The jails were crowded with our leading statesmen. The President and his
Cabinet had been transferred to Fort Warren at Boston before the Capitol
was destroyed.
The Honorable Plato Barker, for reasons deemed sufficient by the
Governor-General, was placed in the United States penitentiary at
Albany. In spite of his mania for peace, Waldron thoroughly mistrusted
him. His passion for oratorical leadership he knew to be insatiate. What
fool scheme he might advocate in secret could not be guessed. In vain
Barker offered to take the iron-clad Imperial oath. Waldron was deaf to
all entreaties even when the petition was borne to him by the officer of
the army who had captured the silver-tongued leader and made him a
scullion. Villard, the Commanding General, had allowed Barker to deliver
Sunday lectures to his soldiers on harmless themes of Chautauqua fame.
The Commander had grown to like the orator as a harmless sort of court
jester. He was particularly fond of his illustrations and jokes. He
declared that Barker had missed his calling--he should have been an
evangelist or a clown.
Failing to release his favorite captive the General interceded to save
his reason.
Barker could not endure the silence to which he had been doomed. His
mind began to break under the strain. He was saved from madness by an
order which permitted him to preach to the prisoners on Sunday.
His first discourse was on “The Extraordinary Food Value of Grape
Juice.”
The men who were living on bread and water didn’t like it.
The lecture was interrupted by an incipient riot. He was compelled to
drop the subject and stick to historical religion. He switched to a
discourse on Saul of Tarsus, which was well received. It in no way
mocked the appetites of his hearers.
Pike proved to be another proposition for his captor. He became so
peevish and sullen that his taskmaster went out of his way to make his
life unendurable. The bow-legged Commander not only continually repeated
Pike’s former expressions on the dangers of being armed and the
wickedness of being prepared for defense in the presence of the preacher
while he danced attendance as a waiter at his headquarters, but he added
insult to injury at last by forcing the advocate of peace to become an
expert shot by daily target practice.
When Waldron ordered the doughty cavalry leader to St. Louis, he dragged
Pike with him to continue his systematic torture. He piled the last
straw on the little man’s back the day after their arrival in the new
quarters by ordering him to don the uniform of the Emperor, join a
firing squad and shoot a deserter.
The preacher refused point blank. To have his fun the General ordered
two guardsmen to bring the rebel to his room and force him into the
uniform--his horse was standing at the door saddled and ready to gallop
to the field and watch Pike faint at the ordeal.
The General roared with laughter when he finally stood forth arrayed in
the brown uniform of the army. The guardsmen in their shirtsleeves were
laughing too. He had struggled manfully to prevent the outrage and they
had only drawn the clothes on him by main force. It took the hostler at
the door finally to win the contest.
“Cheer up, Cuthbert, you’ll soon be dead!” the officer cried.
The boys roared.
With a sudden panther leap Pike was on the General, snatched his
automatic from his belt, shot him dead and killed the three men before
they recovered from the shock.
With a second leap he was on the waiting horse and calmly galloped
through the camp before the guards discovered the incident.
He found his way to General Hood’s headquarters in the Sierra Nevadas
and reported for duty.
“Keep your uniform!” Hood laughed. “We’ll need it for scout work.”
“Sure I’ll keep it,” the preacher snapped--“and use it myself, sir! I’ll
show them that my name’s Pike--not Piker!”
The General despatched him to the Coast on an important and dangerous
mission.