True To His Colors

by Harry Castlemon

  CHAPTER V.

  THE PAID SPY.

  It must not be supposed that the students who did not side with RodneyGray were entirely deceived by the demonstration that had taken place inthe corridor. Noisy political discussions were of too common occurrenceto attract the attention of Marcy and his friends, the most of whom weresitting quietly in their rooms, and they gave no heed to what was goingon below until the shuffling of feet announced that there was a fight inprogress. Then they rushed out in a body, but a single glance at theboys who were struggling in the hall was enough to show them that theirservices were not needed. The combatants were all secessionists. Therewere a few "neutrals" among them--Dixon for one--who were trying torestore order, and who finally succeeded in getting them out of thebuilding, but there was no Union boy there who was in want ofassistance.

  "What's in the wind now, do you reckon?" said Tom Percival, whose fatherhad cast his ballot against secession with one hand, while holding acocked revolver in the other. "That's a put-up job, and there'ssomething behind it."

  "I believe you're right, Tom," said Marcy. "Let's follow them and seewhat they are going to do."

  There was right where he and his friends made a mistake. They went tothe parade ground and looked on while the colonel read Rodney and a fewothers a severe lecture, and Dick Graham was left free to carry out hispart of the programme. Then they went back to their dormitories fullysatisfied that if Rodney had hoped to gain anything by getting up thatfight, he had failed to accomplish his object. When Marcy opened hisdoor he was surprised to find Dick sitting at the table with a paper inhis hand.

  "What are you doing here, you rebel?" he demanded.

  "Rebel yourself," replied Dick. "You stand ready to go back on yourState and I don't. But what is the use of this nonsense? You and Iunderstand each other. Look at that."

  "Dick, where did you get it?" exclaimed Marcy, when his visitor drew theflag from under his coat.

  "I found it on the colonel's bureau and took it and welcome," answeredDick.

  "When did you do it?"

  "Just now."

  "Where was the orderly?"

  "He was at his post; but he didn't have anything to do with it, and willbe as surprised as anybody when he finds that the flag is gone. We got aladder and went in at the window."

  "_We?_ Who?"

  "I did. You don't expect me to tell you who held the ladder while I wentup, do you?"

  "We knew that that fight was a put-up job, but of course we couldn'timagine what it was got up for. If we had seen or heard anything to setus on the right track, you never would have got your hands on thatflag."

  "Don't you suppose we knew that?" demanded Dick. "Having no taste for aknockdown and drag-out, we were rather sly about it. But what's thedifference? You know as well as I do that it was bound to come downsooner or later, and perhaps it would have been lowered by some one whowould not have been as careful of it as I have been. Imagine, if youcan, what would have been done to it if the news had come that thisState had joined the Confederacy! There hasn't been an ugly finger laidon it since I got it."

  Marcy took a turn about the room and then faced his visitor and lookedat him in silence.

  "I am sure I don't know what to make of you," he said, at length. "Whichside are you on? I don't believe you know yourself."

  "Haven't I told you time and again that I'm neutral?" demanded Dick."You see Missouri--"

  "You never saw two dogs fight in the street without wanting one or theother of them to whip," interrupted Marcy. "There can't be such a thingas a neutral in times like these. You are opposed to the flag, and yetyou don't want to see it in possession of those who would insult ordestroy it. You handle it as though you loved it."

  "I did once, and I don't hate it now, or anybody who stands up for it,"answered Dick, thoughtfully. "I am going to give it to you on one--"

  "I wondered why you brought it in here," said Marcy. "I shall be glad tohave the flag, and to-morrow morning we'll--"

  "Good-night," said Dick, getting upon his feet.

  "Hold on. What have I said or done to send you away in such a hurry?"

  "What will you do to-morrow morning?" asked Dick, in reply.

  "We'll run the colors up where they belong, and stand by to see thatthey stay there. What else should we do?"

  "That's what I thought you were going to say; but you must promise thatyou'll not think of it, or you can't have the flag. You see," continuedDick confidentially, "I am not exactly hand and glove with Rodney andhis crowd, but I come pretty near to believing as they do, and that wasone reason I offered to steal the flag. If I hadn't done it, they wouldhave hauled it down by force, or tried to, and that might have raised asure-enough row; no sham about it."

  "I am quite sure it would," assented Marcy.

