Castlemon Harry
Rodney The Partisan

CHAPTER VII
THE EMERGENCY MEN

"Great Scott!" was Rodney Gray's mental ejaculation. "That is Tom Percival if I ever saw him."

If his own father had suddenly been brought into the cabin a prisoner in the hands of armed men, the Barrington boy could not have been more amazed. He winked hard and looked again, but his eyes had not deceived him; and even if there had been the slightest doubt in his mind regarding the identity of the prisoner who had been denounced as "an abolition horse-thief," it would have vanished when he saw the expression that came upon Tom's face the moment their eyes met. Tom was one of Dick Graham's firm friends, but while a student at the Barrington Academy he had often declared that if Dick ever so far forgot himself as to enlist in the rebel army, he (Tom) would go into the Union service on purpose to whip him back into a proper frame of mind; and his being there a prisoner led Rodney to believe that he had kept his promise, so far as enlisting was concerned. But there was one thing about it: Tom might be a Union soldier, but he was neither an abolitionist nor a horse-thief.

"It is Percival, sure enough, but what in the name of sense and Tom Walker is he doing here?" was the next question that came into Rodney's mind.

His first impulse was to seize his old schoolmate by the hand, proclaim his friendship for him and assure Mr. Westall and the rest that they had committed the worst kind of a blunder – that they had made as great a mistake in arresting this boy for a horse-thief, as Nels and his fellow wood-cutters had made in suspecting him of being Tom Percival, simply because he happened to have in his possession a watch chain that somewhat resembled Tom's. But two things restrained him; the first was the reflection that by following this course he would put it entirely out of his power to help Tom if the opportunity was offered, and the second was the way in which Tom himself looked and acted. He didn't appear to know Rodney at all. The expression of joy and surprise that first overspread his countenance vanished as if by magic, and from that time forward he gave as little attention to his old friend as he might have given to an utter stranger. Rodney was quick to take the hint and governed himself accordingly.

"Percival always did have a level head on his shoulders," said the latter, resuming his seat upon the nail keg and placing himself as far as possible out of reach of Tom's gaze, "and he's got more pluck than any other fellow I ever saw. He needs it, poor fellow, if Captain Howard told the truth when he said that every little community in the State is divided into two hostile camps. But his father owns slaves, and Tom never stole a horse."

It so happened that all the inmates of the cabin were too much interested in what Mr. Westall was doing to notice the swift glance of recognition that passed between the two boys when Tom Percival was brought in. They were waiting to hear what he had to say regarding the papers Rodney had given him to read.

"I suppose you are acting is a sort of advance agent for your company to see what arrangements you can make with General Price?" said Mr. Westall at length.

"No, sir. I am acting on my own hook, and without any regard to the course the company may see fit to take," replied Rodney. "The members don't want to be sworn into the service of the Confederate States, and the proposition to leave Louisiana in a body and offer ourselves to Price, was voted down. I do not know what the rest of the boys will do, but I am going to join the Missouri State militia if they will take me."

"Oh, they'll take you fast enough," said Mr. Westall, with a laugh.

"They have already taken everybody they can get their hands on without stopping to inquire what State he is from. We five are some of Jeff Thompson's Emergency men."

"I don't think I ever heard of such men," said Rodney doubtfully.

"Probably not. You don't need them down in Louisiana, and we may not have much use for them here; though, to judge from the exploits of this young man Percival, we may be called out oftener than we expected to be."

Rodney hoped that Mr. Westall would go on to tell what his friend Tom had been guilty of to get himself into such a scrape, and what they intended doing with him now that they had got him into their power; but in this he was disappointed. The man handed back Mr. Graham's telegram with the remark that he had never heard of a person of that name, and then proceeded to read the letter of introduction, which was addressed to a well-known Confederate of the name of Perkins, who lived somewhere in the neighborhood of Springfield.

"I am acquainted with this man Perkins in a business way," said Mr. Westall, after he had run his eye over the letter, "and know him to be strong for Jeff Davis and the cause of Southern independence. He will treat you as though you were one of the royal blood if you can only get to him; but there's the trouble. He lives in the southwestern part of the State, and that's a right smart piece from here."

"I know it; but I have a good horse somewhere outside," answered Rodney.

"So I supposed; but you can't depend upon your horse to tell you whether you are talking to a Yankee sympathizer or an honest Confederate, can you? The ride won't amount to anything, but you have a tough bit of country to go through. Your short experience right here among friends will serve to show you how very suspicious everybody is. We don't trust our nearest neighbors any more, and so you can imagine what we think of a stranger, especially if he happens to own a watch chain that looks something like one that is worn by a horse-thief," said Mr. Westall, smiling at the boy as he handed his property back to him. "Now, Jeff, how could you have made such a mistake? Can't you see that they don't at all resemble each other?"

