The next morning dawned hot and sultry; all day there were signs of a
thunder storm.
Towards dark the door of Warren’s cell opened and a young man with
a carpet bag, apparently in a great hurry to catch a train, and
accompanied by the jailer, came to the grated door and informed Warren
that he had been requested by the British consul at New York, who had
heard of his case, to see him and to say to him that his case would be
investigated and all done that could be done, and that he would hear
from the consul in person in a few days.
The visitor was quite curious about the hall, looking around a great
deal, and as he stood with his back to the grated door talking to
the jailer, whose attention he directed to some means of ventilation
outside, Warren saw a small slip of paper in the hand which he held
behind him, and took it.
When he was alone again, he unfolded it with trembling fingers. It
contained the words: “Be ready at midnight.” Scarcely had he recovered
from the excitement which the note caused him, when he heard footsteps
and voices again approaching his cell and in a few seconds the sallow,
uncanny face of Bill Thomson was framed in the doorway.
“It seems to me, you fellows ain’t as careful as you might be. Had a
visitor sent by the British consul, did he? Well that won’t save his
neck. I tell you, Bub,” he said, directly addressing the prisoner,
“saltpetre won’t save you. You’ve got to go, by G--d. D----n these
newspaper men I say; a set of ornery skunks; meddling with business
that don’t consarn ’em. But they don’t euchre me this deal.”
Warren made no answer, and in a short time the visitor passed on.
With senses strained to their utmost tension, he watched the shades
of night envelope the landscape. He listened to the striking of the
clock in the corridor outside his cell, tolling the lagging hours,
with beating heart. Gradually all sound died away and the hush of
night fell upon the earth, broken only by the fury of the storm which
now broke scattering destruction in its wake. Far off the river
sounded a mimic Niagara as it swelled beyond its boundaries. In the
midst of his anxiety the young man noted the strange coincidence of
the storms which had attended three critical periods in his history
while in America. With this thought in his mind he heard the clock
toll off twelve strokes. As the last one died slowly away there came
a thundering knock at the outer prison door. It came again, and yet
again. He heard a door slam and then the voice of the jailer, “What do
you want?”
“We are from Andrew County, with a prisoner we want put in jail for
safe keeping.”
“Who is he?”
“A notorious horse thief.”
“Have you a warrant?”
“No; but it’s all right.”
“I can’t take a man without authority.”
“If you don’t it will be too bad; he’s a desperate character, and we’ve
had hard work to catch him. We’ll satisfy you in the morning that it’s
all right.”
The jailer went down and let them in. When they were inside where the
light fell upon their faces he started back with the cry:
“It’s Allen Pinks!”
The men with him were Maybee and old John Brown.
“Yes, Mr. Owens,” said Captain Brown grimly, “it’s the boy, and it’s
too late to make a noise. If you resist or give an alarm, you are a
dead man. The lower door is guarded, and the jail surrounded by an
armed force.”
Warren beheld the scene from between the bars of his cell door with
anxious heart; even as he looked he saw a dark object pass behind the
group and advance along the corridor wall, but his attention was drawn
from the shadow as a door opened far down the row and Bill Thomson,
fully dressed, faced the group, pistol in hand.
He advanced step by step with his eyes fixed upon the negro lad. The
boy involuntarily uttered a cry and covered his face with his hands.
“Well, sir! if it ain’t Winona! Looks interestin’, Owens, that you
couldn’t tell a gal dressed up in boys clo’s! This strikes me heavy.”
Warren standing helpless in his cell saw and heard all, and understood
many things that had puzzled him. There are loves and loves; but
Warren told himself that the love of the poor forsaken child before him
was of the quality which we name celestial. All the beauty and strength
of the man, and every endowment of tenderness came upon him there as
the power came upon Samson; and he registered a promise before heaven
that night.
“Halt!” cried Captain Brown, as Thomson moved a step nearer. “Halt, or
you’re a dead man!”
“So it is murder you propose to commit?”
“No; we have come in peace, if let alone, to rescue our friend Maxwell.
If you interfere with us the worst is your own. Disarm him, Mr. Maybee.”
But Thomson aimed his pistol straight at Winona’s breast, and cried: “I
fire if you come a step nearer.”
