University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
SUBTERRANEAN COUNCILS.

The condition of the besieged party was indeed one of great
extremity, and indomitable as was the courage of Johnson, he
could not but feel sensible of his great peril. There seemed to
have been some fatality in the chain of circumstances which had
frustrated all his remarkable vigilance and sagacity, and which
seemed about to deliver him, like Samson, bound and helpless into
the hands of his enemies. The unusual remissness of his sentinel
son, in allowing the enemy to approach so near his retreat unobserved,
the unfortunate flight of the wounded deer, bearing the betraying
arrow in its side, and the craven conduct of Barak, had
together woven a mesh which threatened to hold the strong man
fast.

Yet did Johnson by no means lose hope or self possession. He
had anticipated from the moment when he knew that Barak was
captured, that he would be compelled to betray his hiding-place,
and he was prepared for a vigorous defence against any ordinary
attack; but he had not anticipated the savage mode of warfare to
which he was to be subjected, until he heard it announced. Dismay
and despair fell upon all his companions when the summons
and warning were proclaimed, in a voice which rang distinctly
through the cavern, and returned in mocking echoes from its
far recesses. Johnson alone did not quail, nor intermit a moment
his vigilant watch from a point where unseen from without, he

could command a view of several rods in extent, on that side of
the opening which the enemy had approached. He could not,
however, see the main body of the assailants, while they continued
to keep close to the hill-side, but he occasionally caught a
glimpse of the leader, who in summoning the subterranean garrison
had approached nearer than had any one of his men.

He had indeed, more than one opportunity to fire upon the
sergeant with certain fatality, and his singular forbearance in this
respect excited the wonder of Vrail, who watched his movements
with painful solicitude.

“You have had him twice under your gun,” said Thomas; “and
even now half the width of his body is exposed. You could plant
a ball in his breast this minute.”

“I know it.”

“Why, then, do you not fire?”

“There would be nine left. Wait a little and keep still. He
will come nearer.”

“And if he does?”—

“He will be alone presently; his men are gathering brush.
Look sharp, and be silent.”

Vrail did not comprehend this remark. His anxiety was
intense, and the horrors of his position were aggravated by the
reflection that his safety had been so nearly secured. An unconditional
surrender seemed to him almost unavoidable, in order to
escape immediate death, and to save the helpless female who was
under their protection, yet he refrained from counselling this course
as long as Johnson himself seemed to have any resource. Submission
would be death to the outlaw, and doubtless to Vrail also,
as his abettor and accomplice; yet even this would be preferable
to the present destruction of the whole party by means so
dreadful as those which had been threatened. A silence of some
minutes ensued, during which Johnson remained at his post in a
crouching attitude, vigilantly watching the sergeant, who, in his

turn, was watching and giving orders to his men, now separated
from him at various short distances, gathering the material for the
burning pile.

The private who had accompanied Ward, in advance of the
band, went and came at short intervals, but both had been thrown
off their guard by the entire silence which reigned in the cavern,
and by the absence of all signs of hostilities, or even of life in
that quarter. A suspicion that the enemy had escaped before their
arrival was fast gaining ground in the mind of Ward, who began
to wince in contemplation of the ridicule which might attach to
his pompous summons for the surrender of an imaginary garrison.
He did not, however, intermit his design, being resolved to put
the question to a speedy proof, and he urged his men to increased
activity in their work, no longer thinking of retaining any at his
side, save Barak, who sat shaking on the ground before him.

“He is alone now!” whispered Johnson, laying down his gun,
and advancing steathily a few paces, until his head protruded a
little beyond the doorway. As the panther springs upon his prey,
the outlaw, with the speed of thought, rushed upon his unwarned
victim. The strength of that momentary energy which desperation
or violent passion sometimes gives, and which is so nearly
allied to that of madness, was upon him, as with glaring eyes and
demoniac face he came flying like some terrific vision, upon the
astonished sergeant. In a twinkling the soldier's musket was
snatched from his grasp, and was flung into the ravine, while
Ward himself clutched in the iron grasp of his adversary, was
dragged rapidly to the cavern doorway, despite all resistance, and
into its dark recesses.