"Now that I see them together I can," was Jeff's answer. "But don't he look a trifle as that thief might look if his duds was changed and his whiskers took off?"

Rodney thought from the first that his old schoolmate did not look just as he did the last time he saw him, and now he knew the reason. To a very slight mustache Tom Percival, since leaving the Barrington Academy, had added a pair of what the students would have called "side-boards;" but they were so very scant that they could not by any possibility be looked upon as a disguise. Mr. Westall laughed at the idea.

"Jeff, you and your friends are too anxious to do something for the cause," said he. "Of course that is better than being lukewarm, but you don't want to be too brash or you may get yourselves into trouble. Can you give us some supper? But first we want to put this prisoner where he will be safe."

"Couldn't you postpone that part of the programme until I have had a bite to eat, or do you think there's nobody hungry but yourselves?" asked the prisoner, in the most unconcerned manner possible; and there was no mistaking his voice. It was Tom Percival's voice.

"I didn't think about you," answered Mr. Westall. "And perhaps if you had your dues, you would be left to go hungry. But we are not savages, even if we are down on your way of thinking and acting."

"Better give him a sup of coffee to keep the cold out and then chuck him in the old corncrib," suggested Jeff. "He can lay down on the shucks, and I will give him a blanket to keep himself warm."

"Will he be quite safe there?" asked the Emergency man. "No chance to get out, is there? Or will we have to put a guard over him?"

"There aint no call for nobody to lose sleep guarding on him," was Jeff's confident reply. "There aint no winder to the corncrib, and the door fastens with a bar outside. Some of the chinking has fell out atween the logs, but he can't crawl through the cracks less'n he can flatten himself out like a flying squirrel. Furthermore, there's the dogs that will be on to him if he gives a loud wink."

Rodney listened to every word of this conversation, and told himself that his friend's chances for escape were very slim indeed.

"Take a keg and sit down over there," said Mr. Westall, pointing to the farthest chimney corner and addressing himself to the prisoner, while Nels and one of the other wood-cutters began making preparations for supper. "Now, if you have no objections, Mr. Gray, we should like to hear the rest of your story. You must be set in your ways, or else you never would have come up here simply to carry out your idea of becoming a partisan. You will find plenty of them in these parts. Indeed, you will find more of them than anything else."

It did not take Rodney long to make Mr. Westall and his four companions understand just how matters stood with him, for there was really little to tell. He was careful not to let his auditors know that he had acted as drill-sergeant, for Captain Hubbard's company of Rangers, for if he touched upon that subject, Mr. Westall might ask him where he received his military education; and if he answered that he got it at the Barrington Academy, and Mr. Westall happened to know that his prisoner had been a student at that very school, then what would happen? The fat would all be in the fire at once, for the Emergency man would very naturally want to know why the two boys had not given each other some sign of recognition when they first met. That would never do; so Rodney steered clear of these dangerous points, and Tom Percival sat in the chimney corner with his elbows on his knees and listened to the story. When it was finished and Mr. Westall and his companions had asked him a few leading questions, Rodney ventured to inquire what an Emergency man was.

"He is a partisan in the truest sense of the word," was Mr. Westall's answer. "He is a soldier who is liable to be called into the ranks in an emergency, and at no other time; but that does not prevent him from getting a few friends together and going off on an expedition of his own as often as he feels like it."

"An expedition of his own?"

"Yes. If the Union men in one county get to make themselves too promiscuous, and their immediate neighbors haven't the strength or the inclination to deal with them themselves, the Emergency men in the next county can slip in some dark night and run the obnoxious characters out. See?"

"And what does the Emergency man do when his services are not needed?" inquired Rodney, who was profoundly astonished.

"Why, he can stay quietly at home, if he wants to, and cultivate his little crops while he watches the Union men in the settlement or acts as spy for the troops, if there are any in the vicinity."

"But suppose the Union men find it out and pop him over from the nearest canebrake?" said Rodney.

"He must look out for that, and so conduct himself while he is at home that no one will suspect anything wrong of him," answered Mr. Westall indifferently. "His fate is in his own hands, and if he doesn't know how to take care of himself, he has no business to be an Emergency man. You might call us a reserve to the State Guard, and that is what we really are."

"I think you are really freebooters. That is just the way the European brigands act," were the words that sprang to the boy's lips.

