Mr. Travilla had them all carried into their houses, and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and a messenger was dispatched in all haste for Dr. Barton.
The family at Fairview had slept through the night undisturbed by the vicinity, or acts of the raiders. Mr. Leland's first intimation of their visit was received as he opened the front door at his usual early hour for beginning his morning round of the plantation.
He almost started back at the sight of a rude pine coffin directly before him; but recovering himself instantly, stooped to read a label affixed to the lid.
"Beware, odious carpet-bagger! this is your third and last warning.
Leave the country within ten days, or your carcass fills this."
He read it deliberately through, carefully weighing each word, not a muscle of his face moving, not a tremor agitating his nerves.
Turning to his overseer, who at that moment appeared before him, "Bring me a hatchet," he said in stern, calm tones, "and be quick, Park; I would not have your mistress see this on any account."
Stepping upon the lid as he spoke, he broke it in with a crash, finishing his work when the hatchet came, by quickly chopping and splitting the coffin up into kindling-wood.
"There!" he said, bidding the man gather up the fragments and carry them to the kitchen, "they'll not put me into that, at all events. What mischief have they been at in the quarter, I wonder?" he added, springing into the saddle.
"Dreffle bad work, sah; mos' killed two ob de boys; scared de rest to deff," said Park, hastily obeying the order to gather up the bits of wood, "jes' gwine tell ye, sah, when you tole me go for de hatchet."
"Indeed! hellish work! Follow me, Park, as quickly as you can. And mind, not a word of this," pointing to the demolished coffin, "to any one," and putting spurs to his horse, he galloped off in the direction of the quarter.
But presently catching sight of the still smoking embers of the Ion school-house, he drew rein for an instant with a sudden exclamation of surprise and regret. "The wretches, what will they do next? burn our houses about our ears?" and sighing, he pursued his way.
Indignant anger, and tender pity and compassion filled his breast by turns, on reaching the quarter and discovering the state of things there; worse even than Park's report had made it.
He rode from cabin to cabin inquiring into the condition of the inmates and speaking words of pity and of hope.
Finding several badly bruised and cut, and others suffering from gunshot wounds, he sent to the house for lint, salve and bandages, and directed a lad to run to the stables, saddle a horse; and go immediately for Dr. Barton.
"De doctah ober to Ion now, sah," returned the boy, "debbils dore las' night, too, sah."
"Run over to Ion, then, and ask the doctor to come here when he is through there," said Mr. Leland.
Mr. Travilla came with the doctor and the two planters compared notes, in regard to damages, Mr. Leland also telling the story of the coffin laid at his door.
"What do you intend doing?" asked Mr. Travilla.
"Inclination says, 'Stay and brave it out;' but I have not yet fully decided. I have invested all my means in this enterprise, and have a wife and family of helpless little ones to support."
"That makes it hard indeed; yet I fear your life is in great danger. But come what may, Leland, I stand your friend. If you should be attacked, fly to Ion; you will find an open door, a hearty welcome, and such protection as I am able to give. I think we could conceal you so that it would be a matter of difficulty for your foes to find you."
"A thousand thanks! God bless you for your kindness, sir!" exclaimed Leland, with emotion, warmly grasping the hand held out to him; and the two parted, each wending his homeward way.
Chapter Thirteenth.
"Humble love,
And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven;
Love finds admission, where proud science fails."
—Young
Elsie was on the veranda looking for her husband's return to breakfast; for it was already past the usual hour.
"All alone, little wife?" he asked as he dismounted and came up the steps.
"Not now," she answered, putting her arms about his neck and looking up at him with her own fond, beautiful smile. "But your face is sad, my husband! What news?"
"Sad enough, my little friend; poor old Uncle Mose has been so barbarously handled that he cannot live through the day, Dr. Barton says: and two of the others are suffering very much."
Elsie's eyes were full. "Does Uncle Mose know it?" she asked.
"Yes, I told him, as tenderly as I could, and asked if he was ready to go. 'Yes, Mars Edard,' he said, with a triumphant smile, 'for I'se got fast hold ob Jesus.'"
Elsie's head was laid on her husband's shoulder, the bright drops were coming fast down her cheeks.
"I have sent word to Mr. Wood," he went on, "the poor old fellow is anxious to see him; and you also."
"Yes, yes, I will go down directly after prayers," she said.
Then he told her of the coffin laid at the door of Fairview, and the threatening words on its lid.
She heard it with a shudder and a sigh. "Oh poor Mr. Leland! Edward, don't you think it would be wise in him to leave for the present?"
"Perhaps so. I fear they will really attempt his life if he stays; but all his means being invested in Fairview makes it very hard. Where are our children?"
"They went to deck the corpse of Baby Ben with flowers. Ah, here they come, the darlings!" as little feet came pattering through the hall.
They hastened to their father for their usual morning kiss, and hung about him with tender loving caresses; but their manner was subdued, and Vi and Harold told with a sort of wondering awe of the poor little dead baby so still and cold.
"Are you going out, mamma?" asked little Elsie an hour later, as Mrs. Travilla appeared, dressed in walking costume, in the midst of the group of children and nurses gathered under a tree on the shady side of the house.
"Yes, daughter, I am going down to the quarter to see poor old Uncle Mose who is very ill; and I want you to be mother to the little ones while I am away."
"O mamma, mayn't we go with you?" cried Eddie and Vi in a breath, Harold chiming in, "And me too, mamma, me too!"
"No, dears, not to-day, but some other time you shall," the mother answered, giving each a good-bye kiss.
"Mamma, stay wis us; I'se 'f'aid de Kluxes get 'oo!" said Harold coaxingly, clinging about her neck with his chubby arms, while the big tears gathered in his great dark eyes.
"No, dear, they don't come in the day-time. And God will take care of me. Papa is down at the quarter, too; and Uncle Joe and mammy will go with me;" and with another tender caress, she gently released herself from his hold and turned away.
The children gazed wistfully after her graceful figure as it disappeared among the trees, Uncle Joe holding a great umbrella over her to shield her from the sun, while mammy and Aunt Sally followed, each with a basket on her arm.
Uncle Mose was rapidly nearing that bourne whence no traveler returns. As his mistress laid her soft white hand on his, she felt that the chill of death was there.
