Chapter 10

As soon as it was dark, Penn came out into the open road; nor did he turn aside into the bridle-path when he reached it, because he wished to avoid travelling in company with Ellerton, who was to take that route. He also supposed that Sprowl's party would be returning that way. In this he was mistaken. Riding at a gallop through the darkness, his heart beating anxiously as the first twinkling lights of the town began to appear, he suddenly became aware of three horsemen riding but a short distance before him. They had evidently been drinking something stronger than water at the house of some good secessionist on the road, perhaps to console themselves for the loss of the schoolmaster,--for these were the excellent friends who were so eager to meet with him again! They were merry and talkative, and Penn, not ambitious of cultivating their acquaintance, checked his horse.

It was too late. They had already perceived his approach, and hailed him.

What should he do? To wheel about and flee would certainly excite their suspicions; they would be sure to pursue him; and though he might escape, his arrival in town would be thus perhaps fatally delayed. The arrests might be even at that moment taking place.

He reflected, "There are but three of them; I may fight my way through, if it comes to that."

Accordingly he rode boldly up to the assassins, and in a counterfeit voice, answered their hail. He was but little known to either of them, and there was a chance that, in the darkness, they might fail to recognize him.

"Where you from?" demanded Sprowl.

"From a little this side of Bald Mountain," said Penn,--which was true enough.

"Where bound?"

"Can't you see for yourself?" said Penn, assuming a reckless, independent air. "I am following my horse's nose, and that is going pretty straight into Curryville."

"Glad of your company," said Sprowl, riding gayly alongside. "What's your business in town, stranger?"

"Well," replied Penn, "I don't mind telling you that my business is to see if I and my horse can find something to do for old Tennessee."

"Ah! cavalry?" suggested Lysander, well pleased.

"I should prefer cavalry service to any other," answered Penn.

"There's where you right," said Sprowl; and he proceeded to enlighten Penn on the prospects of raising a cavalry company in Curryville.

"Did you meet any person on the road, travelling north?"

"What sort of a person?"

"A young feller, rather slim, brown hair, blue eyes, with a half-hung look, a perfect specimen of a sneaking abolition schoolmaster."

"I--I don't remember meeting any such a person," said Penn, as if consulting his memory. "I met _two_ men, though, this side of old Bald. One of them was a rather gentlemanly-looking fellow; but I think his hair was black and curly."

"The schoolmaster's har is wavy, and purty dark, I call it," said one of Sprowl's companions.

"He must have been the man!" said Lysander, suddenly stopping his horse. "What sort of a chap was with him? Did he look like a Union-shrieker?"

"Now I think of it," said Penn, "if that man wasn't a Unionist at heart, I am greatly mistaken. His sympathies are with the Lincolnites, I know by his looks!" He neglected to add, however, that the man was black.

Sprowl was excited.

"It was some tory, piloting the schoolmaster! Boys, we must wheel about! It never'll do for us to go home as long as we can hear of him alive in the state. Remember the pay promised, if we catch him."

"Luck to you!" cried Penn, riding on, while Sprowl turned back in ludicrous pursuit of his own worthy friend, Mr. Augustus Bythewood, and his negro man Sam.

Penn lost no time laughing at the joke. His heart was too full of trouble for that. It had seemed to him, at each moment of delay, that the blind old minister was even then being torn from his home--that he could hear Virginia's sobs of distress and cries for help. He urged his horse into a gallop once more, and struck into a path across the fields. He rode to the edge of the orchard, dismounted, tied the horse, and hastened on foot to the house.

The guard was gone from the piazza, and all seemed quiet about the premises. The kitchen was dark. He advanced quickly, but noiselessly, to the door. It was open. He went in.

"Toby!" No answer. "Carl! Carl!" he called in a louder voice. No Carl replied. Then he remembered--what it seemed so strange that he could even for an instant forget--that Carl was in the rebel ranks, for his sake.

He had seen a light in the sitting-room. He found the door, and knocked. No answer came. He opened it softly, and entered. There burned the lamp on the table--there stood the vacant chairs--he was alone in the deserted room.

"Virginia!"

He started at his own voice, which sounded, in the hollow apartment, like the whisper of a ghost.

