XXII.
_STACKRIDGE'S COAT AND HAT GET ARRESTED._
The outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. Tobyhad followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, andVirginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaitingthe negro's return, when Penn arrived.
"You could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," saidVirginia. "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 hasgreat 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 Ilearned that the arrests were to be made. But I will!" And he told herall.
"O," said she, "if I had only believed what my heart has always said ofthat man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never havedeceived me! If he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? O, myfather!"
"Do not despair!" answered Penn, as cheerfully as he could. "Somethingmay be done. Stackridge and his friends may have escaped. I will go andsee 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 yettime! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her.
"When I find that nothing can be done for thy father, then I will returnto Pomp and Cudjo--not before."
And he glided out of the back door just as Salina entered from thestreet.
He left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot toStackridge's house.
He approached with great caution. There was a light burning in thehouse, as on other summer evenings at that hour. The negroes--forStackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. There wereno indications of any disturbance having taken place. Penn reconnoitredcarefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advancedtowards the door.
"Halt!" shouted a voice of authority.
And immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which theyhad been concealed. Others at the same time rushed to the spot from darkcorners, where they had lain in wait. Almost in an instant, and beforehe could recover from his astonishment, Penn found himself surrounded.
"You are our prisoner, Mr. Stackridge!" And half a dozen bayonetsconverged at the focus of his breast.
The young man comprehended the situation in a moment. Stackridge had notbeen arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had beenawaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for thefarmer.
The night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat andhat which had been Stackridge's, and which Penn still wore as adisguise. Features they could not discern so easily. The prisoner madeno resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for thatwould have revealed to them their mistake. He submitted without a word;and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flewto the door, calling frantically, "Father! father!" and lamenting hismisfortune.
By proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing,probably, but a halter on the spot. On the other hand, by accepting thepart forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. It might be, too,that he was rendering an important service to the real Stackridge bythus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him anopportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped.
These considerations passed rapidly through his mind. He slouched hishat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. In thismanner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse,which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederateauthorities.
There was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and otherprisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. Amid the press and hurry,Penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. He immediately foundhimself wedged in between the wall and a number of Tennessee Union men,some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but allcaptives like himself.
In the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, withcandles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom Penn owed hislife. He seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conductedthe arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. Beside him sat his aidsand clerks. Before him Penn knew that he must soon appear. He was indarkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing thelight and the eyes of those who knew him well. What, then, would be hisfate? Would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered overto the mob that sought his life? He had time to decide upon a coursewhich he hoped might gain him some favor.
Taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slippedoff his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners,appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, anddemanded to speak with the commanding officer.
"Sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognizehim. Upon which Mr. Ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath thatit was the schoolmaster himself.
"But I have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "How cameyou here, sir?"
"I wish to place myself under your protection," said Penn. "You receiveda substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. But yourcommands have been disregarded; I have been hunted for two days; andmen, 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 thathad brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to makehis 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 whomrecognized me. The sentinels no doubt supposed I was arrested, and solet me pass."
"Well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing foryou. Since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, I shall feelbound to protect you. But I have only one of two alternatives to offeryou--the same I offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, givingthem their choice. Take the oath of allegiance to the confederategovernment, and volunteer; that is one condition."
"I am a northern man," replied Penn, "and owe allegiance to the UnitedStates; 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, myonly means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain youa prisoner. Guard, take this man below."
Not another word was said; and, indeed, Penn had already gained morethan he hoped for, with the eyes of Lieutenant Ropes glaring on him somurderously. He was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, andordered to descend. He obeyed, marching down between two soldiers onguard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs.
It was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lanternsuspended from a beam. By its dim rays he discovered the figures of halfa dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognizedone, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes inan instant.
"My dear Mr. Villars! I have found you at last!" he exclaimed, graspingthe 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 togreet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful andtouching under the circumstances.
"I cannot tell thee," said Penn, in a c
hoked voice, "how grieved I am tosee thee here!"
"And grieved am I that you should see me here!" Mr. Villars replied. "Ihoped you were a hundred miles away. I was never sorry to have yourcompany till now! How does it happen?"
