Cudjo's Cave Part 27

"I a deserter? you mishtake," said Carl. "I am a prisoner."

"You disobeyed me, Carl! I told you not to enlist. You did wrong."

"Now shust listen," said Carl, "and I vill tell you. I did right. Cause vy. You are alive and vell now, ain't you?"

Penn smilingly admitted the fact.

"And that is petter as being hung?"

"I am not so very certain of that, Carl!"

"Vell, I am certain for you. Hanging ish no goot. Hunderts of vellers that don't like the rebels no more as you do, wolunteer rather than to be hung. Shows their goot sense."

"But you have taken an oath--you are under a solemn engagement, Carl, to fight against the government."

"You mishtake unce more--two times. I make a pargain. I say to that man, 'You let Mishter Hapgoot go free, and not let him be hurt, and I vill be a rebel.' Vell, he agrees. But he don't keep his vord. He lets 'em go for to hang you vunce more. Now, if he preaks his part of the pargain, vy shouldn't I preak mine?"

"Well, Carl," said Penn, laughing, while his eyes glistened, "I trust thy conscience is clear in the matter. I can only say that, though I don't approve of thy being a rebel, I love thee all the better for it.

What do you think, Mr. Villars?"

"Sometimes people do wrong from a motive so pure and disinterested that it sanctifies the action. This is Carl's case, I think."

"h.e.l.lo!" cried Carl, jumping up from the bank on which they were seated.

"Guns! They are at it again! I vill go see!"

The boy disappeared, scrambling down the dry bed of the torrent.

The firing continued at irregular intervals for half an hour. Carl did not return. Penn grew anxious. He stood, intently listening, when he heard a noise behind him, and, turning quickly, saw the glimmer of musket-barrels over the rocks.

"Fire!" said a voice.

And Penn threw himself down under the bank just in time to avoid the discharge of half a dozen pieces aimed at his head.

"What is the trouble?" asked the old man, who was lying on some blankets spread for him there in the shade.

Before Penn could reply, Silas Ropes and six men came rus.h.i.+ng down upon them. Stackridge had been out-generalled. Whilst he and his men were being diverted by a feigned attack in front, two different parties had been despatched by circuitous routes to get in his rear. In executing the part of the plan intrusted to him, Ropes had unexpectedly come upon the schoolmaster and his companion. A minute later both were seized and dragged up from the bed of the torrent.

"Ye don't escape me this time!" said Silas, with brutal exultation. "Tie him up to the tree thar; serve the old one the same. We can't be bothered with prisoners."

"What are you going to do to that helpless, blind old man?" cried Penn.

"Do what you please with me; I expect no mercy,--I ask none. But I entreat you, respect his gray hair!"

The appeal seemed to have some effect even on the savage-hearted Silas.

He glanced at his men: they were evidently of the opinion that the slaughter of the old clergyman was uncalled for.

"Wal, tie the old ranter, and leave him. Quick work, boys. Got the schoolmaster fast?"

"All right," said the men.

"Wal, now stand back here, and les' have a little bayonet practice."

Penn knew very well what that meant. His clothes were stripped from him, in order to present a fair mark for the murderous steel; and he was bound to a tree.

"One at a time," said Silas. "Try your hand, Griffin.

_Charge--bayonet!_"

In vain the old minister endeavored to make himself heard in his friend's behalf. He could only pray for him.

Penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet thrust straight at his heart. In an instant the murder would have been done. But when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching his breast, Griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands, and fell dead at Penn's feet.

At the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack reverberated among the rocks.

The a.s.sa.s.sins were terror-struck. They looked all around; not a human being was in sight. Distant firing proclaimed that Stackridge and his men were still engaged. The death that struck down Griffin seemed to have fallen from heaven. They waited but a moment, then fled precipitately, leaving Penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead rebel at his feet.

Then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. Penn uttered a cry of joy. It was Pomp and Cudjo.

XXIV.

_THE DEAD REBEL'S MUSKET._

Pomp came reloading his rifle, while Cudjo, knife in hand, flew at the cords that confined the schoolmaster.

In his grat.i.tude to Heaven and his deliverers, Penn could have hugged that grotesque, half-savage creature to his heart. But no time was to be lost. s.n.a.t.c.hing the knife, he hastened to release the bewildered clergyman.

"Pomp, my n.o.ble fellow!" The negro turned from looking after the retreating rebels, with a gleam of triumph on his proud and lofty features: Penn wrung his hand. "You have twice saved my life--now let me ask one more favor of you! Take Mr. Villars to your cave--do for him what you have done for me. He is a much better Christian, and far more deserving of your kindness, than I ever was."

"And you?" said Pomp, quietly.

"I will take my chance with the others." And Penn in few words explained the occurrences of the night and morning.

Pomp shrugged his shoulders frowningly. The time was at hand when he and Cudjo could no longer enjoy in freedom their wild mountain life; even they must soon be drawn into the great deadly struggle. This he foresaw, and his soul was darkened for a moment.

"Cudjo! Shall we take this old man to our den?"

"No, no! Don't ye take n.o.body dar! on'y Ma.s.sa Hapgood."

"But he is blind!" said Penn.

"Others will come after who are not blind," said Pomp, his brow still stern and thoughtful.

"My friends," interposed the old clergyman, mildly, "do nothing for me that will bring danger to yourselves, I entreat you!"

These unselfish words, spoken with serious and benignant aspect, touched the generous chords in Pomp's breast.