He was proceeding still farther, wondering at the stillness, terrified by his own forebodings, feeling in his appalled heart the contrast between this night, and this strange, furtive visit, and the happy nights, and the many happy visits, he had made to his dear friends there only a few short months before,--pausing to assure himself that he was not walking in a dream,--when he heard a footstep, a flutter, and saw, spring towards him through the door, pale as an apparition, Virginia. Speechless with emotion, she could not utter his name, but she testified the joy with which she welcomed him by throwing herself, not into his arms, but upon them, as he extended his hands to greet her.

"What has happened?" said Penn.

"O, my father!" said the girl. And she bowed her face upon his arm, clinging to him as if he were her brother, her only support.

"Where is he?" asked Penn, alarmed, and trembling with sympathy for that delicate, agitated, fair young creature, whom sorrow had so changed since he saw her last.

"They have taken him--the soldiers!" she said.

And by these words Penn knew that he had come too late.

XXII.

_STACKRIDGE'S COAT AND HAT GET ARRESTED._

The outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. Toby had followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, and Virginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaiting the negro's return, when Penn arrived.

"You could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," said Virginia. "There is but one man who could have prevented this cruelty."

"Why not send for him?"

"Alas! he left town this very day. He is a secessionist; but he has great influence, and appears very friendly to us."

Penn started, and looked at her keenly.

"His name?"

"Augustus Bythewood."

Penn recoiled.

"What's the matter?"

"Virginia, that man is thy worst enemy? I did not tell thee how I learned that the arrests were to be made. But I will!" And he told her all.

"O," said she, "if I had only believed what my heart has always said of that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have deceived me! If he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? O, my father!"

"Do not despair!" answered Penn, as cheerfully as he could. "Something may be done. Stackridge and his friends may have escaped. I will go and see if I can hear any thing of them. Have faith in our heavenly Father, my poor girl! be patient! be strong! All, I am sure, will yet be well."

"But you too are in danger! You must not go!" she exclaimed, instinctively detaining him.

"I am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere."

"True, true! Go to your negro friends in the mountain--there is yet time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her.

"When I find that nothing can be done for thy father, then I will return to Pomp and Cudjo--not before."

And he glided out of the back door just as Salina entered from the street.

He left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to Stackridge's house.

He approached with great caution. There was a light burning in the house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. The negroes--for Stackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. There were no indications of any disturbance having taken place. Penn reconnoitred carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced towards the door.

"Halt!" shouted a voice of authority.

And immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which they had been concealed. Others at the same time rushed to the spot from dark corners, where they had lain in wait. Almost in an instant, and before he could recover from his astonishment, Penn found himself surrounded.

"You are our prisoner, Mr. Stackridge!" And half a dozen bayonets converged at the focus of his breast.

The young man comprehended the situation in a moment. Stackridge had not been arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had been awaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for the farmer.

The night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat and hat which had been Stackridge's, and which Penn still wore as a disguise. Features they could not discern so easily. The prisoner made no resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for that would have revealed to them their mistake. He submitted without a word; and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flew to the door, calling frantically, "Father! father!" and lamenting his misfortune.

By proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing, probably, but a halter on the spot. On the other hand, by accepting the part forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. It might be, too, that he was rendering an important service to the real Stackridge by thus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him an opportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped.

These considerations passed rapidly through his mind. He slouched his hat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. In this manner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse, which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederate authorities.

There was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and other prisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. Amid the press and hurry, Penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. He immediately found himself wedged in between the wall and a number of Tennessee Union men, some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but all captives like himself.

In the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, with candles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom Penn owed his life. He seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conducted the arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. Beside him sat his aids and clerks. Before him Penn knew that he must soon appear. He was in darkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing the light and the eyes of those who knew him well. What, then, would be his fate? Would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered over to the mob that sought his life? He had time to decide upon a course which he hoped might gain him some favor.

Taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slipped off his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners, appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, and demanded to speak with the commanding officer.

"Sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognize him. Upon which Mr. Ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath that it was the schoolmaster himself.

"But I have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "How came you here, sir?"

"I wish to place myself under your protection," said Penn. "You received a substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. But your commands have been disregarded; I have been hunted for two days; and men, calling themselves confederate soldiers, are still pursuing me. Under these circumstances I have thought it best to appeal to you, relying upon your honor as a gentleman and an officer."