Warren groaned. “Oh, for a moment’s freedom and a good weapon in my
hand!”
Suddenly a lurid glare lighted up the hall, and Warren saw a dark
shadow creeping in Thomson’s rear. Something of an extraordinary nature
was about to happen.
“It is Judah! It is Judah!”
It was indeed Judah. He had crept along gradually advancing nearer and
nearer, bending almost double in observation; then like a wild beast
preparing to pounce upon his prey, he stiffened his powerful muscles,
and with a bound sprang upon Thomson, seizing him in an iron grasp, and
dragging him backward to the ground with such violence that his pistol
flew from his hand. Placing one foot upon the breast of the prostrate
man to prevent him from rising, he picked up the pistol, crying:
“It is between you and me, now. Our roles are reversed. It is you who
must die.”
He was about to fire, when Captain Brown hastily interfered:
“No, no; it won’t do. Spare him!”
“Spare him! For what? To afford him an opportunity to do more mischief?
No, no!”
“Let us release Maxwell first and get outside the building then, if you
insist upon this thing,” said Maybee.
“Quick, then! I will not answer for myself. Your safety is not the only
thing to be considered; I must think of myself as well. If I do not
kill this man, he will murder me by inches if I fall into his hands,
as he has already tried to do. I hate him, I hate him! It is my enemy I
would slay, not yours.”
With a rapid movement he stooped, placed the barrel of his pistol at
Thomson’s forehead and--would have pulled the trigger but for the
interference of John Brown, who threw himself upon the enraged black
and stayed his hand.
“Don’t do it; not this time, Judah. I know your feelings, but you’ll
have another chance, for these fellows will be after us again. There’s
too much at stake now; we owe Mr. Maxwell something for all he has
suffered. Don’t do it.”
“Yes,” chimed in Maybee; “if you let up now, Judah, I’ll be tee-totally
smashed if I don’t lend you a hand and stand by for fair play.”
“Why stay my hand? Vengeance is sweet,” replied Judah, his dark,
glowing eyes fixed in a threatening gaze upon his foe bound and
helpless at his feet.
“There is a time for everything, my son. Stay thy hand and fear not;
vengeance is mine,” said John Brown.
Judah was silent for a moment, but stood as if gathering strength to
resist temptation. Finally he said:
“I am the Lord’s instrument to kill this man. Promise me that when this
villain’s life shall lie in the gift of any man in the camp, he shall
be given to me as my right, to deal with him as I see fit.”
“We promise,” broke from Captain Brown and Ebenezer Maybee
simultaneously.
Sternly the determined trio, aided by Winona in her boy’s attire,
secured the officials of the jail and quieted the prisoners. It was
hard to resist the entreaties of the slaves confined there, but,
after a hurried consultation, it was deemed advisable not to burden
themselves with fugitive slaves.
With few words the business of releasing Maxwell was carried forward.
When Maybee unlocked the door of Warren’s cell with the warden’s key,
there were tears in his eyes as he beheld the wreck that two months of
imprisonment and brutal treatment had made of the stalwart athlete. The
burns were not yet healed, and great red scars disfigured his face in
spots; he still wore his arm in a sling; starvation, physical weakness
and lack of cleanliness had done their worst.
Maybee’s heart was too full for words as he folded the emaciated form
in his arms, and openly wiped the tears from his eyes; his were the
feelings of a father: “This, my son, was dead and is alive again.”
“Oh, never m-min’ my cryin’! ’Taint nothin’. Some fellers cries easier
than others,” he muttered as the tears rolled unchecked down his
cheeks. Winona was sobbing in company and Judah was feeling strange
about the eyes also.
“I never thought to see you again, boys,” said Warren solemnly, as
he held their warm, friendly hands and felt the clasp of honest
friendship. “I understand the slavery question through and through.
Experience is a stern teacher.”
“Min’ my words to you, Maxwell? But God knows I didn’t reckon they’d
come home to you so awful an’ suddint-like. I have never feared for
you, my boy, even when things l-looked blackes’; but if you don’ fin’
Bill Thomson somewhere, some time, an’ choke him an’ tear his win’pipe
to fiddlestrings, you ain’t got a drop of British blood in yer whole
carcass!”