"You are almost home, Uncle Mose," she said, bending over him, her sweet face full of tender sympathy.
"Yes, my dear young Missus, I'se in de valley," he answered, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "but bress de Lord, it's not dark!"
"Jesus is with you?"
"Yes, Missus, he is my strength and my song: de riber's deep, but he'll neber let me sink. De pain in dis ole body's dreffle, but I'll neber hab no mo', bress de Lord!"
"Do your good works give you this comfortable assurance that you are going to heaven, Uncle Mose?"
"Bress yo' heart, honey, I ain't neber done none; but de bressed Lord Jesus covers me all ober wid his goodness, and God de Fader 'cepts me for his sake."
"Yes, that is it, 'He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.' 'There is none other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved;' and 'he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.'"
"Yes, honey, dose de words ob de good book. Now will you please sing de twenty-third Psalm, an' den ask de Lord Jesus keep fas' hold dis ole niggah, till Jordan am past, an' de gate into de city."
The request was granted; the sweet voice that had thrilled the hearts of many of the rich and noble of earth, freely poured forth its richest strains to soothe the dying throes of agony of a poor old negro.
Then kneeling by the humble couch, in a few simple, touching words she commended the departing spirit to the almighty love and care of Him who had shed His blood to redeem it, earnestly pleading that the dying one might be enabled to cast himself wholly on Jesus, and in doing so be granted a speedy and abundant entrance into His kingdom and glory.
The fervent "Amen!" of Uncle Mose joined in with hers; then low and feebly he added, "De good—Lord—bress you—my dear—young—Missus."
A shadow had fallen on Elsie, and as she rose from her knees, she turned her head to find her father standing at her side.
He drew her to him and pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You must go now; the heat of the sun is already too great for you to be out with safety."
The low quiet tone was one of authority as of old.
He only waited for her good-bye to Uncle Mose, and to speak a few kindly words of farewell himself, then led her out and placed her in his carriage, which stood at the door.
Mr. Travilla rode up at that instant. "That's right," he said. "Little wife, I am loth to have you exposed to the heat of this sultry day."
"And you, Edward? can you not come home now?" she asked.
"Not yet, wife; there are several matters I must attend to first, and
I want to speak to Mr. Wood, who, I see, is just coming."
He kissed his hand to her with the gallantry of the days of their courtship, and cantered off, while the carriage rolled on its way toward the mansion.
"Daughter, if you must visit the quarter during this sultry weather, can you not choose an earlier hour?" asked Mr. Dinsmore.
"I think I can after this, papa;" and she went on to explain how her time had been taken up before breakfast that morning. "Do you know about Mr. Leland?" she asked in conclusion.
"Yes; their next outrage will, I fear, be an attack upon him."
"Then upon you and Edward!" she said, her cheek growing very pale, and her eyes filling. "Papa I am becoming very anxious."
"'I would have you without carefulness,'" he answered taking her hand in his. "They can have no power at all against us except it be given them from above. My child, God reigns, and if God be for us, who can be against us?"
"Yes, dear papa, and with David let us say, 'In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.'"
Mr. Dinsmore was still with his daughter when Mr. Travilla returned with the news that Uncle Mose's sufferings were over, and it had been arranged that he and Baby Ben should be buried that evening at dusk.
The children begged to be permitted to attend the double funeral; but their parents judged it best to deny them, fearing an onslaught by the Ku Klux; of which there was certainly a possibility.
"I have been talking with Leland," Mr. Travilla remarked aside to his friend, "and he proposes that we accompany the procession as a mounted guard."
"Good!" said Mr. Dinsmore, "Horace and I will join you: and let us all go armed to the teeth."
"Certainly, and I accept your offer with thanks. Some of the boys themselves are pretty fair marksmen but they were all robbed of their arms last night."
"Let us supply them again, Edward," exclaimed Elsie, with energy "and have them practice shooting at a mark."
Her husband assented with a smile. "You are growing warlike in your feelings," he said.
"Yes, I believe in the privilege and duty of self-defence."
Toward evening Mr. Dinsmore rode back to the Oaks, returning to Ion with his son, shortly before the appointed hour for the obsequies.
Elsie saw them and her husband ride away in the direction of the quarter, not without some fluttering of the heart, and with a silent prayer for their safety, retired with her children, to the observatory at the top of the house, from whence a full view might be obtained of the whole route from the cabin of Uncle Mose to the somewhat distant place of sepulture; the spot chosen for that purpose in accommodation to the superstitious feelings of the blacks, which led them to prefer to lay their dead at a distance from their own habitations.
The children watched with deep interest as the procession formed, each man carrying a blazing pine-knot, passed down the one street of the quarter, and wound its slow way along the road that skirted two sides of the plantation, then half way up a little hill, where it gathered in a circle about the open grave.
Twilight was past, thick clouds hid the moon and the torches shone out like stars in the darkness.
"Mamma, what dey doin' now?" asked Harold.
"Listen! perhaps you may hear something," she answered, and as they almost held their breath to hear, a wild, sweet negro melody came floating upon the still night air.
"They're singing," whispered Vi, "singing Canaan, 'cause Uncle Mose, and little Baby Ben have got safe there."
No one spoke again till the strains had ceased with the ending of the hymn.
"Now Mr. Wood is talking, I suppose," remarked Eddie, in a subdued tone, "telling them we must all die, and which is the way to get to heaven."
"Else praying," said Vi.
"Mamma, what is die?" asked Harold leaning on her lap.
"If we love Jesus, darling, it is going home to be with him, and oh, so happy."
"But Baby Ben die, and me saw him in Aunt Dicey's house."
"That was only his body, son; the soul—the part that thinks and feels and loves—has gone away to heaven, and after a while God will take the body there too."
For obvious reasons the services at the grave were made very short, and in another moment they could see the line of torches drawing rapidly nearer, till it reached the quarter and broke into fragments.
"We will go down now," Elsie said, rising and taking Harold's hand, "papa, grandpa and Uncle Horace will be here in a moment."
"Mamma," whispered her namesake daughter, "how good God was to keep them safe from the Ku Klux!"
"Yes, dearest, let us thank him with all our hearts."
Chapter Fourteenth.
"The more the bold, the bustling, and the bad,
Press to usurp the reins of power, the more
Behooves it virtue, with indignant zeal,
To check their combination."
