A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

In the Midst of Alarms

R >> Robert Barr >> In the Midst of Alarms




"Two telegrams for you, Mr. Yates," he panted. "The fellows that
brought 'em said they were important; so I ran out with them myself,
for fear they wouldn't find you. One of them's from Port Colborne, the
other's from Buffalo."

Telegrams were rare on the farm, and young Bartlett looked on the
receipt of one as an event in a man's life. He was astonished to see
Yates receive the double event with a listlessness that he could not
help thinking was merely assumed for effect. Yates held them in his
hand, and did not tear them up at once out of consideration for the
feelings of the young man, who had had a race to deliver them.

"Here's two books they wanted you to sign. They're tired out, and
mother's giving them something to eat."

"Professor, you sign for me, won't you?" said Yates.

Bartlett lingered a moment, hoping that he would hear something of the
contents of the important messages; but Yates did not even open the
envelopes, although he thanked the young man heartily for bringing
them.

"Stuck-up cuss!" muttered young Bartlett to himself, as he shoved the
signed books into his pocket and pushed his way through the underbrush
again. Yates slowly and methodically tore the envelopes and their
contents into little pieces, and scattered them as before.

"Begins to look like autumn," he said, "with the yellow leaves strewing
the ground."




CHAPTER XV.


Before night three more telegraph boys found Yates, and three more
telegrams in sections helped to carpet the floor of the forest. The
usually high spirits of the newspaper man went down and down under the
repeated visitations. At last he did not even swear, which, in the case
of Yates, always indicated extreme depression. As night drew on he
feebly remarked to the professor that he was more tired than he had
ever been in going through an election campaign. He went to his tent
bunk early, in a state of such utter dejection that Renmark felt sorry
for him, and tried ineffectually to cheer him up.

"If they would all come together," said Yates bitterly, "so that one
comprehensive effort of malediction would include the lot and have it
over, it wouldn't be so bad; but this constant dribbling in of
messengers would wear out the patience of a saint."

As he sat in his shirt sleeves on the edge of his bunk Renmark said
that things would look brighter in the morning--which was a safe remark
to make, for the night was dark.

Yates sat silently, with his head in his hands, for some moments. At
last he said slowly: "There is no one so obtuse as the thoroughly good
man. It is not the messenger I am afraid of, after all. He is but the
outward symptom of the inward trouble. What you are seeing is an
example of the workings of conscience where you thought conscience was
absent. The trouble with me is that I know the newspaper depends on me,
and that it will be the first time I have failed. It is the newspaper
man's instinct to be in the center of the fray. He yearns to scoop the
opposition press. I will get a night's sleep if I can, and to-morrow, I
know, I shall capitulate. I will hunt out General O'Neill, and
interview him on the field of slaughter. I will telegraph pages. I will
refurbish my military vocabulary, and speak of deploying and massing
and throwing out advance guards, and that sort of thing. I will move
detachments and advance brigades, and invent strategy. We will have
desperate fighting in the columns of the _Argus_, whatever there
is on the fields of Canada. But to a man who has seen real war this
_opéra-bouffe_ masquerade of fighting----I don't want to say
anything harsh, but to me it is offensive."

He looked up with a wan smile at his partner, sitting on the bottom of
an upturned pail, as he said this. Then he reached for his hip pocket
and drew out a revolver, which he handed, butt-end forward, to the
professor, who, not knowing his friend carried such an instrument,
instinctively shrank from it.

"Here, Renny, take this weapon of devastation and soak it with the
potatoes. If another messenger comes in on me to-night, I know I shall
riddle him if I have this handy. My better judgment tells me he is
innocent, and I don't want to shed the only blood that will be spilled
during this awful campaign."

How long they had been asleep they did not know, as the ghost-stories
have it, but both were suddenly awakened by a commotion outside. It was
intensely dark inside the tent, but as the two sat up they noticed a
faint moving blur of light, which made itself just visible through the
canvas.

"It's another of those fiendish messengers," whispered Yates. "Gi' me
that revolver."

"Hush!" said the other below his breath. "There's about a dozen men out
there, judging by the footfalls. I heard them coming."

"Let's fire into the tent and be done with it," said a voice outside.

"No, no," cried another; "no man shoot. It makes too much noise, and
there must be others about. Have ye all got yer bayonets fixed?"