  "That's what I was afraid of, and I think it a good plan to put thefighting off as long as we can. I haven't anything against the flag andnever shall have, not even when Missouri--"

  "Never mind Missouri," Marcy interposed. "Tell me why you are going togive me the flag."

  "Simply because I know you think a good deal of it, and will take careof it," answered Dick. "It will be something to be proud of one of thesedays, I tell you. After we rebels get the licking we are bound to get inthe end--"

  "If you are so sure of it, why do you favor secession?" inquired Marcy.

  "Who? Me? I don't favor it. I never so much as hinted at such a foolishthing, because a blind man ought to see what is going to come of it.Before the thing is over our niggers will all be gone, our homes will bein ruins, our fields grown up to briers, and we'll be as poor as churchmice. You'll see. I say that the Southern States ought to stay in theUnion; but if they are resolved that they won't do it, the government atWashington has no shadow of a right to compel them. That's me, andthat's why I tell you that when Missouri--"

  "Why don't you give me the flag, if you are going to?" said Marcy. "Someof the teachers might come in, and how should I account for yourpresence here?"

  "In any way you please. I am not particular. Hold on a bit," said Dick,as Marcy tried to take the colors from his hand. "I must have yourpromise first. You must say, in so many words, that you will not attemptto hoist it in the morning, and further, that you will not let anyoneknow I gave it to you. A certain fellow wants to shove it in thestove--"

  "That's my cousin," interrupted Marcy.

  "And another wants to show it to his girl, who told him to-day, in mypresence, that if he had the pluck she had given him credit for, thecolors would have come down long ago."

  "That's Bob Cole," said Marcy.

  "I was taught never to tell names, and tales, too. I knew that if I gavethe flag to either of those fellows I would never see it again. I havemarched and drilled under it for almost four years, and shouldn't liketo hear that it been abused in any way; but if you and I live to see theend of the terrible times that I believe are coming upon us, I _should_like to hear that it had been run up again. That's why I am going togive it to you; but I must have your promise first."

  "It's a bargain, and there's my hand on it," answered Marcy, withouthesitation. "That flag shall never go up to the top of the academy staffagain if I can help it, and while I remain in this school I'll never sayyou gave it to me. Now hand it over, so that I can hide it beforeanybody comes in."

  Dick was rather surprised at the promptness with which the requiredpromise was given. Almost without knowing it he handed Marcy the flag,and saw him place it in his trunk and turn the key upon it.

  "Say," he exclaimed, when he found his tongue, "what are you up to?"

  "I am going to leave the flag there until I can think of some goodhiding-place for it," replied Marcy.

  "That isn't what I mean, and you know it. I didn't think you would be sovery willing to make the promise, and I am afraid there is somethingback of it."

  "I have said all you asked me to say, have I not? Well, I assure you Ishall remembe
r it, for I am not in the habit of breaking my word. Thenext time these colors float it will be in a breeze that is untainted byany secession rag, I bet you. Then, whether you are living or dead, Ishall think of you, Dick. You and I have always been friends and I knowwe shall continue to be so, no matter where we are or what flag wavesover us."

  "You don't owe me any thanks," said Dick hastily, and in, rather a huskyvoice. "I don't want the old thing, for I may have to fight against itsomeday; but I didn't want to see Rodney and his crowd trample it undertheir feet before they destroyed it. You're right, we shall always befriends, no matter--dog-gone State Rights anyhow. That's me.Good-night."

  "Just one word more before you go," said Marcy. "Where did Rodney getthe secession flag he has been prancing around with ever since he camefrom town?"

  "It came through the post-office, but who sent it I don't know. Youought to have heard the fellows whoop and yell when he took it out ofthe package."

  "Does he labor under the delusion that he is going to run it up on thetower in the morning?" continued Marcy.

  "You can't prove that by me," was Dick's response. "Good-night."

  "Yes, I can prove it by you," thought Marcy, as his visitor went out,closing the door behind him. "Your face and your actions said plainlyenough that that is what Rodney means to do; but I'll bet you he will beastonished when to-morrow comes. He and his crowd must take us for a lotof dunderheads."

  Marcy waited until he thought Dick had had time to reach his own room,and then he opened the door and went out into the hall. He was goneabout half an hour, and when he came back he was smiling all over, andrubbing his hands together, as if he felt very well satisfied with whathe had done during his absence. Then he drew a chair to the table,turned up the lamp, and devoted himself to another reading of theletters and papers he had that day received from home. While he was thusengaged some things were happening a few miles away that eventually camevery near raising a "sure-enough fight" at the academy, and opened theeyes of the "citizens and voters of Barrington" to the fact that theyhad not done a wise thing when they employed some of the most worthlessmembers of the community to keep watch of those who did not wear red,white, and blue rosettes and hurrah for President Davis.