Had Satan suddenly emerged from the bowels of the earth,
and carried off one of their number bodily, the soldiers could not
have been more astonished or terrified, and if there was time or
opportunity to fire upon the strange assailant, they could not have
done so without risk of killing their comrade and commander.

Placing his son on guard over the prostrate and unarmed man,
with orders to fire upon him if he attempted to rise, Johnson hastily
resumed his post at the doorway, where together with Vrail,
he remained for some minutes prepared to repel any sudden attack
that might follow his daring achievement. But there were no
signs of pursuit, and whatever course the enemy might see fit to
adopt in this new phase of affairs, it became pretty evident that
they did not mean to follow their leader into the lion's den.

The stunned and frightened sergeant expected no mercy at
the hands of a man of whose atrocities he had heard so many
fabulous tales, and of whose prowess he had such convincing
proof. Expecting each moment to be his last, he listened sullenly
and at first without reply, to the questions of his captor.

“You meant to smoke us out, did you, young man?” said the
outlaw, in a voice far from harsh; yet the question was repeated
several times before it was answered.

“I meant to take you, if possible,” replied Ward, at length; “I
gave you fair warning.”

“You did; and you see I have profited by it.”

“I was a fool. You have conquered me, and will kill me, of
course; but you need not taunt me.”

“If I had wanted to kill you, I need not have taken such pains
to bring you here. I covered your heart three times with my
rifle.”

“What then do you want?” asked the sergeant, eagerly. His
mortifying discomfiture had at first scarcely left him the wish to
live, but with the hope came back the strong desire of life which
is natural to every human heart.

“What do you suppose? I want to be let alone. I want your
men to retire from this island, and to permit me and my children
to do the same.”

“Let me go, and I will withdraw them instantly,” said Ward,
eagerly.

“I cannot trust you.”

“On the honor of a soldier”—

“Say rather, a savage, who would have burned me and my
children together, or would have shot us down as we fled from
the flames and smoke of our dwelling. I cannot trust you.”

“I only did what I thought justifiable towards an outlawed
man.”

“For whose head there was a large reward, part of which you
expected to pocket, and you would do the same again if you were
at liberty. I should be a fool to trust you.”

“How can I convince you! What can I do?” asked the
prisoner, in a tone of great anxiety.

“Call to your men, and bid them lay down their guns at the
door of the cave. Let them also bring their muskets from the
boats. Then they may depart, leaving me one boat, and one for
you to follow them with. Tell them your life depends on their
compliance, as it most certainly does.”

Ward was ordinarily a brave man, and he hesitated long before
he would consent to redeem his life by such means; but the ignominious
personal defeat which he had already sustained prepared
him for a descent to further disgrace. If he rejected the proposal
of his captor, and suffered the death which such rejection was sure
to bring upon him, there would be none to proclaim the heroism
of the act; but living, he might in some degree vindicate his
reputation, and explain his mortifying discomfiture.

“How can we trust you,” he said, at length, “after surrendering
all our weapons into your hands?”

“On the faith of a word which was never pledged and broken.
If this is not sufficient, let your men see to their own safety by
all taking to their boats, excepting one, before their arms are surrendered.
Surely you must have some courageous friend among
your men, who will venture to be the last man, and who will
bring the arms to the cave.”

“Davy Giles will do it, if I bid him. He is a daring fellow,
and he owes me his life.”

“He will risk nothing—not a hair of his head shall be harmed.”

“But how shall I be able to communicate with my men? You
will not trust me outside, and they dare not come here.”

“My daughter has pen and ink and paper. Write your message,
and it shall be passed out at the end of my longest fishing-rod.
Doubtless your daring friend will approach near enough to
take it.”