There was a murmur, apparently in the affirmative.

"Very well, then. Murphy and O'Rourick, come round to this side. You
three stay where you are. Tim, you go to that end; and, Doolin, come
with me."

"The Fenian army, by all the gods!" whispered Yates, groping for his
clothes. "Renny, give me that revolver, and I'll show you more fun than
a funeral."

"No, no. They're at least three to our one. We're in a trap here, and
helpless."

"Oh, just let me jump out among 'em and begin the fireworks. Those I
didn't shoot would die of fright. Imagine scouts scouring the woods
with a lantern--with a _lantern_, Renny! Think of that! Oh, this
is pie! Let me at 'em."

"Hush! Keep quiet! They'll hear you."

"Tim, bring the lantern round to this side." The blur of light moved
along the canvas. "There's a man with his back against the wall of the
tent. Just touch him up with your bayonet, Murphy, and let him know
we're here."

"There may be twenty in the tent," said Murphy cautiously.

"Do what I tell you," answered the man in command.

Murphy progged his bayonet through the canvas, and sunk the deadly
point of the instrument into the bag of potatoes.

"Faith, he sleeps sound," said Murphy with a tremor of fear in his
voice, as there was no demonstration on the part of the bag.

The voice of Yates rang out from the interior of the tent:

"What the old Harry do you fellows think you're doing, anyhow? What's
the matter with you? What do you want?"

There was a moment's silence, broken only by a nervous scuffling of
feet and the clicking of gun-locks.

"How many are there of you in there?" said the stern voice of the
chief.

"Two, if you want to know, both unarmed, and one ready to fight the lot
of you if you are anxious for a scrimmage."

"Come out one by one," was the next command.

"We'll come out one by one," said Yates, emerging in his shirt sleeves,
"but you can't expect us to keep it up long, as there are only two of
us."

The professor next appeared, with his coat on. The situation certainly
did not look inviting. The lantern on the ground threw up a pallid glow
on the severe face of the commander, as the footlights might illuminate
the figure of a brigand in a wood on the stage. The face of the officer
showed that he was greatly impressed with the importance and danger of
his position. Yates glanced about him with a smile, all his recent
dejection gone now that he was in the midst of a row.

"Which is Murphy," he said, "and which is Doolin? Hello, alderman!" he
cried, as his eyes rested on one tall, strapping, red-haired man who
held his bayonet ready to charge, with a fierce determination in his
face that might have made an opponent quail. "When did you leave New
York? and who's running the city now that you're gone?"

The men had evidently a sense of humor, in spite of their bloodthirsty
business, for a smile flickered on their faces in the lantern light,
and several bayonets were unconsciously lowered. But the hard face of
the commander did not relax.

"You are doing yourself no good by your talk," he said solemnly. "What
you say will be used against you."

"Yes, and what you do will be used against _you_; and don't forget
that fact. It's you who are in danger--not I. You are, at this moment,
making about the biggest ass of yourself there is in Canada."

"Pinion these men!" cried the captain gruffly.

"Pinion nothing!" shouted Yates, shaking off the grasp of a man who had
sprung to his side. But both Yates and Renmark were speedily
overpowered; and then an unseen difficulty presented itself. Murphy
pathetically remarked that they had no rope. The captain was a man of
resource.

"Cut enough rope from the tent to tie them."

"And when you're at it, Murphy," said Yates, "cut off enough more to
hang yourself with. You'll need it before long. And remember that any
damage you do to that tent you'll have to pay for. It's hired."

Yates gave them all the trouble he could while they tied his elbows and
wrists together, offering sardonic suggestions and cursing their
clumsiness. Renmark submitted quietly. When the operation was finished,
the professor said with the calm confidence of one who has an empire
behind him and knows it:

"I warn you, sir, that this outrage is committed on British soil; and
that I, on whom it is committed, am a British subject."

"Heavens and earth, Renmark, if you find it impossible to keep your
mouth shut, do not use the word 'subject' but 'citizen.'"

"I am satisfied with the word, and with the protection given to those
who use it."

"Look here, Renmark; you had better let me do the talking. You will
only put your foot in it. I know the kind of men I have to deal with;
you evidently don't."

In tying the professor they came upon the pistol in his coat pocket.
Murphy held it up to the light.

"I thought you said you were unarmed?" remarked the captain severely,
taking the revolver in his hand.