—THOMSON
The spirit of resistance was now fully aroused within the breasts of our friends of Ion and the Oaks. Mr. Travilla's was a type of the American character; he would bear long with his injuries, vexations, encroachments upon his rights, but when once the end of his forbearance was reached, woe to the aggressor; for he would find himself opposed by a man of great resources, unconquerable determination and undaunted courage.
His measures were taken quietly, but with promptness and energy. He had been seeking proofs of the identity of the raiders, and found them in the case of one of the party; whose gait had been recognized by several, his voice by one or two, while the mark of his bloody hand laid upon the clothing of one of the women as he roughly pushed her out of his way, seemed to furnish the strongest circumstantial evidence against him.
George Boyd's right hand had been maimed in a peculiar manner during the war, and this bloody mark upon the woman's night-dress was its exact imprint.
Already Mr. Travilla had procured his arrest, and had him imprisoned for trial, in the county jail.
Yet this was but a small part of the day's work: lumber had been ordered, and men engaged for the rebuilding of the school-house; merchandise also to replace the furniture and clothing destroyed; and arms for every man at the quarter capable of using them.
All this Elsie knew and approved, as did her father and brother. For Mrs. Carrington's sake they deeply regretted that Boyd was implicated in the outrage; but all agreed that justice must have its course.
The question had been mooted in both families whether any or all of them should leave the South until the restoration of law and order should render it a safe abiding place for honest, peaceable folk, but unanimously decided in the negative.
The gentlemen scorned to fly from the desperadoes and resign to their despotic rule their poor dependents and the land of their love; nay they would stay and defend both to the utmost of their power; and the wives upheld their husbands in their determination and refused to leave them to meet the peril alone.
Returning from the burial of Uncle Mose, Mr. Dinsmore and Horace spent an hour at Ion before riding back to the Oaks.
The three gentlemen were in the library earnestly discussing the state of affairs, when Elsie, coming down from seeing her little ones settled for the night, heard the sound of wheels in the avenue, and stepping to the door saw the Ashlands carriage just drawing up in front of it.
The vehicle had scarcely come to a standstill ere its door was thrown hastily open and the elder Mrs. Carrington alighted.
Elsie sprang to meet her with outstretched arms, and the exclamation, "My dear old friend!" though her heart beat quickly, her cheek crimsoned, and tears filled her eyes.
The old lady, speechless with grief, fell upon her neck and wept there silently for a moment; then low and gaspingly, in a voice broken with sobs, "I—have—come to—ask about—George," she said, "can it, oh can it be that he has done this dreadful thing?" and shuddering she hid her face on Elsie's shoulder her slight frame shaken with the sobs she vainly strove to suppress.
"Dear Mrs. Carrington, I am so sorry, so very sorry to think it," Elsie said, in a voice full of tears, "my heart aches for you who love him so; you who have been so sorely afflicted: may the Lord give you strength to bear up under this new trial."
"He will! he does! My sister's son! oh tis sad, 'tis heart-breaking! But the proofs: what are they?"
Elsie named them; first drawing her friend to a seat where she supported her with her arm.
"Yes, yes, his voice, his gait are both peculiar, and—his hand. Let me see that—that garment."
Leading her into a private room, and seating her comfortably there Elsie had it brought and laid before her.
Mrs. Carrington gave it one glance, and motioning it away with a look and gesture of horror, dropped her face into her hands and groaned aloud.
Elsie kneeling by her side, clasped her arms about her and wept with her.
"A slayer of the weak and helpless—a murderer—a midnight assassin!" groaned the half distracted aunt.
"May there not possibly be some mistake. Let us give him the benefit of the doubt," whispered Elsie.
"Alas there seems scarcely room for doubt!" sighed Mrs. Carrington, then, with a determined effort to recover her composure, "But don't think, dear Elsie, that I blame you or your husband. Can I see him? and your father if he is here?"
"Yes, they are both here and will rejoice if they can be of any comfort or service to you. Ah, I hear papa's voice in the hall, asking for me!" and stepping to the door, she called to him and her husband, "Please come in here," she said, "Mrs. Carrington wishes to see you both."
"You here and alone at this late hour, my dear madam!" Mr. Dinsmore exclaimed, taking the old lady's hand in a cordial grasp, "your courage surprises me."
"Ah, my good friend, they who have little to lose, need not have much to do with fear," she answered. "That was what I told Sophie who would have had me defer my call till to-morrow."
"My dear madam, you are surely right in thinking that no one would molest you—a lady whom all classes unite in loving and honoring," Mr. Travilla said, greeting her with almost filial respect and affection.
She bowed in acknowledgment. "Do not think for a moment that I have come to upbraid you, gentlemen. Justice demands that those who break the laws suffer the penalty, and I have nothing to say against it; though the criminal be my own flesh and blood. But I want to hear all about this sad affair."
They told her briefly all they knew, she listening with calm though sad demeanor.
"Thank you," she said when they had finished. "That George is guilty, I dare hardly doubt, and I am far from upholding him in his wickedness. As you all know, I was strong for accession, and am no Republican now, but I say perish the cause that can be upheld only by such measures as these. I would have every member of this wicked, dreadful conspiracy brought to punishment; they are ruining their country; but their deeds are not chargeable upon the secessionists of the war time, as a class."
"That is certainly true, madam."
"We are fully convinced of that, Mrs. Carrington," the gentlemen replied.
She rose to take leave. Mr. Travilla requested her to delay a little till his horse could be brought to the door, and he would see her home.
"No, no, Travilla," said Mr. Dinsmore, "Horace and I will do that, if
Mrs. Carrington will accept our escort."
"Many thanks to you both, gentlemen," she said, "but I assure you I am not in the least afraid; and it would be putting you to unnecessary trouble."
"On the contrary, my dear madam, it would be a pleasure; and as our horses are already at the door, we need not delay you a moment," said Mr. Dinsmore. "It will not take us so very far out of our way, either: and I should like to have a word with Sophie."
Upon that Mrs. Carrington gratefully accepted his offer, and the three went away together.
Convinced of his guilt, Mrs. Carrington made no effort to obtain the release of her nephew, but several of his confederates having perjured themselves to prove an alibi in his favor, he was soon at large again.
