lawfully exercised, and, in general, showed that he was a man who
respected power and the exercise thereof. Suddenly branching to more
practical matters, he exclaimed:
“Say, Stoliker, how many taverns are there between here and Welland?”
Stoliker had never counted them.
“Well, that’s encouraging, anyhow. If there are so many that it requires
an effort of the memory to enumerate them, we will likely have something
to drink before long.”
“I never drink while on duty,” said Stoliker curtly.
“Oh, well, don’t apologize for it. Every man has his failings. I’ll be
only too happy to give you some instructions. I have acquired the useful
practice of being able to drink both on and off duty. Anything can be
done, Stoliker, if you give your mind to it. I don’t believe in the word
‘can’t,’ either with or without the mark of elision.”
Stoliker did not answer, and Yates yawned wearily.
“I wish you would hire a rig, constable. I’m tired of walking. I’ve been
on my feet ever since three this morning.”
“I have no authority to hire a buggy.”
“But what do you do when a prisoner refuses to move?”
“I make him move,” said Stoliker shortly.
“Ah, I see. That’s a good plan, and saves bills at the livery stable.”
They came to a tempting bank by the roadside, when Yates cried:
“Let’s sit down and have a rest. I’m done out. The sun is hot, and the
road dusty. You can let me have half an hour: the day’s young, yet.”
“I’ll let you have fifteen minutes.”
They sat down together. “I wish a team would come along,” said Yates
with a sigh.
“No chance of a team, with most of the horses in the neighborhood
stolen, and the troops on the roads.”
“That’s so,” assented Yates sleepily.
He was evidently tired out, for his chin dropped on his breast, and his
eyes closed. His breathing came soft and regular, and his body leaned
toward the constable, who sat bolt upright. Yates’ left arm fell across
the knees of Stoliker, and he leaned more and more heavily against him.
The constable did not know whether he was shamming or not, but he took
no risks. He kept his grasp firm on the butt of the revolver. Yet, he
reflected, Yates could surely not meditate an attempt on his weapon,
for he had, a few minutes before, told him a story about a prisoner
who escaped in exactly that way. Stoliker was suspicious of the good
intentions of the man he had in charge; he was altogether too polite and
good-natured; and, besides, the constable dumbly felt that the prisoner
was a much cleverer man than he.
“Here, sit up,” he said gruffly. “I’m not paid to carry you, you know.”
“What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?” cried Yates rapidly, blinking
his eyes and straightening up. “Oh, it’s only you, Stoliker. I thought
it was my friend Renmark. Have I been asleep?”
“Either that or pretending--I don’t know which, and I don’t care.”
“Oh! I must have been pretending,” answered Yates drowsily; “I can’t
have dropped asleep. How long have we been here?”
“About five minutes.”
“All right.” And Yates’ head began to droop again.
This time the constable felt no doubt about it. No man could imitate
sleep so well. Several times Yates nearly fell forward, and each
time saved himself, with the usual luck of a sleeper or a drunkard.
Nevertheless, Stoliker never took his hand from his revolver. Suddenly,
with a greater lurch than usual, Yates pitched head first down the bank,
carrying the constable with him. The steel band of the handcuff
nipped the wrist of Stoliker, who, with an oath and a cry of pain,
instinctively grasped the links between with his right hand, to save his
wrist. Like a cat, Yates was upon him, showing marvelous agility for a
man who had just tumbled in a heap. The next instant he held aloft the
revolver, crying triumphantly:
“How’s that, umpire? Out, I expect.”
The constable, with set teeth, still rubbed his wounded wrist, realizing
the helplessness of a struggle.
“Now, Stoliker,” said Yates, pointing the pistol at him, “what have you
to say before I fire?”
“Nothing,” answered the constable, “except that you will be hanged at
Welland, instead of staying a few days in jail.”
Yates laughed. “That’s not bad, Stoliker; and I really believe there’s
some grit in you, if you _are_ a man-catcher. Still, you were not in
very much danger, as perhaps you knew. Now, if you should want this
pistol again, just watch where it alights.” And Yates, taking the weapon
by the muzzle, tossed it as far as he could into the field.
Stoliker watched its flight intently, then, putting his hand into his
pocket, he took out some small object and flung it as nearly as he could
to the spot where the revolver fell.
“Is that how you mark the place?” asked Yates; “or is it some spell that
will enable you to find the pistol?”
“Neither,” answered the constable quietly. “It is the key of the
handcuffs. The duplicate is at Welland.”
Yates whistled a prolonged note, and looked with admiration at the
little man. He saw the hopelessness of the situation. If he attempted to
search for the key in the long grass, the chances were ten to one that
Stoliker would stumble on the pistol before Yates found the key, in
which case the reporter would be once more at the mercy of the law.