Although he was as wild a rebel as he ever had been, Rodney had a higher sense of honor than when he wrote that mischievous letter to Bud Goble for the purpose of getting his cousin Marcy Gray into trouble, and his whole soul revolted at the idea of being such a soldier as Mr. Westall described. If that was the way a partisan was expected to act, Rodney wished he had not been so determined to become a partisan. Why didn't he stay in his own State and follow the fortunes of the Mooreville Rangers, as he had promised to do? Finally he said:

"Are the State Guards the same as the Home Guards?"

"Not much; any more than a good Confederate is the same as a sneaking Yankee," replied Mr. Westall. "The Home Guards are known to all honest men as Lyon's Dutchmen. There is hardly a native born citizen among them, and yet they have the impudence to tell us Americans what kind of a government we shall have over us."

"Have you Emergency men had much to do yet?"

"We haven't done any fighting, if that's what you mean, for there hasn't been any to speak of outside of St. Louis; but we have been tolerable busy making it hot for the Union men in and around the settlements where we live. However – "

Here Mr. Westall stopped and nodded in Tom Percival's direction, as if to intimate that he did not care to say more on that subject while the prisoner was within hearing.

The conversation ran on in this channel during the half hour or more that Nels and his helper spent in getting ready the corn-bread and bacon, but Rodney, although he appeared to be listening closely, did not hear much of it, or gain any great store of information regarding the course he ought to pursue during his prospective ride from Cedar Bluff landing to the city of Springfield. The thoughts that filled his mind to the exclusion of everything else were: What had Tom Percival done to bring upon him the wrath of the Emergency men, and how was he going to help him out of the scrape? For of course he was bound to help him if he could; that was a settled thing. Tom Percival was Union all through, and Rodney had seen the day when he would have been glad to thrash him soundly for the treasonable sentiments he had so often and fearlessly uttered while they were at Barrington together; but that was all past now. Tom was his schoolmate and he was in trouble. That was enough for Rodney Gray, who would have fought until he dropped before he would have seen a hair of Tom's head injured.

"Now then, gentlemen, retch out and help yourselves," exclaimed Nels, breaking in upon the boy's meditations. "We aint got much, but you're as welcome as the flowers in May."

The invitation was promptly accepted, the single room the cabin contained being so small that the most of the hungry guests could reach the viands that had been placed upon the table without moving their nail kegs an inch. Rodney had eaten one good supper aboard the Mollie Able, but that did not prevent him from falling to with the rest. Tom Percival kept his seat in the chimney corner and a well-filled plate was passed over to him, and his cup was replenished as often as he drained it. Whatever else his captors intended to do to him they were not going to starve him. Of course the talk was all about the war, which Mr. West-all declared wasn't coming, and the high-handed action taken by the Washington authorities in sending Captain Stokes across the river from Illinois to seize ten thousand stand of arms that were stored in the St. Louis Arsenal. Of course this was done to keep the weapons from falling into the hands of the Confederates, who were already laying their plans to capture them, but Mr. Westall looked upon it as an insult to his State, and grew red in the face when he spoke of it.

"That was what made the trouble here in Missouri," said he, with great indignation. "Up to that time we were strong for the Union, and took pains to say that the State had no call to sever her connection with it; but at the same time we recommended, as a sure means of avoiding civil war, that the Federal troops should be withdrawn from all points where they were likely to come into collision with the citizens. How was that recommendation received? With silent contempt, sir; with silent contempt, and that is something we will not stand."

Supper being over Mr. Westall, Nels and Jeff left the cabin, to shut Tom Percival up in the corn-crib, the latter carrying upon his arm a tattered blanket which the prisoner was to use "to keep himself warm." It was with a heavy heart that Rodney saw him go, and as Tom did not once look his way, the latter could not even give him a glance of encouragement. When the three men returned at the end of ten minutes Mr. Westall was saying:

"It's a slimpsy place to shut a prisoner up in and I should be afraid to trust it, if it were not for the dogs. He can't crawl out between the logs, that much is certain; but the door is almost ready to drop from its hinges, and has a good deal of play back and forth behind the bar. If he had a thin, stout stick he could slip it through the crack, lift the bar and take himself off."

"But I tell you again that there aint the first thing in the crib that he can stick through that there crack," exclaimed Jeff, earnestly. "There aint nothing but corn ever been in there."

"I reckon he's safe enough," said Mr, Westall. "At any rate we will take our chances on it and try to get a good night's sleep. It might be well for whoever gets up during the night to mend the fire, to step out arid take a look at him. Now, Jeff, what about sleeping arrangements? There are not bunks enough for all of us, and I reckon we'll have to tote this table of yours out doors to make room for us to lie down on the floor, won't we?"

"Now that your prisoner is out of hearing, would you have any objection to telling me what he has been doing?" inquired Rodney, as Jeff and Nels pushed back their nail kegs and got up to act upon Mr. Westall's suggestion.