He showed his face no more at the Oaks or Ion, and upon occasion of an accidental meeting with Travilla or either of the Dinsmores, regarded him with dark, scowling looks, sometimes adding a muttered word or two of anger and defiance.
In the meantime damages had been repaired in the quarters at Fairview and Ion, and the men at the latter, secretly supplied with arms; also the rebuilding of the school-house was going rapidly forward.
A threatening notice was presently served upon Mr. Travilla, ordering him to desist from the attempt, as the teaching of the blacks would not be allowed by the Ku Klux.
He however paid no attention to the insolent demand, and the work went on as before.
Mr. Leland had succeeded in keeping the affair of the coffin from his wife thus saving her much anxiety and distress.
To leave just at this time would be a great pecuniary loss, and he had decided to remain; but had laid his plans carefully for either resistance or escape in case of an attack.
A couple of large, powerful, and very fine watch dogs were added to his establishment, and a brace of loaded pistols and a bowie knife were always within reach of his hand.
One night the family were aroused by the furious barking of the dogs. Instantly Mr. Leland was out upon the floor hastily throwing on his clothes, while his wife, with the frightened cry. "The Ku Klux!" ran to the window.
"Yes it is! they are surrounding the house! O Robert, fly for your life!" she cried in the wildest terror. "O God save my poor husband from these cruel foes!" she added, dropping upon her knees and lifting hands and eyes to heaven.
"He will, Mary, never fear, wife," Mr. Leland said almost cheerfully, snatching up his weapons as he spoke. "Pray on, it's the best thing you can do to help me."
"You must fly!" she said, "you can't fight twenty men and I think there are at least that many."
"I'll slip out at the back door then, and make for the woods," he answered, rushing from the room.
Children and servants were screaming with affright, the ruffians thundering at the front door, calling loudly upon Mr. Leland to come out, and threatening to break it down if he did not immediately appear.
Summoning all her courage, the wife went again to the window and called to them, asking what was wanted.
"Leland. Tell him to come out here at once or it will be the worse for him," returned the leader, in a feigned, unnatural voice.
"He is not here," she said.
"He'd better show himself at once," returned the ruffian, "he'll not escape by refusing to do so; we'll search every corner till we find him."
"That will be as God pleases," she said in a calm, firm tone, her courage rising with the emergency.
She was answered with a yell of rage, and a repeated order to come down and open the door.
"I shall do no such thing," she said; "and what is more, I shall shoot down the first man that sets foot on the stairs."
It was a sudden resolution that had come to her. Encouraged by Mrs. Travilla's precept and example, she had been, for months past, industriously training herself in the use of firearms, and kept her loaded revolver at hand; and now she would create a diversion in her husband's favor, keeping the raiders at bay at the front of the building while he escaped at the back; they believed him to be in the upper story: if she could prevent it, they should not learn their mistake, till he had had time to gain the woods and distance pursuit.
The door could not much longer withstand the heavy blows dealt it; already there were sounds as if it were about to give way.
"Archie," she said, turning to her son and speaking very rapidly, "those men are here to kill your father; you must help me to prevent them from coming up to hunt him. The rest of you children stop that loud crying, which won't do any good. Kneel down and pray, pray, pray to God to help your father to get away from them. Archie, throw this black cloak round you. Here are two loaded pistols. I will take one, you the other; we will station ourselves on the landing at the head of the first flight of stairs. It is darker in the house than out of doors, and they will not be able to see us, but as the door falls and they rush in we can see them in their white gowns, and against the light. Come!"
They hurried to the landing.
"Now we must not be in too great haste," she whispered in his ear; "keep cool, take sure aim, and fire low."
The words had scarcely left her lips when the door fell with a crash, and with a yell like an Indian war whoop several disguised men rushed into the hall and hastily advanced toward the stairway; but the instant the foremost set foot upon it, two shots were fired from above, evidently not without effect; for with an oath he staggered back and fell into the arms of his comrades.
He was borne away by two of them, while the others returned the fire at random, for they could not see their adversaries.
The balls whistled past Mrs. Leland and her son, but they stood their ground bravely, and as two of their assailants attempted to ascend the stairs; fired again and again driving them back for a moment.
At the same time sounds of conflict came from the rear of the dwelling,—an exchange of shots, whoops and yells, the hurried tramp of many feet, and the yelping, barking and howling of the dogs—and instantly the hall was cleared, every man there hastening to join in this new struggle, apparently satisfied that their intended victim was endeavoring to make his escape in that direction.
Seeing this, Mrs. Leland and her son ran to a window overlooking the new scene of contest, their hearts beating between hope and fear.
Mr. Leland had slipped cautiously out of the back door, and, revolver in hand, stepped into the yard, but only to find himself surrounded by his foes.
They attempted to seize him, but eluding their grasp, he fired right and left, several shots in succession, the others returning his fire, and following in hot pursuit.
There was no moon that night, and the darkness and a simple suit of black, were favorable to Leland, for while the long white gowns of the Ku Klux not only trammelled their movements, but rendered each an easy target for his shot, they could take but uncertain aim at him, and on gaining the woods, he was soon lost to their view in the deepened gloom of its recesses.
But the balls had been falling about him like hailstones, and as the sounds of pursuit grew fainter, he found himself bleeding profusely from a wound in the leg. He dropped behind a fallen tree, and partially stanched the wound with some leaves which he bound on with a handkerchief, fortunately left in his coat pocket on retiring that night.
This was scarcely accomplished, when sounds of approaching footsteps and voices told him the danger was not yet over.
He crouched close in his hiding place, and hardly dared breathe as they passed and repassed, some almost stepping on him. But he remained undiscovered, and at length they abandoned the search, and returning to the vicinity of the house, gathered up their wounded and went away.
Yet Leland felt that it was not safe for him to venture back to his home, as they might return at any moment; but to remain where he was with his wound undressed was almost certain death.
He resolved to accept Mr. Travilla's offered hospitality, if his strength would carry him so far, and was rising to make the attempt, when the cracking of a dead branch told him that some living thing was near, and he fell back again, listening intently for the coming footsteps.
"Robert! Robert!" called a low tremulous voice.
"O Mary, is it you?" he responded, in low but joyous accents, and the next moment his wife's arms were about his neck, her tears warm upon his cheek, while Archie stood sobbing beside them.