Penn made him sit down again, giving him Stackridge's coat for acushion, and related briefly his adventures.
"It is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "It seems almostprovidential that you are here."
"I think it is so," said Penn. "I think I am here because I may be ofservice to you."
"Ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of butlittle value compared with yours. I am a worn-out servant; my day ofusefulness 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 nothingremains for me but that--then I will cheerfully suffer. Our heavenlyFather orders all things; and I am content. All will be well with us, ifwe are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, ifit is true to itself and to Him."
"O, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canstspeak such words!" said Penn, deeply moved.
"Thank God, I have faith! Even in this darkest hour of my life and of mycountry, I think I have more faith than ever. And I have love, too--loveeven for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. Theyknow not what they do. They act in ignorance and passion. They seek todestroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what theyare striving so madly to build up."
"Yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined bythose very men! They are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and Ihate '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 forthe love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. No manwill stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. It will bebetter for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't youthink so, Penn?"
"I do," said Penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, notfor the rest. "I am thoroughly convinced. You were always right on thatsubject; and I was always wrong."
"I perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. It is notI that have convinced you; it is the logic of events."
One by one, the prisoners from above followed Penn down the dismalstairs. Only now and then a fainthearted Unionist consented to regainhis liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." Atlength the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. Penn,who had kept anxious watch for his friend Stackridge, was congratulatinghimself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal whohad brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied byLieutenant Ropes.
"Stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is MedadStackridge here?"
No man had seen him.
"Then I tell you," said the corporal to Silas, "he is hid somewhere upstairs, or else he has escaped; for I can swear I arrested him."
"I can swear you was drunk," said Silas, much disgusted. "You have letthe wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain heain't here."
Penn trembled for a minute. But both Ropes and the corporal passed himwithout a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immenselyrelieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remainedunexplained.
The prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. Nearly all weresturdy, earnest men. Penn noticed that they were not cast down by theirmisfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchangingglances of intelligence and defiance. At length Captain Grudd came tohim, 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 wantto know is, will you join us? And if there should be a little fightingto do, will you help do it?"
Penn grasped his hand. "Show me that we have any chance of escape, and Iam with you!"
"I thought you would come to it at last!" Grudd smiled grimly. "What wewant, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. But we have all beendisarmed. Have you anything? I noticed they did not search you, probablybecause you came voluntarily and gave yourself up."
"I have Stackridge's pistol. It is in the coat Mr. Villars is sittingon."
Grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "It will come inplay! We must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have theirguns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard.
"But the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guardposted outside, probably surrounding the building."
"We will have as little to do with them as possible. Young man, I have asecret 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 thecellar under Jim's shop? It was dug by Jim himself, as a hiding-placefor his wife and children. He had bought them, but the heirs of theirformer 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 useof it. We stored our guns in the passage, and came through into thiscellar at night to consult and drill. The store being shut, and thewindows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. As goodluck would have it, the night before the military took possession, Jimwarned 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 beendiscovered. We have only to open the wall again to get at them. Butbefore that can be done, the guard must be disposed of."
Penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew along 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 tenminutes 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 youwere in danger. Stackridge said he knew the boy, and would trust him. Sohe 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 wason his lips, the boy himself was entering the cellar. He carried amusket. He wore the confederate uniform. He was accompanied by Gad andan officer. They had come to relieve the guard. The men who hadpreviously been on duty at the foot of the stairs retired with theofficer, and Gad and Carl remained in their place.
Penn at the sight was filled with painful solicitude. To have seen hisyoung friend and pupil shoulder a confederate musket, knowing that itwas the love of him that made him a rebel, would alone have been griefenough. How much worse, then, to see him placed here in a position whereit 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 atrest.
"He has kept your secret," he said to Grudd. "He is very shrewd; and ifwe 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 shorttime when a very distinct knock was heard on the stones. It sounded likea signal. Grudd responded, striking the wall with his heel as he leanedhis back against it. Then followed a low whistle in the passage. Thecaptain's dark features lighted up.
"We are safe!" he whispered in Penn's ear. "It is Stackridg
e himself!"