"But how came you here? Who brought in this fellow?"

Nobody could answer that question, although the leader of the party that had brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to make his report of Stackridge's arrest.

As soon, therefore, as Penn could gain a hearing, he continued.

"I came in, sir, with a crowd of soldiers and prisoners, none of whom recognized me. The sentinels no doubt supposed I was arrested, and so let me pass."

"Well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing for you. Since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, I shall feel bound to protect you. But I have only one of two alternatives to offer you--the same I offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, giving them their choice. Take the oath of allegiance to the confederate government, and volunteer; that is one condition."

"I am a northern man," replied Penn, "and owe allegiance to the United States; so that condition it is impossible for me to accept."

"Very well; I'll give you time to think of it. In the mean while, my only means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain you a prisoner. Guard, take this man below."

Not another word was said; and, indeed, Penn had already gained more than he hoped for, with the eyes of Lieutenant Ropes glaring on him so murderously. He was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, and ordered to descend. He obeyed, marching down between two soldiers on guard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs.

It was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern suspended from a beam. By its dim rays he discovered the figures of half a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in an instant.

"My dear Mr. Villars! I have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping the old clergyman's hand.

"Penn, is it you?" said the blind old man.

He was seated on a dry goods box. Trembling and feeble, he arose to greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circumstances.

"I cannot tell thee," said Penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved I am to see thee here!"

"And grieved am I that you should see me here!" Mr. Villars replied. "I hoped you were a hundred miles away. I was never sorry to have your company till now! How does it happen?"

Penn made him sit down again, giving him Stackridge's coat for a cushion, and related briefly his adventures.

"It is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "It seems almost providential that you are here."

"I think it is so," said Penn. "I think I am here because I may be of service to you."

"Ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but little value compared with yours. I am a worn-out servant; my day of usefulness is past; I am ready to go home. I do not speak repiningly," he added. "If I can serve my country or my God by suffering--if nothing remains for me but that--then I will cheerfully suffer. Our heavenly Father orders all things; and I am content. All will be well with us, if we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if it is true to itself and to Him."

"O, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canst speak such words!" said Penn, deeply moved.

"Thank God, I have faith! Even in this darkest hour of my life and of my country, I think I have more faith than ever. And I have love, too--love even for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. They know not what they do. They act in ignorance and passion. They seek to destroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what they are striving so madly to build up."

"Yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined by those very men! They are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and I hate 'em worse!"

"Hate their errors, Captain Grudd, hate their crimes, but hate no man," Mr. Villars softly replied.

"And you would have us submit to them?"

"Submit, when you can do no better. But even for their sakes, even for the love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. No man will stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. It will be better for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't you think so, Penn?"

"I do," said Penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, not for the rest. "I am thoroughly convinced. You were always right on that subject; and I was always wrong."

"I perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. It is not I that have convinced you; it is the logic of events."

One by one, the prisoners from above followed Penn down the dismal stairs. Only now and then a fainthearted Unionist consented to regain his liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." At length the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. Penn, who had kept anxious watch for his friend Stackridge, was congratulating himself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal who had brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied by Lieutenant Ropes.

"Stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is Medad Stackridge here?"

No man had seen him.

"Then I tell you," said the corporal to Silas, "he is hid somewhere up stairs, or else he has escaped; for I can swear I arrested him."

"I can swear you was drunk," said Silas, much disgusted. "You have let the wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain he ain't here."

Penn trembled for a minute. But both Ropes and the corporal passed him without a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immensely relieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remained unexplained.

The prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. Nearly all were sturdy, earnest men. Penn noticed that they were not cast down by their misfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of intelligence and defiance. At length Captain Grudd came to him, and taking him aside, said,--

"Well, professor, what do you think of the situation?"

"We seem to be at the mercy of the villains," replied Penn.

"Not so much at their mercy either, if we choose to be men! What we want to know is, will you join us? And if there should be a little fighting to do, will you help do it?"

Penn grasped his hand. "Show me that we have any chance of escape, and I am with you!"

"I thought you would come to it at last!" Grudd smiled grimly. "What we want, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. But we have all been disarmed. Have you anything? I noticed they did not search you, probably because you came voluntarily and gave yourself up."