Ward accepted the proposition, though with some misgivings
as to his ability to bring about so dishonorable a submission of his
company. He did not, indeed, doubt that they would be very
anxious to save his life, but he feared they might prefer to attempt
his rescue by other means, which would be certainly fatal to him,
although redounding more to their credit as military men than
the ignominious surrender and retreat which he was compelled to
counsel.

He made, however, an earnest appeal to his men to comply
with the proposition of the outlaw, and reminded them that, although
a prisoner, his orders were still binding upon them, and
would devolve all the responsibility of the act upon himself.
They could not, he added, honorably desert him, nor could they
in any way attempt his rescue with so little risk to themselves, or
with any hope of benefit to him. He assured them, in conclusion,
that his own death would be the immediate and certain consequence
of their refusal to comply with his request.

This letter, when finished, was extended out of the cavern in the
way suggested by Johnson, a white cloth being, at Ward's request,
also attached to the rod, both as a means of attracting attention,
and of signifying a desired truce.

The sergeant had not been mistaken in the fidelity and daring
of his friend Giles, who immediately advanced, took the missive
from the pole, and returned with it to his companions, all of whom,

as well as himself, were greatly delighted to learn that their
leader yet lived, and that there was a chance of procuring his release.
They did not hesitate long about obeying a command
which relieved them of any personal responsibility, and rid them
of so disastrous and unpromising an enterprise.

They had lost two of their companions in some mysterious way,
before even catching sight of an enemy, and now their commander
had been suddenly spirited away from them, and would doubtless
suffer some barbarous death if they did not rescue him in the only
way which seemed possible. They agreed to the terms, and Giles
volunteered to remain after the departure of his companions and
surrender the arms.

He was to accompany them to the boats, and depositing all the
guns in Johnson's skiff, was to row it around, after the embarkation
of his comrades, to a part of the beach nearest the cave, and
thence he was to carry the weapons to the invisible conqueror.
These things being agreed upon, Giles advanced fearlessly to the
mouth of the cave, where the white flag was still flying, and announced
the decision of the men, greatly to the delight both of
the besieged party and their prisoner.

The soldiers then withdrew, by a route which would enable
them to take with them the bodies of their slain companions, and
in a short time they reached their boats, and quitted the island,
first designating a rendezvous where they would wait for the liberated
sergeant and Giles to join them, if they should be fortunate
enough to escape from the supposed monster, in whose power
they were to be wholly left.

Giles was himself by no means free from apprehensions on this
score. He felt, at times, as though he were relying on the faith
of an ogre, but he was accustomed to danger, and he was animated
by the noble principle of fidelity to a friend.

It need not be said that his fears were speedily dissipated. No
sooner were the dozen weapons deposited at the door of the cave,

than Johnson and his party emerged from their retreat, accompanied
by their unharmed prisoner, who, like his friend, was still
uncertain of the fate which awaited him.

But the mild aspect and deportment of their conqueror, and the
frank, honest expression of his countenance, at once convinced
them that they had nothing to fear, and the abashed sergeant,
after expressing his obligations for the forbearance of his captor,
took his departure, with greatly changed views of the man whose
destruction he had so recently sought.

The fate of Barak was the next subject of inquiry, but a considerable
time elapsed before any clew could be obtained to his
whereabout, and the impression began to prevail that the soldiers
had taken him with them; but he was discovered at length, in the
ravine, where he was lying very still, awaiting the issue of the
fearful events which had been transpiring around him. His
descent into the valley had not been a voluntary movement, nor
altogether a pleasant one. When Johnson made his sudden sortie
from his subterranean fort, Barak, as has been stated, was
seated on the ground near the sergeant, and in the impetuous rush
of the outlaw, he was overturned and rolled over the cliff, without
observation from either party to that violent struggle. Of course,
he was at first greatly frightened, and fully believed that his end
had at last come, as he went rolling, log-like, down the declivity;
but when he found that, although much bruised, he was not seriously
hurt, he rather rejoiced at an accident which had transported
him to a place of comparative safety.