"Thank God, thank God that you are alive!" she said, "But are you unhurt?"
"No, I am bleeding fast from a wound in my leg," Leland answered faintly.
"I've brought lint and bandages," she said, "let me bind it up as well as I can in the dark."
"Daren't we strike a light?" asked Archie.
"No, my son, it might bring them on us again, and we must speak low too."
"Yes, father; but oh what will you do? you can't come back home again?"
"No; I must go to Ion at once, while I can do so under cover of the darkness. Travilla has offered to hide me there. Archie, my brave boy, I can trust you with this secret."
"Father, they shall kill me before I'll tell it."
"I trust you will not be tried so far," Leland said with emotion. "I would not save my life at the sacrifice of yours. I leave your mother in your care, my boy; be dutiful and affectionate to her, and kind to your little brother and sisters. Mary, dear, you and Archie will have to manage the plantation in my absence," and he went on to give some directions.
"I will do my best," she said tearfully, "and as we have been for months past frequent visitors at Ion, I can surely go to see you there occasionally without exciting suspicion."
"Yes, I think so."
"Father," said Archie, "you can never walk to Ion; let me bring my pony and help you to mount him; then I will lead him to Ion and bring him back again."
"That is a bright thought; we will do so, if you can saddle him in the dark and bring him here very quietly."
"I'll try, father," and the boy hastened away in the direction of the stables.
He returned sooner than they dared hope, with the pony saddled and bridled. Husband and wife bade a mournful adieu. Mr. Leland mounted with his son's assistance, and silently they threaded their way through the woods to Ion.
"Hoo! hoo! hoo!" the cry came in loud and clear through the open windows of the bedroom of the master and mistress of Ion, and startled them both from their slumbers.
"Hoo, hoo! hoo!" it came again, and with a light laugh, Elsie said, "Ah it is only an owl; but to my sleeping ear it seemed like a human cry of distress. But Edward—"
He had sprung from the bed and was hurrying on his clothes. "I doubt if it is not, little wife," he said. "It is the signal of distress Leland and I had agreed upon, and he may be in sore need of aid."
"Let me go with you!" she cried tremulously, hastening to don dressing-gown and slippers. "Shall I strike a light?"
"No, not till we go down below where the shutters are closed. There is no knowing what foe may be lurking near."
Seizing his revolvers, he left the room as he spoke, she following close behind, a pistol in one hand, a lamp and match-box in the other.
Silently they groped their way over the stairs, through the halls and corridors, till they reached a side door, which Mr. Travilla cautiously unbarred.
"Who is there?" he asked scarcely above his breath.
"I, sir," and Mr. Leland stepped in and fell fainting to the floor.
Elsie had set her lamp upon a table, and laid her pistol beside it, and while her husband carefully secured the door again, she struck a light and brought it near.
Together they stooped over the prostrate form.
"He is not dead?" she asked with a shudder.
"No, no: only a faint; but, see, he is wounded! Your keys, wife!"
"Here," she said, taking them from her pocket, where, with rare presence of mind, she had thrust them ere leaving her room.
They hastened to apply restoratives, and bind up the wound more thoroughly than Mrs. Leland had been able to do it.
Restored to consciousness, Leland gave a brief account of the affair, refreshed himself with food and drink set before him by Elsie's fair hands, and then was conducted by Mr. Travilla to an upper room in a wing of the building, dating back to the old days of Indian warfare. It was distant from the apartments in use by the family, and had a large closet entered by a concealed door in the wainscoting.
"Here I think you will be safe," remarked his host. "No one but my wife and myself yet knows of your coming, and it shall be kept secret from all but Aunt Chloe and Uncle Joe, two tried and faithful servants. Except Dr. Barton; he is safe and will be needed to extract the ball."
"Yes; and my wife and boy and the Dinsmores," added Leland with a faint smile. "Travilla, my good friend, I can never thank you enough for this kindness."
"Tut, man! 'tis nothing! are we not told to lay down our lives for the brethren? Let me help you to bed; I fear that leg will keep you there for some days."
"I fear so indeed, but am sincerely thankful to have gotten off so well," replied Leland, accepting the offered assistance.
"A most comfortable, nay luxurious prison cell," he remarked cheerily, glancing about upon the elegant and tasteful furniture, "truly the lines have fallen to me in pleasant places."
Mr. Travilla smiled. "We will do what we can to make amends for the loss of liberty. It can not be far from daybreak now: I will remove the light, throw open the shutters and leave you to rest. You must of course be anxious about your family. I will ride over to Fairview and bring you news of them within the hour."
Chapter Fifteenth.
"It gives me wonder, great is my content,
To see you here before me."
—SHAKESPEARE'S OTHELLO.
"Sir, you are very welcome to our house."
—SHAKESPEARE
Day had fully dawned when Mr. Travilla re-entered his sleeping apartment to find Elsie in bed again, but lying there with wide open eyes.
"How very quietly you came in; careful not to disturb me I suppose, my good, kind husband," she said greeting him with a loving look and smile, as he drew near her couch.
"Yes," he answered, bending over her and fondly stroking her hair. "I hoped you were taking another nap."
"No, I feel as if I should never be sleepy again. I'm thinking of poor
Mrs. Leland. How troubled, anxious and distressed she must feel."
"Yes; I shall ride over there directly."
"And take me with you?"
"Gladly, if you like to go. You will do her more good than I."
"I doubt it; but perhaps both together may be better than either one alone. Didn't she act bravely?"
"Yes; she's a noble woman."
They spent some moments in consulting together how to make their guest comfortable and at the same time effectually conceal his presence in the house.
They rejoiced in the fact that no one but themselves—his own son excepted—had been cognizant of his arrival, and Elsie agreed with her husband that it should be kept secret from the children; servants also save Aunt Chloe and Uncle Joe, whose services would be needed, and who could be trusted not to divulge the matter.
"Mammy will manage about his meals, I know," said Elsie, "and Dr. Barton's visits may be supposed to be paid to Violet. The darling! how glad and thankful I am that she seems to be losing her inclination to sleep-walking."
"And I," said her husband; "thankful to God for his blessing on the means used, and to Barton, who is certainly an excellent physician."
Their talk ended, husband and wife separated to their different dressing-rooms.