"I have Stackridge's pistol. It is in the coat Mr. Villars is sitting on."

Grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "It will come in play! We must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have their guns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard.

"But the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guard posted outside, probably surrounding the building."

"We will have as little to do with them as possible. Young man, I have a secret for you. Do you know whose property this is?"

"Barber Jim's, I believe."

"And do you know there's a secret passage from this cellar into the cellar under Jim's shop? It was dug by Jim himself, as a hiding-place for his wife and children. He had bought them, but the heirs of their former owner had set up a claim to them. After that matter was settled, he showed Stackridge the place; and that's the way we came to make use of it. We stored our guns in the passage, and came through into this cellar at night to consult and drill. The store being shut, and the windows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. As good luck would have it, the night before the military took possession, Jim warned us, and we carefully put back every stone in the wall, and left. But some of our guns are still in the passage, if they have not been discovered. We have only to open the wall again to get at them. But before that can be done, the guard must be disposed of."

Penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew a long breath.

"Is the passage behind the spot where Mr. Villars is sitting?"

"Within three feet of the box."

"Then I fear it is discovered. I heard a noise behind that wall not ten minutes ago."

Grudd started. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"It must be Jim himself; or else we have been betrayed."

"Was the secret known to many?"

"To all our club, and one besides," said Grudd, frowning anxiously. "Stackridge made a mistake; I told him so!"

"How?"

"We were drilling here that night when Dutch Carl came to tell us you were in danger. Stackridge said he knew the boy, and would trust him. So he brought him in here. And Carl is now a rebel volunteer."

"With him your secret is safe!" Penn hastened to assure the captain. "Stackridge was right. Carl----"

He paused suddenly, looking at the stairs. Even while the boy's name was on his lips, the boy himself was entering the cellar. He carried a musket. He wore the confederate uniform. He was accompanied by Gad and an officer. They had come to relieve the guard. The men who had previously been on duty at the foot of the stairs retired with the officer, and Gad and Carl remained in their place.

Penn at the sight was filled with painful solicitude. To have seen his young friend and pupil shoulder a confederate musket, knowing that it was the love of him that made him a rebel, would alone have been grief enough. How much worse, then, to see him placed here in a position where it might be necessary, in Grudd's opinion, to "shoot or strangle" him! But having once exchanged glances with the boy, Penn's mind was set at rest.

"He has kept your secret," he said to Grudd. "He is very shrewd; and if we need help, he will help us."

But the noise Penn had heard behind the wall was troubling the captain. They retired to that part of the cellar. They had been there but a short time when a very distinct knock was heard on the stones. It sounded like a signal. Grudd responded, striking the wall with his heel as he leaned his back against it. Then followed a low whistle in the passage. The captain's dark features lighted up.

"We are safe!" he whispered in Penn's ear. "It is Stackridge himself!"

XXIII.

_THE FLIGHT OF THE PRISONERS._

Then commenced strategy. The prisoners gathered in a group before the closed passage, and talked loud, while Grudd established a communication with Stackridge. In the course of an hour a single stone in the wall had been removed. Through the aperture thus formed a bottle was introduced. This Grudd pretended afterwards to take from his pocket; and having (apparently) drank, he offered it to his friends. All drank, or appeared to drink, in a manner that provoked Gad's thirst. He vowed that it was too bad that anything good should moisten the lips of tory prisoners while a soldier like him went thirsty.

"I never saw the time, Gad," said the captain, "when I wouldn't share a bottle with you, and I will now."

Gad held his gun with one hand and grasped the bottle with the other. Penn seized the moment when his eyes were directed upwards at the cobweb festoons that adorned the cellar, and the sound of gurgling was in his throat, to whisper in Carl's ear,--

"Appear to drink, and by and by pass the bottle up stairs."

Carl understood the game in an instant.

"Here, you fish!" he said, in the midst of Gad's potation. "Leafe a little trop for me, vill you?"

It was some time before the torrent in Gad's throat ceased its murmuring, and he removed his eyes from the cobwebs. Then, smacking his lips, and remarking that it was the right sort of stuff, he passed the bottle to Carl.

"Who's the fish this time?" said he, enviously, after Carl had made believe swallow for a few seconds.