“Amen!” ejaculated Captain Brown. “Come, boys, time’s up.”
Judah lifted Maxwell in his strong arms preparatory to carrying him
out to the waiting vehicle. He felt all his passionate jealousy die
a sudden death as pity and compassion stirred his heart for the
sufferings of his rival. “Here is another white man who does not
deserve death at a Negro’s hands,” he told himself.
Winona was silent and constrained in manner. For the first time since
she had adopted her strange dress she felt a wave of self-consciousness
that rendered her ashamed. She turned mechanically and walked by
Judah’s side as he bore his almost helpless burden to the wagon, and
seated herself beside the driver, still silent.
Warren, reclining on fresh straw in the bottom of the cart, wondered in
semi-consciousness at the sweetness of the air dashed in his face with
the great gusts of rain, and at his own stupidity in not recognizing
Winona; beneath the stain with which she had darkened her own exquisite
complexion, he could now plainly trace the linaments that had so
charmed him. Then, lulled by the motion of the vehicle and weakened by
excitement, he slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Captain Brown had ordered the prisoners placed in Warren’s abandoned
cell, and, locking the door, took the key with them to clog the
movements of pursuers as much as possible; then they passed out,
closing and fastening the great outer door and also taking that key
with them.
Meanwhile, outside the building, in the most advantageous positions,
hidden by the blackness of the night, ten stalwart Free-State men had
waited with impatience the return of Captain Brown and his companions.
The storm favored the rescuing party; not a sound disturbed their watch
but the awful peals of thunder reverberating over the land in solemn
majesty. Torrents of rain drenched them to the skin, but inured to
hardships they rejoiced in the favor which the storm bestowed.
As the rescuers issued from beneath the jail’s shadow, Judah bearing
Warren in his arms, the guard gathered silently about the wagon in
silent congratulation that thus far they had been successful; then
mounting their waiting horses, the whole party rode as fast as possible
toward the river.
As dawn approached the storm cleared, and the first faint streaks
of light that appeared in the east were tinged with the sun-god’s
brilliant hues. By this time our party had reached the river-banks, and
Warren was removed to the boat, the horses and wagon being returned to
the friendly settlers who had loaned them, and in the sweet freshness
of the dawn, strong arms propelled the boat toward the Kansas shore.
On the Kansas side fresh horses awaited them and another wagon. Friends
met them at short intervals along the route, the people turning out
en masse in an ovation to the rescuers and rescued, for Maxwell’s
story was known in every village and town throughout the country.
They stopped at a comfortable farmhouse for breakfast, and Warren was
allowed the luxury of a bath and given clean though coarse clothing.
They travelled all that day and night, seeming not to feel fatigue
but bent upon distancing a pursuing party, finding fresh horses at
intervals, and food in abundance. Thus the settlers exemplified in kind
acts the sympathy that upheld the common cause of human rights for all
mankind.
The journey to the Brown camp was not a short one, and burdened with
an invalid, it added to the length of time necessary to make the trip.
Every step, too, was fraught with danger, but not a murmur came from
the men who with stern faces and senses alert cautiously picked their
way to safety. It was still twenty miles across country as the crow
flies, after three days of swift travelling; the meandering of the road
added five more. Then there was a barrier of foothills, and finally
the mountains which lifted themselves abruptly out of the flat rolling
surface surrounding them.
There might be marauding parties hiding in the brush and thickets,
and for aught the horsemen knew, the stacks of hay and fodder that
rose like huge monuments on every side, out of the twilight gloom
surrounding the lonely farms, might conceal dozens of their foes. The
nights were wearing for they never knew quite how the situation was
going to develop.
Most of the time Warren was in a semi-conscious state exciting fears of
a return of fever and delirium. The sight of guns and the constant talk
of the battle yet to come had a depressing effect upon the invalid;
they gave a sinister effect to his freedom. Soon the smiling sunlit
valley they were entering became to his disordered fancy a return into
the dangers and sufferings of a Missouri prison.
Much to Captain Brown’s relief, the late afternoon found them in the
pleasant hollow two miles distant from the camp, and night gave them
safety within the shadow of the great hills.