Elsie rang for her maid and Aunt Chloe appeared in answer to the summons.
Aunt Chloe was no longer young, or even elderly, but had attained to a healthy and vigorous old age and still so delighted in her old pleasant task of busying herself about the person of her young mistress, that she would only occasionally resign it to other hands. She was a household dignitary, head tire-woman, and head nurse, and much looked up to by the younger servants.
She came in quietly and dropping a courtesy said, "Good mornin', Miss
Elsie, I hope you's well, honey, but you's up so mighty early."
"Ah, mammy, I'm glad it is you, for I have something to tell you. Yes, I'm quite well, thank you," Elsie answered, then while making a rapid toilet, went on to relate the occurrences of the last few hours, winding up by putting the wounded guest in charge of Aunt Chloe and her husband.
The faithful old creature accepted the trust with evident pride in the confidence reposed in her.
"Dis chile an' Uncle Joe'll take care of him, honey, neber fear," she said, carefully adjusting the folds of her mistress's riding habit. "I'll nuss him to de best ob my disability, an' de good Lord'll soon make um well, I hope."
"And you and Uncle Joe will be careful not to let any of the other servants know that he's here?"
"Dat we will, darlin', for shuah."
The sun was just peeping above the horizon, as Mr. and Mrs. Travilla drew rein before the main entrance to the Fairview mansion.
Mrs. Leland came out to welcome them. She was looking pale and worn, yet met them with a smile, and words of grateful appreciation of all their kindness, then, with the quick tears springing to her eyes, asked anxiously after her husband's welfare.
"I think he is safe and will do well," Mr. Travilla said. "It seems to be only a flesh wound, and will soon heal with proper treatment and good nursing. I shall go from here to Dr. Barton's; calling for my wife on my return. But first what can I do for you? Ah, I see your door is quite demolished. We must have it replaced with a new and stronger one before night."
"Yes, that is the most pressing need just now," said Mrs. Leland. "Come in and look; there is really no other damage except a few bullet holes in the walls, and these blood-stains on the matting," she said with a slight shudder; "and I am truly thankful to have escaped so well."
They stepped into the hall, (their talk so far had been on the veranda,) and gazed with interest upon the marks of the night's conflict, Mrs. Leland meanwhile giving a graphic account of it.
A servant was diligently at work cleaning the matting, and had nearly obliterated the stains left by the wounded Ku Klux.
"And you shot him, Mrs. Leland?" Elsie said inquiringly.
"Archie or I, or perhaps both of us," Mrs. Leland answered, leading the way to the parlor.
They sat there a few moments, conversing still upon the same theme.
"You will hardly dare stay here at night now?" Elsie remarked.
"Yes; where else? I should feel very little safer from the Ku Klux in the woods, and the malaria might rob us all of health and even life."
"Come to Ion," said both her visitors in a breath, "you will be most welcome."
"A thousand thanks," she answered with emotion. "I do not doubt my welcome; yet fear to give a clue to my husband's hiding place."
"There might be danger of that," Mr. Travilla said thoughtfully, "but what better, my dear madam, can you do?"
"Stay here and put my trust in the Lord. He will take care of me and my helpless little ones.
"I have been thinking of one of our noble pioneer women of the West, whose husband was killed by the Indians, leaving her alone in the wilderness with six small children, no white person within several miles.
"Her friends urged her to leave the dangerous spot, but she said, 'No, this farm is all I have for my own and my children's support, and I must stay here. God will protect and help us.' And he did; the Indians, though they knew she was alone, never attacked her. She lay sometimes all night with a broadax in her hands, ready to defend her babes; but though she could see the savages come into her yard and light their pipes at her brushwood fire, they never approached the house?"
Elsie's eyes kindled with enthusiastic admiration, then filled with tears. "Dear, brave Christian woman! and you will emulate her courage and faith."
"I shall try; the hearts of the Ku Klux of to-day are no less in His hands than those of the Indians of that day or this."
"That is certainly true and he never fails those who put their trust in him," Mr. Travilla said, rising. "Now, wife, I will leave you here while I go for Barton."
"Oh stay a moment, Edward," she exclaimed, "a thought has struck me: it is not usual for you to go for the doctor yourself: might it not excite suspicion? And can you not trust Uncle Joe as your messenger?"
"Your plan is best," he said with a pleased smile. "Let us then hasten home and dispatch him on the errand at once."
Dr. Barton found the wound not dangerous, extracted the ball with little difficulty, and left the patient doing well.
The attack on Fairview and the disappearance of its owner, caused considerable excitement in the neighborhood; there was a good deal of speculation as to what had become of him: some thought it probable that he had hidden in the woods and died there of his wounds; others that he had gone North to stay until the reign of terror should be over.
No one, perhaps, suspected the truth, yet the wrath of the Ku Klux was excited against the Travillas, and the Dinsmores of the Oaks, by the kindness they showed to Leland's wife and children; and threatening notices were sent ordering them to desist from giving aid and comfort to "the carpet-bagger's family."
They however paid no heed to the insolent demand, but exerted themselves to discover who were the men wounded in the raid; for that more than one had been hurt, was evidenced by the bloody tracks in and around the house at Fairview.
In this they were not successful; doubtless because the men were from a distance, it being the custom for the organization so to arrange matters that thus they might the more readily escape recognition.
The Ion children were at play in the front veranda one morning shortly after breakfast, when a strange gentleman came riding leisurely up the avenue.
Harold was the first to notice his approach. "Mammy, mammy! see who's tumin! dat one de Kluxes?" he asked, running in affright to Aunt Chloe, who sat in their midst with the babe on her lap.
"Spect not, honey; don't be 'fraid," she said soothingly, putting her arm about the little trembler.
The little girls were dressing their dolls, Eddie and Bruno racing back and forth, in and out, having a grand romp: but at Harold's question, Eddie suddenly stood still, with an imperative, "Down, Bruno! down sir! be quiet now!" and turned to look at the stranger.
The gentleman, now close at hand, reined in his horse, lifted his hat, and with a winning smile, said "Good morning, my little lads and lasses. Is your mother in?"
"No, sir, she and papa have gone out riding," replied Eddie, returning the bow and smile.
Elsie laid aside her doll and stepping forward, said with a graceful little courtesy, "Good morning, sir, will you dismount and come in? Papa and mamma will probably be here in a few minutes."
