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 ident.i.ty, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 subst.i.tute 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 circ.u.mstances 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?"

n.o.body 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 pa.s.s."

"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 n.o.ble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circ.u.mstances.

"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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sion. 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 inst.i.tution 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 pa.s.sed 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 st.u.r.dy, 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.