"I was unarmed. The revolver is mine, but the professor would not let
me use it. If he had, all of you would be running for dear life through
the woods."

"You admit that you are a British subject?" said the captain to
Renmark, ignoring Yates.

"He doesn't admit it, he brags of it," said the latter before Renmark
could speak. "You can't scare him; so quit this fooling, and let us
know how long we are to stand here trussed up like this."

"I propose, captain," said the red-headed man, "that we shoot these men
where they stand, and report to the general. They are spies. They are
armed, and they denied it. It's according to the rules of war,
captain."

"Rules of war? What do you know of the rules of war, you red-headed
Senegambian? Rules of Hoyle! Your line is digging sewers, I imagine.
Come, captain, undo these ropes, and make up your mind quickly. Trot us
along to General O'Neill just as fast as you can. The sooner you get us
there the more time you will have for being sorry over what you have
done."

The captain still hesitated, and looked from one to the other of his
men, as if to make up his mind whether they would obey him if he went
to extremities. Yates' quick eye noted that the two prisoners had
nothing to hope for, even from the men who smiled. The shooting of two
unarmed and bound men seemed to them about the correct way of beginning
a great struggle for freedom.

"Well," said the captain at length, "we must do it in proper form, so I
suppose we should have a court-martial. Are you agreed?"

They were unanimously agreed.

"Look here," cried Yates, and there was a certain impressiveness in his
voice in spite of his former levity; "this farce has gone just as far
as it is going. Go inside the tent, there, and in my coat pocket you
will find a telegram, the first of a dozen or two received by me within
the last twenty-four hours. Then you will see whom you propose to
shoot."

The telegram was found, and the captain read it, while Tim held the
lantern. He looked from under his knitted brows at the newspaper man.

"Then you are one of the _Argus_ staff."

"I am chief of the _Argus_ staff. As you see, five of my men will
be with General O'Neill to-morrow. The first question they will ask him
will be: 'Where is Yates?' The next thing that will happen will be that
you will be hanged for your stupidity, not by Canada nor by the State
of New York, but by your general, who will curse your memory ever
after. You are fooling not with a subject this time, but with a
citizen; and your general is not such an idiot as to monkey with the
United States Government; and, what is a blamed sight worse, with the
great American press. Come, captain, we've had enough of this. Cut
these cords just as quickly as you can, and take us to the general. We
were going to see him in the morning, anyhow."

"But this man says he is a Canadian."

"That's all right. My friend is _me_. If you touch him, you touch
me. Now, hurry up, climb down from your perch. I shall have enough
trouble now, getting the general to forgive all the blunders you have
made to-night, without your adding insult to injury. Tell your men to
untie us, and throw the ropes back into the tent. It will soon be
daylight. Hustle, and let us be off."

"Untie them," said the captain, with a sigh.

Yates shook himself when his arms regained their freedom.

"Now, Tim," he said, "run into that tent and bring out my coat. It's
chilly here."

Tim did instantly as requested, and helped Yates on with the coat.

"Good boy!" said, Yates. "You've evidently been porter in a hotel."

Tim grinned.

"I think," said Yates meditatively, "that if I you look under the
right-hand bunk, Tim, you will find a jug. It belongs to the professor,
although he has hidden it under my bed to divert suspicion from
himself. Just fish it out and bring it here. It is not as full as it
was, but there's enough to go round, if the professor does not take
more than his share."

The gallant troop smacked their lips in anticipation, and Renmark
looked astonished to see the jar brought forth. "You first, professor,"
said Yates; and Tim innocently offered him the vessel. The learned man
shook his head. Yates laughed, and took it himself.

"Well, here's to you, boys," he said. "And may you all get back as
safely to New York as I will." The jar passed down along the line,
until Tim finished its contents.

"Now, then, for the camp of the Fenian army," cried Yates, taking
Renmark's arm; and they began their march through the woods. "Great
Caesar! Stilly," he continued to his friend, "this is rest and quiet
with a vengeance, isn't it?"




CHAPTER XVI.