"Ah, ha! um h'm; ah ha! Yes, my little lady, I will do so, thank you," returned the gentleman, giving his horse into the care of a servant, summoned by Eddie.
"Will you walk into the drawing-room sir?" Elsie asked.
"No, thank you," he replied seating himself among them, and sending a glance of keen interest from one to another.
One look into the pleasant, genial face, banished Harold's fears, and when the stranger held out his hand, saying, "I am your mamma's cousin, won't you come and sit on my knee?" the child went to him at once; while the others gathered eagerly about.
"Mamma's cousin! then she will be very glad to see you," said Elsie.
"But she never told us about you," observed Eddie.
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm! ah ha! But did she ever tell you about any of her mother's kin?"
"No, sir," said Elsie, "I asked her once, and she said she didn't know anything about them; she wished she did."
"Ah ha! ah ha, um h'm! ah ha! Well, she soon will. Child, you look very like a picture of your great-grandmother that hangs in my house in Edinburgh. A bonny lassie she must have been when it was taken."
"Yes, sir; and she's the picture of mamma;" remarked Eddie; "everybody says so."
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm, ah ha!"
"Has you dot any 'ittle boys and dirls at your house?" asked Harold.
"Yes, my man, a quiver full of them."
"Are they good? do they love Jesus?" asked Vi. "Please tell us about them."
"If you like to, sir," said Elsie, with a sweet and gentle gravity.
"Vi, dear, you know we mustn't tease."
"No, I didn't mean to tease," Vi answered, blushing. "Please excuse me, sir, and don't tell it 'less you want to."
"No, no; it will give me pleasure, my dear. I enjoy talking of my darlings; especially now when they are so far away."
He seemed about to begin, when Elsie, blushing deeply, said, "Excuse me, sir, I have been very remiss in my hospitalities. It is early, and perhaps you have not breakfasted."
"Yes, thank you my dear, I took breakfast at the village hotel, where I arrived last night."
"But you will take a cup of coffee and some fruit—"
Her sentence was broken off; for at that instant a lady and gentleman came galloping up the avenue and the little ones hailed them with a joyous shout, "Papa and mamma!"
Another moment and Mr. Travilla had dismounted, gallantly assisted his wife to do the same and together they stepped into the veranda. Both bowed politely to the stranger, and the children running to them cried, "Mamma, mamma, it is your cousin from Scotland."
She turned inquiringly to him, a flush of pleasure on her face.
He had risen from his seat, and was coming toward her with outstretched hand and earnest, admiring gaze. "My name is Ronald Lilburn; your maternal grandmother and mine were sisters," he said, "your grandmother's marriage was displeasing to her father and all intercourse between her and the rest of the family was broken off in obedience to his stern command; and thus they lost sight of each other. I have brought proofs of—"
But Elsie's hand was already laid in his, while glad tears sprang to her eyes.
"You shall show us them at another time if you will; but I could never doubt such a face as yours, and can not tell you how glad I am to have at last found a relative on my mother's side of the house. Cousin, you are welcome, welcome to Ion!" And she turned to her husband.
"Yes," he said, offering his hand with the greatest cordiality, "welcome indeed, and not more so to my little wife than to myself."
"Thanks to you both," he said with a bow and smile. "Cousin," with an earnest look at his hostess, "you are very like a picture I have of your grandmother. But," with a glance at the wide-eyed little ones, looking on and listening in wonder and surprise, "can it be that you are the mother of all these? yourself scarce more than a bairn in appearance."
Elsie laughed lightly. "Ah, cousin, you have not examined me closely yet I have not been a bairn for many years. How glad papa will be, Edward, to see a relative of my mother's!"
"No doubt of it, wife, and we must send him word immediately."
Mr. Lilburn had no reason to complain of his reception: he was treated with the utmost hospitality, and his coming made the occasion of general rejoicing in the household. Refreshments were promptly set before him, a handsome suite of apartments appropriated to his use, and a man-servant directed to attend upon his person.
A note was sent to the Oaks inviting the whole family to Ion; the children were given a holiday, and Elsie, her husband, and father, spent the morning in conversation with their guest, and in examining family records, miniatures and photographs which he had brought with him.
The day passed most agreeably to all; the new found relatives were mutually pleased and interested in each other.
Mr. Lilburn was evidently a gentleman of intelligence, polish and refinement; seemed to be an earnest Christian, too, and in easy circumstances.
The little folks made friends with him at once, and as children are apt to be quick at reading character, the older ones felt this to be a confirmation of the good opinion he had already won from them.
Chapter Sixteenth.
"I know that there are angry spirits
And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,
Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out
Muffled to whisper curses to the night.
Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruffians
And desperate libertines who lurk in taverns."
—BYRON.
A bright, warm day, some hours after sunrise. A man of rather gentlemanly appearance, well, though not handsomely dressed, is riding leisurely along the public highway. He wears a broad-brimmed straw hat as a protection from the sun, and a linen duster somewhat soiled by the dust of travel. He has a shrewd though not unkindly face, and a keen grey eye whose quick glances seem to take in everything within its range of vision.
It is a lonely bit of road he is traveling and he moves with caution evidently on the alert for any appearance of danger.
Presently he perceives another solitary horseman approaching from the opposite direction, and at the sight lays his hand on the pistols in his belt concealed by the duster, to make sure that they are ready for instant use; but at the same time keeping steadily on his way.
The new comer is a slender boy of eighteen or twenty, not at all dangerous looking.
As the two near each other each lifts his hat with a courteous, "Good morning, sir," the lad at the same time carelessly sliding his right hand down the left lappel of his coat.
The movement, slight as it was, had not escaped the watchful grey eyes, and instantly their owner replied by sliding his left hand in the same manner down the right lappel of his coat.
The lad then ran his fingers lightly through his hair; the other imitated his action; the lad opened his coat and seemed to be searching for a pin; the man opened his, took out a pin and handed it to him with a polite bow.
"Thanks! all right sir; I perceive you are one of us," said the boy, drawing a paper from his pocket and presenting it to the man. "Miller's Woods!" and touching his hat he galloped away.
There was a twinkle in the grey eyes as they shot one swift glance after him; then the paper was opened and examined with minute care.