“Stoliker, you’re evidently fonder of my company than I am of yours.
That wasn’t a bad strategic move on your part, but it may cause you some
personal inconvenience before I get these handcuffs filed off. I’m not
going to Welland this trip, as you may be disappointed to learn. I have
gone with you as far as I intend to. You will now come with me.”
“I shall not move,” replied the constable firmly.
“Very well, stay there,” said Yates, twisting his hand around so as to
grasp the chain that joined the cuffs. Getting a firm grip, he walked up
the road, down which they had tramped a few minutes before. Stoliker
set his teeth and tried to hold his ground, but was forced to follow.
Nothing was said by either until several hundred yards were thus
traversed. Then Yates stopped.
“Having now demonstrated to you the fact that you must accompany me, I
hope you will show yourself a sensible man, Stoliker, and come with me
quietly. It will be less exhausting for both of us, and all the same in
the end. You can do nothing until you get help. I am going to see the
fight, which I feel sure will be a brief one, so I don’t want to lose
any more time in getting back. In order to avoid meeting people, and
having me explain to them that you are my prisoner, I propose we go
through the fields.”
One difference between a fool and a wise man is that the wise man always
accepts the inevitable. The constable was wise. The two crossed the rail
fence into the fields, and walked along peaceably together--Stoliker
silent, as usual, with the grim confidence of a man who is certain of
ultimate success, who has the nation behind him, with all its machinery
working in his favor; Yates talkative, argumentative, and instructive by
turns, occasionally breaking forth into song when the unresponsiveness
of the other rendered conversation difficult.
“Stoliker, how supremely lovely and quiet and restful are the silent,
scented, spreading fields! How soothing to a spirit tired of the city’s
din is this solitude, broken only by the singing of the birds and
the drowsy droning of the bee, erroneously termed ‘bumble’! The
green fields, the shady trees, the sweet freshness of the summer air,
untainted by city smoke, and over all the eternal serenity of the blue
unclouded sky--how can human spite and human passion exist in such a
paradise? Does it all not make you feel as if you were an innocent child
again, with motives pure and conscience white?”
If Stoliker felt like an innocent child, he did not look it. With
clouded brow he eagerly scanned the empty fields, hoping for help.
But, although the constable made no reply, there was an answer that
electrified Yates, and put all thought of the beauty of the country out
of his mind. The dull report of a musket, far in front of them, suddenly
broke the silence, followed by several scattering shots, and then the
roar of a volley. This was sharply answered by the ring of rifles to the
right. With an oath, Yates broke into a run.
“They’re at it!” he cried, “and all on account of your confounded
obstinacy I shall miss the whole show. The Fenians have opened fire, and
the Canadians have not been long in replying.”
The din of the firing now became incessant. The veteran in Yates was
aroused. He was like an old war horse who again feels the intoxicating
smell of battle smoke. The lunacy of gunpower shone in his gleaming eye.
“Come on, you loitering idiot!” he cried to the constable, who had
difficulty in keeping pace with him; “come on, or, by the gods! I’ll
break your wrist across a fence rail and tear this brutal iron from it.”
The savage face of the prisoner was transformed with the passion of war,
and, for the first time that day, Stoliker quailed before the insane
glare of his eyes. But if he was afraid, he did not show his fear to
Yates.
“Come on, _you_!” he shouted, springing ahead, and giving a twist to
the handcuffs well known to those who have to deal with refractory
criminals. “I am as eager to see the fight as you are.”
The sharp pain brought Yates to his senses again. He laughed, and said:
“That’s the ticket, I’m with you. Perhaps you would not be in such a
hurry if you knew that I am going into the thick the fight, and intend
to use you as a shield from the bullets.”
“That’s all right,” answered the little constable, panting. “Two sides
are firing. I’ll shield you on one side, and you’ll have to shield me on
the other.”
Again Yates laughed, and they ran silently together. Avoiding the
houses, they came out at the Ridge Road. The smoke rolled up above the
trees, showing where the battle was going on some distance beyond. Yates
made the constable cross the fence and the road, and take to the fields
again, bringing him around behind Bartlett’s house and barn. No one
was visible near the house except Kitty Bartlett, who stood at the back
watching, with pale and anxious face, the rolling smoke, now and then
covering her ears with her hands as the sound of an extra loud volley
assailed them. Stoliker lifted up his voice and shouted for help.
“If you do that again,” cried Yates, clutching him by the throat, “I’ll
choke you!”
But he did not need to do it again. The girl heard the cry, turned
with a frightened look, and was about to fly into the house when she
recognized the two. Then she came toward them. Yates took his hand away
from the constable’s throat.
“Where is your father or your brother?” demanded the constable.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She is over with Mrs. Howard, who is ill.”