"No objection whatever, and it will not take me long to do it," replied the latter. "He's Union."

"But he doesn't look like a horse-thief," added Rodney.

"Yes, he's Union the worst kind," repeated the Emergency man. "We've been hearing about his father's doings ever since the election. We don't know him personally for he doesn't live in our county; but we know of him, and we've been told that he is a dangerous man. He owns a lot of niggers, but last election he walked up to the polls, as brave as you please, and voted for Abe Lincoln; and there wasn't a man who dared say a word to him or lift a hand to stop him. What do you think of that?"

"I admire his courage," replied Rodney, who had heard the story before.

"So would I, if it had been shown in a good cause," said the Emergency man. "But that's altogether too much cheek for a traitor, and I don't see anything in it to admire. This son of his is more to be feared than the old man, for he has been off somewhere and got a military education; and the very first thing he did when he came home from school was to get up a company of Home Guards, and send word to Captain Lyon that if he wanted help all he had to do was to say so."

Mr. Westall proceeded to light his pipe, which he had previously filled, and during the operation he winked at Rodney and nodded as if to ask him what he thought of that. The latter felt a thrill ran through every nerve in him. He was glad to know that his old schoolmate was not wanting in courage, even if he did sympathize with the Yankee invaders, and we may add that this feeling was characteristic of the Barrington boys all through the war. If they heard, as they occasionally did, that some schoolfellow in the opposing ranks had done something that was thought to be worthy of praise, they felt an honest pride in it.

"I said that young Percival sent word to Captain Lyon that he was ready to help him, but that was not strictly correct," continued Mr. Westall, taking a few puffs at his pipe to make sure that it was well lighted. "He took word to him personally to be certain he got it, riding alone on horseback all the way from Springfield to St. Louis. What passed between him and Lyon we don't know yet, for he won't open his mouth; but we may find means to make him tell all we care to hear. When he got through with his business at St. Louis he didn't go directly home, and that is what got him into this difficulty. He came back by the way of Pilot Knob, where he has a Union uncle living; but that's where I and my friends live, too."

"And was it there he stole the horse?" asked Rodney.

"Well, between you and me and the gatepost, he never stole a horse," replied Mr. Westall slowly, as if he were reluctant to make the admission.

Rodney Gray crossed his legs, clasped his hands around one knee and settled back on his nail keg with an air that said, almost as plainly as words:

"I knew it all the time."

"No, he never stole a horse or anything else that we know of," repeated Mr. Westall. "But he rides a critter that is so near like one that was stolen from a Confederate by a Union man of the name of Morehouse a few days ago, that you could hardly tell them apart."

"And I don't much blame Morehouse for stealing that horse, either," said one of the Emergency men, who had not spoken before. "He had to get out of the country, he couldn't do it without a horse to carry him, and so he took the one that came first to his hand."

"I don't know as I blame him, either," assented Mr. Westall. "But I do blame him for holding the opinions he does."

"Well, if another man stole the horse why do you lay it on to Percival?" inquired Rodney, who could hardly keep from showing how angry he was.

"You see the matter is just this way," replied the Emergency man, as if he scarcely knew how to explain the situation! "If young Percival had called upon his uncle for a visit, and gone away again without taking so much interest in the affairs of the settlement, we wouldn't have done any more than to give him warning that he wasn't wanted there; but when we saw him and his uncle with their heads together, and learned from some of our spies that Union men had been caught going to and from old Percival's house at all hours of the day and night, we made up our minds that there was something wrong about this young fellow; so we telegraphed to Springfield, and found out that he was an officer in a company of Home Guards who had offered their services to Lyon. Well, you bet we were surprised to find that he was the son of the only man in his county who dared to vote for Abe Lincoln, and it made us afraid of him. too."

"A whole settlement afraid of one boy?" exclaimed Rodney.

"Exactly. We didn't know which way to turn for the Union men are in the majority in our county, as they are all through the northern and eastern parts of Missouri, and we didn't dare do anything openly for fear of being bushwhacked. As good luck would have it we succeeded in scaring Morehouse out of the country about that time, and when he went, he took one of the best horses in the settlement with him. That gave us something to work on, and we made it up among ourselves that we would lay the theft on to young Percival, take him out of his bed that night and serve him as the law directs."

"Does that mean that you would have hung him?" asked Rodney, with a shudder.

"That's generally the way we do with horse-thieves up here," replied Mr.

Westall. "How do you serve them in your part of the country?"

"We put them in jail when they have been proved guilty," answered Rodney. "But you have said, in so many words, that this boy didn't steal the horse – that he was stolen by a man who ran away with him."

Before replying the Emergency man paused to relight his pipe which he had allowed to go out.