Although Johnson had learned from his prisoner, the treachery
of Jones, he did not waste any reproaches or vituperations upon
him. The man had sunk too low even for the reach of contempt.

“You are alive yet, Barak, I see,” said the commodore, on
meeting him.

“As much as ever, sir; sich a tumble as I had you never heerd
tell on, I guess, and then I felt all the worse, you see, because I

thought you pitched me off on purpose. I didn't know that you
captured the sergeant until just now Mr. Vrail has been telling
me about it, and how you got rid of the rest. I'm glad you ain't
killed—and I'm glad I ain't too. I never mean to go to war
again.”

“Not if all Canada rises and shakes off?”—

“No, sir!—I don't care what she shakes off—I'm going hum,
just as soon as I can get there, and there I mean to stay.”

“I think it will be the best thing you can do.”

Rainbow Island was, of course, no longer a safe abode for Johnson,
and he resolved to quit it with as little delay as possible.
Forced to forego the hope that the triumph of the patriot cause
would enable him to seek a home in his native land before the
winter set in, he was yet resolved that his children should not partake
of the perils and privations of an outlaw's life during that
inclement season. He had secured a home for them in a farmer's
family on the American shore, where they had already spent several
months, and where, being entirely unknown, he was enabled to
make them brief visits without much danger of detection. To this
place he resolved to take them that very night, while at the same
time he would afford Vrail and Jones an opportunity to set foot
again on their native soil.

Barak was in ecstasies at this announcement, and Captain Vrail
was scarcely less delighted, and both lent a willing hand to the
preparatory steps for departure. The grotto being no longer a
secret place, it became necessary to conceal whatever in it was of
sufficient value to be protected, and everything was speedily stored
away in a remote and obscure angle of the cave, which there was
little danger of ever being explored by strangers. A portmanteau
was filled with some articles of apparel, including various
devices for effecting a complete disguise of the outlaw, who contemplated
visiting Ogdensburgh and other places, on business connected
with the patriot cause, before he returned to the islands.

The time of his return was, indeed, a matter of the greatest
uncertainty, for he knew not what hope might yet remain for his
friends, nor how soon another military expedition might be planned.
No effort of his, he resolved, should be wanting to revive the hopes
of the dispirited, and renew the contest.

The little party embarked in the evening, and reached the
American shore without difficulty, where Johnson's first aim was
to rid himself entirely of Barak, before going to the future home
of his children, and before putting on his disguise, for he did not
wish to place himself again in the power of so weak and craven a
man. Yet, to do poor Jones justice, he was rather imbecile than
vile, and he would by no means wantonly have injured the outlaw,
whom he rightfully regarded as the preserver of his life.

There was no difficulty in effecting the object which Johnson
had in view.

“You would like to land here, I suppose, Mr. Jones?” he said,
as the bow of his boat touched the beach. “We are going some
way further down the stream before we stop, but I suppose you
are in a hurry to go ashore.”

Barak was out of the boat before the other had done speaking.

“I am out, Commodore,” he said; “I want to go no further
down stream, nor up stream, nor on the islands, nor, least of all,
back to Canada. I'm on American sile—I am. Hoo—rah!”

“Good-bye, Barak.”

“Good-bye, all! Good-bye, Commodore! Look out that you
don't get nabbed. I'm safe now—I am. Hoorah for the 'nited
States of America!”

So saying, Jones marched off, and Johnson, pushing his boat a
short distance from shore, resumed his route down the river about
a mile, when he again landed in the vicinity of a small village.
Here it was agreed that Vrail was to seek lodgings at an inn,
where Johnson was to join him in the morning, after placing his
children in their home, and they were to proceed together to Ogdensburgh.

The house of Flynn was still further down the river,
and thither the outlaw proceeded, readily finding admission at the
friendly farmer's, although his arrival was at a late hour in the
night.