“Are you all alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then I command you, in the name of the Queen, to give no assistance to
this prisoner, but to do as I tell you.”
“And I command you, in the name of the President,” cried Yates, “to
keep your mouth shut, and not to address a lady like that. Kitty,” he
continued in a milder tone, “could you tell me where to get a file, so
that I may cut these wrist ornaments? Don’t you get it. You are to do
nothing. Just indicate where the file is. The law mustn’t have any hold
on you, as it seems to have on me.”
“Why don’t you make him unlock them?” asked Kitty.
“Because the villain threw away the key in the fields.”
“He couldn’t have done that.”
The constable caught his breath.
“But he did. I saw him.”
“And I saw him unlock them at breakfast. The key was on the end of his
watch chain. He hasn’t thrown that away.”
She made a move to take out his watch chain but Yates stopped her.
“Don’t touch him. I’m playing a lone hand here.” He jerked out the
chain, and the real key dangled from it.
“Well, Stoliker,” he said, “I don’t know which to admire most--your
cleverness and pluck, my stupidity, or Miss Bartlett’s acuteness of
observation. Can we get into the barn, Kitty?”
“Yes; but you mustn’t hurt him.”
“No fear. I think too much of him. Don’t you come in. I’ll be out in a
moment, like the medium from a spiritualistic dark cabinet.”
Entering the barn, Yates forced the constable up against the square
oaken post which was part of the framework of the building, and which
formed one side of the perpendicular ladder that led to the top of the
hay mow.
“Now, Stoliker,” he, said solemnly, “you realize, of course, that I
don’t want to hurt you yet you also realize that I _must_ hurt you if
you attempt any tricks. I can’t take any risks, please remember that;
and recollect that, by the time you are free again, I shall be in the
State of New York. So don’t compel me to smash your head against this
post.” He, with some trouble, unlocked the clasp on his own wrist; then,
drawing Stoliker’s right hand around the post, he snapped the same clasp
on the constable’s hitherto free wrist. The unfortunate man, with his
cheek against the oak, was in the comical position of lovingly embracing
the post.
“I’ll get you a chair from the kitchen, so that you will be more
comfortable--unless, like Samson, you can pull down the supports. Then I
must bid you good-by.”
Yates went out to the girl, who was waiting for him.
“I want to borrow a kitchen chair, Kitty,” he said, “so that poor
Stoliker will get a rest.”
They walked toward the house. Yates noticed that the firing had ceased,
except a desultory shot here and there across the country.
“I shall have to retreat over the border as quickly as I can,” he
continued. “This country is getting too hot for me.”
“You are much safer here,” said the girl, with downcast eyes. “A man has
brought the news that the United States gunboats are sailing up and down
the river, making prisoners of all who attempt to cross from this side.”
“You don’t say! Well, I might have known that. Then what am I to do with
Stoliker? I can’t keep him tied up here. Yet the moment he gets loose
I’m done for.”
“Perhaps mother could persuade him not to do anything more. Shall I go
for her?”
“I don’t think it would be any use. Stoliker’s a stubborn animal. He has
suffered too much at my hands to be in a forgiving mood. We’ll bring him
a chair anyhow, and see the effect of kindness on him.”
When the chair was placed at Stoliker’s disposal, he sat down upon it,
still hugging the post with an enforced fervency that, in spite of the
solemnity of the occasion, nearly made Kitty laugh, and lit up her eyes
with the mischievousness that had always delighted Yates.
“How long am I to be kept here?” asked the constable.
“Oh, not long,” answered Yates cheerily; “not a moment longer than is
necessary. I’ll telegraph when I’m safe in New York State; so you won’t
be here more than a day or two.”
This assurance did not appear to bring much comfort to Stoliker.
“Look here,” he said; “I guess I know as well as the next man when I’m
beaten. I have been thinking all this over. I am under the sheriff’s
orders, and not under the orders of that officer. I don’t believe you’ve
done anything, anyhow, or you wouldn’t have acted quite the way you did.
If the sheriff had sent me, it would have been different. As it is,
if you unlock those cuffs, I’ll give you my word I’ll do nothing more
unless I’m ordered to. Like as not they’ve forgotten all about you by
this time; and there’s nothing on record, anyhow.”
“Do you mean it? Will you act square?”
“Certainly I’ll act square. I don’t suppose you doubt that. I didn’t ask
any favors before, and I did what I could to hold you.”
“Enough said,” cried Yates. “I’ll risk it.”
Stoliker stretched his arms wearily above his head when he was released.
“I wonder,” he said, now that Kitty was gone, “if there is anything to
eat in the house?”
“Shake!” cried Yates, holding out his hand to him. “Another great and
mutual sentiment unites us, Stoliker. Let us go and see.”