The Fenians, feeling that they had to put their best foot foremost in
the presence of their prisoners, tried at first to maintain something
like military order in marching through the woods. They soon found,
however, that this was a difficult thing to do. Canadian forests are
not as trimly kept as English parks. Tim walked on ahead with the
lantern, but three times he tumbled over some obstruction, and
disappeared suddenly from view, uttering maledictions. His final effort
in this line was a triumph. He fell over the lantern and smashed it.
When all attempts at reconstruction failed, the party tramped on in go-
as-you-please fashion, and found they did better without the light than
with it. In fact, although it was not yet four o'clock, daybreak was
already filtering through the trees, and the woods were perceptibly
lighter.

"We must be getting near the camp," said the captain.

"Will I shout, sir?" asked Murphy.

"No, no; we can't miss it. Keep on as you are doing."

They were nearer the camp than they suspected. As they blundered on
among the crackling underbrush and dry twigs the sharp report of a
rifle echoed through the forest, and a bullet whistled above their
heads.

"Fat the divil are you foiring at, Mike Lynch?" cried the alderman, who
recognized the shooter, now rapidly falling back.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said the sentry, stopping in his flight. The
captain strode angrily toward him.

"What do you mean by firing like that? Don't you know enough to ask for
the counter-sign before shooting?"

"Sure, I forgot about it, captain, entirely. But, then, ye see, I never
can hit anything; so it's little difference it makes."

The shot had roused the camp, and there was now wild commotion,
everybody thinking the Canadians were upon them.

A strange sight met the eye of Yates and Renmark. Both were astonished
to see the number of men that O'Neill had under his command. They found
a motley crowd. Some tattered United States uniforms were among them,
but the greater number were dressed as ordinary individuals, although a
few had trimmings of green braid on their clothes. Sleeping out for a
couple of nights had given the gathering the unkempt appearance of a
great company of tramps. The officers were indistinguishable from the
men at first, but afterward Yates noticed that they, mostly in plain
clothes and slouch hats, had sword belts buckled around them; and one
or two had swords that had evidently seen service in the United States
cavalry.

"It's all right, boys," cried the captain to the excited mob. "It was
only that fool Lynch who fired at us. There's nobody hurt. Where's the
general?"

"Here he comes," said half a dozen voices at once, and the crowd made
way for him.

General O'Neill was dressed in ordinary citizen's costume, and did not
wear even a sword belt. On his head of light hair was a black soft felt
hat. His face was pale, and covered with freckles. He looked more like
a clerk from a grocery store than the commander of an army. He was
evidently somewhere between thirty-five and forty years of age.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "Why are you back? Any news?"

The captain saluted, military fashion, and replied:

"We took two prisoners, sir. They were encamped in a tent in the woods.
One of them says he is an American citizen, and says he knows you, so I
brought them in."

"I wish you had brought in the tent, too," said the general with a wan
smile. "It would be an improvement on sleeping in the open air. Are
these the prisoners? I don't know either of them."

"The captain makes a mistake in saying that I claimed a personal
acquaintance with you, general. What I said was that you would
recognize, somewhat quicker than he did, who I was, and the
desirability of treating me with reasonable decency. Just show the
general that telegram you took from my coat pocket, captain."

The paper was produced, and O'Neill read it over once or twice.

"You are on the New York _Argus_, then?"

"Very much so, general."

"I hope you have not been roughly used?"

"Oh, no; merely tied up in a hard knot, and threatened with shooting--
that's all."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Still, you must make some allowance at a
time like this. If you will come with me, I will write you a pass which
will prevent any similar mistake happening in the future." The general
led the way to a smoldering camp fire, where, out of a valise, he took
writing materials and, using the valise as a desk, began to write.
After he had written "Headquarters of the Grand Army of the Irish
Republic" he looked up, and asked Yates his Christian name. Being
answered, he inquired the name of his friend.

"I want nothing from you," interposed Renmark. "Don't put my name on
the paper."

"Oh, that's all right," said Yates. "Never mind him, general. He's a
learned man who doesn't know when to talk and when not to. As you march
up to our tent, general, you will see an empty jug, which will explain
everything. Renmark's drunk, not to put too fine a point upon it; and
he imagines himself a British subject."

The Fenian general looked up at the professor.

"Are you a Canadian?" he asked.

"Certainly I am."

"Well, in that case, if I let you leave camp, you must give me your
word that, should you fall in with the enemy, you will give no
information to them of our position, numbers, or of anything else you
may have seen while with us."