On it was a half moon with several dates written in different places about it, and that was all; yet its new possessor regarded it with great satisfaction, and after a careful scrutiny bestowed it safely in his breast pocket.
"I'll be on hand without fail," he said, in a low, confidential tone, perhaps addressing his horse, as there was no one else within hearing. "To-night! they're late serving my notice; but better late than never; for me, though perhaps not for themselves," he added with a grim smile. "Well, my preparations won't take long: dress-suit's all ready."
He kept on his way at the old leisurely pace, presently came in sight of Fairview, passed it, then Ion, diligently using his eyes as he went, made a circuit of several miles and returned to the town which he had left some hours previously.
Dismounting at the village tavern, he gave his horse into the care of the hostler, and joined a group of idlers about the bar-room door. They were talking politics and one appealed to him for his opinion.
"Don't ask me," he said with a deprecatory gesture! "I'm no party man and never meddle with politics."
"On the fence, hey? Just the place for a coward and a sneak," returned his interlocutor contemptuously.
The other half drew his bowie knife, then thrusting it back again, said good-humoredly, "I'll let that pass, Green; you've taken a drop too much and are not quite compos mentis just now."
"Be quiet, will you, Green;" spoke up one of his companions, "you know well enough Snell's no coward. Why didn't he risk his life the other day, to save your boy from drowning?"
"Yes; I'd forgot. I take that back, Snell. Will you have a glass?"
"Thank you, no, it's too hot, and your wife and babies need the money,
Green."
The words were half drowned in the clang of the dinner bell, and the group scattered, Snell, and most of the others hurrying into the dining-room in answer to the welcome call.
After dinner Snell sauntered out in the direction of the stable, passed with a seemingly careless glance in at the door, and strolled onward; but in that momentary glimpse had noted the exact position of his horse.
About ten o'clock that night he stole quietly out again, made his way unobserved to the stable, saddled and bridled his steed, all in the dark, mounted and rode away, passing through the village streets at a very moderate pace, but breaking into a round trot as soon as he had fairly reached the open country.
He pressed on for several miles, but slackened his speed as he neared the forest known as Miller's Woods.
For the last mile or more he had heard, both in front and rear, the thumping of horses' hoofs, and occasionally a word or two spoken in an undertone, by gruff voices.
He was anxious to avoid an encounter with their owners, and on reaching the outskirts of the wood, suddenly left the road, and springing to the ground, took his horse by the bridle, and led him along for some rods under the trees; then fastening him securely, opened a bundle he had brought with him, and speedily arrayed himself in the hideous Ku Klux disguise.
He stood a moment intently listening. The same sounds still coming from the road; evidently many men were traveling it that night; and Snell reflected with grave concern, though without a shadow of fear, that if seen and recognized by any one of them his life would speedily pay the forfeit of his temerity; for spite of his acquaintance with their secret signs, he was not a member of the order.
He was, in fact, a detective in pursuit of evidence to convict the perpetrators of the outrages which had been so frequent of late in that vicinity.
Making sure that his arms were in readiness for instant use, he hastened on his way, threading the mazes of the wood with firm, quick, but light step.
He had proceeded but a short distance, when he came upon a sentinel who halted him.
Snell slapped his hands together twice, quick and loud.
The sentinel answered in the same manner, and permitted him to pass; the same thing was repeated twice, and then a few steps brought him into the midst of the assembled Klan; for it was a general meeting of all the camps in the county which together composed a Klan.
Snell glided, silently and unquestioned, to a place among the others, the disguise and the fact of his having passed the sentinels, lulling all suspicion.
Most of those present were in disguise, but some were not, and several of these the officer recognized as men whom he knew by name and by sight, among them Green and George Boyd.
A good deal of business was transacted; several raids were decided upon, the victims named, the punishment to be meted out to each prescribed, and the men to execute each order appointed.
One member after another would mention the name of some individual who had become obnoxious to him personally, or to the Klan, saying that he ought to be punished; and the matter would be at once taken up, and arrangements made to carry out his suggestion.
Boyd mentioned the name of "Edward Travilla, owner of Ion," cursing him bitterly as a scalawag, a friend of carpet-baggers, and of the education and elevation of the negroes.
"Right! his case shall receive prompt attention!" said the chief.
"Let it be a severe whipping administered to-morrow night, between the hours of twelve and two," proposed Green, and the motion was put to vote and carried without a dissenting voice.
"And let me have a hand in it!" cried Boyd, fiercely.
"You belong to the neighborhood and might be recognized," objected the chief.
"I'll risk it. I owe him a sound flogging, or something worse," returned
Boyd.
"We all do, for he'd have every mother's son of us sent to jail or hanged, if he could," growled another voice on Snell's right, while from a mask on the left there came in sepulchral tones, the words, "It had better be hands off with you then, man," the speaker pointing significantly to Boyd's maimed member.
"It shall!" cried he, "but I flatter myself this right hand, mutilated though it be, can lay on the lash as vigorously as yours, sir."
After a little more discussion, Boyd's wish was granted, his fellow raiders were named, and presently the meeting was closed, and the members began to disperse.
Snell thought he had escaped suspicion thus far, but his heart leaped into his mouth as a man whom he had heard addressed as Jim Blake, suddenly clapped his hand on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Ah, ha, I know you, old chap!"
"You do? who am I then?" queried the spy in a feigned, unnatural voice, steady and cool, spite of the terrible danger that menaced him.
"Who? Hal Williams, no disguise could hide you from me."
Snell drew a breath of relief. "Ha! ha! Jim, I didn't think you were so cute," he returned in his feigned voice, and glided away presently disappearing, as others were doing, in the deeper shadows of the wood.
He thought it not prudent to go directly to the spot where he had left his horse, but reached it by a circuitous route, doffing his disguise and rolling it into a bundle again as he went.
He paused a moment to recover breath and listen. All was darkness and silence; the conspirators had left the vicinity.
Satisfied of this, he led his horse into the road, mounted and rode back to the town.
There every one seemed to be asleep except in a drinking saloon, whence came sounds of drunken revelry, and the bar room of the tavern where he put up. A light was burning there, but he avoided it attended to his horse himself, returning it to the precise spot where he had found it, then slipped stealthily up to his room, and without undressing threw himself upon the bed and almost immediately fell into a profound slumber.