"I shall not give my word. On the contrary, if I should fall in with
the Canadian troops, I will tell them where you are, that you are from
eight hundred to one thousand strong, and the worst looking set of
vagabonds I have ever seen out of jail."

General O'Neill frowned, and looked from one to the other.

"Do you realize that you confess to being a spy, and that it becomes my
duty to have you taken out and shot?"

"In real war, yes. But this is mere idiotic fooling. All of you that
don't escape will be either in jail or shot before twenty-four hours."

"Well, by the gods, it won't help _you_ any. I'll have you shot
inside of ten minutes, instead of twenty-four hours."

"Hold on, general, hold on!" cried Yates, as the angry man rose and
confronted the two. "I admit that he richly deserves shooting, if you
were the fool killer, which you are not. But it won't do, I will be
responsible for him. Just finish that pass for me, and I will take care
of the professor. Shoot me if you like, but don't touch him. He hasn't
any sense, as you can see; but I am not to blame for that, nor are you.
If you take to shooting everybody who is an ass, general, you won't
have any ammunition left with which to conquer Canada."

The general smiled in spite of himself, and resumed the writing of the
pass. "There," he said, handing the paper to Yates. "You see, we always
like to oblige the press. I will risk your belligerent friend, and I
hope you will exercise more control over him, if you meet the
Canadians, than you were able to exert here. Don't you think, on the
whole, you had better stay with us? We are going to march in a couple
of hours, when the men have had a little rest." He added in a lower
voice, so that the professor could not hear: "You didn't see anything
of the Canadians, I suppose?"

"Not a sign. No, I don't think I'll stay. There will be five of our
fellows here some time to-day, I expect, and that will be more than
enough. I'm really here on a vacation. Been ordered rest and quiet. I'm
beginning to think I have made a mistake in location."

Yates bade good-by to the commander, and walked with his friend out of
the camp. They threaded their way among sleeping men and groups of
stacked guns. On the top of one of the bayonets was hung a tall silk
hat, which looked most incongruous in such a place.

"I think," said Yates, "that we will make for the Ridge Road, which
must lie somewhere in this direction. It will be easier walking than
through the woods; and, besides, I want to stop at one of the
farmhouses and get some breakfast. I'm as hungry as a bear after
tramping so long."

"Very well," answered the professor shortly.

The two stumbled along until they reached the edge of the wood; then,
crossing some open fields, they came presently upon the road, near the
spot where the fist fight had taken place between Yates and Bartlett.
The comrades, now with greater comfort, walked silently along the road
toward the west, with the reddening east behind them. The whole scene
was strangely quiet and peaceful, and the recollection of the weird
camp they had left in the woods seemed merely a bad dream. The morning
air was sweet, and the birds were beginning to sing. Yates had intended
to give the professor a piece of his mind regarding the lack of tact
and common sense displayed by Renmark in the camp, but, somehow, the
scarcely awakened day did not lend itself to controversy, and the
serene stillness soothed his spirit. He began to whistle softly that
popular war song, "Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching," and
then broke in with the question:

"Say, Renny, did you notice that plug hat on the bayonet?"

"Yes," answered the professor; "and I saw five others scattered around
the camp."

"Jingo! you were observant. I can imagine nothing quite so ridiculous
as a man going to war in a tall silk hat."

The professor made no reply, and Yates changed his whistling to "Rally
round the flag."

"I presume," he said at length, "there is little use in attempting to
improve the morning hour by trying to show you, Renmark, what a fool
you made of yourself in the camp? Your natural diplomacy seemed to be
slightly off the center."

"I do not hold diplomatic relations with thieves and vagabonds."

"They may be vagabonds; but so am I, for that matter. They may also be
well-meaning, mistaken men; but I do not think they are thieves."

"While you were talking with the so-called general, one party came in
with several horses that had been stolen from the neighboring farmers,
and another party started out to get some more."

"Oh, that isn't stealing, Renmark; that's requisitioning. You mustn't
use such reckless language. I imagine the second party has been
successful; for here are three of them all mounted."

The three horsemen referred to stopped their steeds at the sight of the
two men coming round the bend of the road, and awaited their approach.
Like so many of the others, they wore no uniform, but two of them held
revolvers in their hands ready for action. The one who had no visible
revolver moved his horse up the middle of the road toward the
pedestrians, the other two taking positions on each side of the wagon
way.

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