  About the time the Missouri boy and his comrades made their successfulraid on the commandant's room, one of the paid spies of whom Mr. Rileyhad spoken during his conversation with Dick Graham went to thepost-office in Barrington and was handed a letter addressed to himself.An ordinary observer would have seen at a glance that the writing on theenvelope was disguised, but Bud Goble, who seldom saw writing of anysort, did not notice it. He straightened up as if he had grown an inchor more when he found that he had a correspondent who was respectfulenough to address him as "Mister," and rose immensely in his ownestimation when he opened the letter and with _much_ difficulty spelledout the following:

  "This is verry privat and perticlar bisness and i wouldnt think ofspeaking to nobody but you about it who are one of the most promnent andrespeckted sitizens of barington."

  This was nothing but the truth, according to Mr. Goble's way ofthinking; but up to this time he had never met any one whose opinionsagreed with his own. If the business to which his correspondent referredwas so very "private and particular," it would never do, he thought, toread the letter there in the post-office, while there were so many menstanding around; so he straightway sought the privacy of his owndwelling--a little tumble-down log cabin with a dirt floor and stickchimney, which was situated in the outskirts of the town.

  "One of the most respected and prominent citizens of Barrington; that'swhat I be," muttered Bud Goble, as he stumbled along the dark roadtoward his domicile. "I always knowed it, but there's a heap of folksabout here who have always been down on me, kase I haven't got anyniggers of my own and have to work for a livin'; but I'm to the top ofthe heap now, an' what's more, I'll let some of 'em know it before I ammany hours older. I wisht I knew what's into this letter, kase it'smighty hard work for me to read it. If it's anything about thembabolitionists an' the doctering they're preachin' up among ourniggers--Well, they'll not do it much longer, kase I am about ready totake some on 'em outen their beds at night an' lay the hickory overtheir backs. There's money into it, kase Mr. Riley an' the rest of themen that's onto the committee said so; an' I'm onto every job wherethere's an honest dollar to be made."

  Bud Goble was a fair type of that class of people who were known tothose among whom they lived as "white trash." Even the negroes,particularly those who belonged to wealthy planters, looked upon themwith contempt. Too lazy to work, they lived from hand to mouth; and notone out of ten of the many thousands of them who went into theConfederate Army knew what they were fighting for. To save his life BudGoble could not have told what all this excitement was about. He had adim notion that somebody wanted to free the slaves, and the idea of sucha thing made him furious; although it is hard to explain why it should,for, as Dick Graham said, he had never owned the price of a pickaninny.He had got it into his head that if the negroes were made free he wouldbe brought down to their level and compelled to go to work, and that wassomething he could not bear to think of.

  Bud Goble did not know what secession meant, but he was strongly infavor of it, because the majority of the wealthy and influentialcitizens in and around Barrington favored it; and taking his cue fromthem, he not only turned the cold shoulder upon those who were suspectedof being on the side of the Union, but went further and became theirdeadly enemy. Mr. Riley and the other members of the Committee of Safetyknew all this, and yet they employed him, the most vindictive andunreliable man in the neighborhood, to keep them posted in regard towhat the Union men and free negroes were doing and saying. It is not tobe supposed that men of their intelligence would put much faith in hisreports, but they furnished an excuse for resorting to high-handedmeasures, and that was really what the committee wanted.

  Meanwhile Bud Goble was making the best of his way homeward, guided bythe blaze from a light-wood fire on the hearth which shone through theopen door. It was not such a home as the most of us would care to go toat night, for it was the most cheerless place in the country for milesaround. Even the humblest cabin in Mr. Riley's negro quarter, half amile away, was a more inviting spot. And as for the family who occupiedit--well, a benighted traveler, no matter how tired and hungry he mightbe, would have gone farther and camped in the woods rather than asksupper and lodging of them.

  "Now, Susie," exclaimed Mr. Goble cheerfully, addressing a slouchy,unkempt woman who sat in front of the fire with her elbows resting onher knees and a dingy cob pipe between her teeth, "punch up the blazean' dish up a supper while I read my letter an' see what's into it."

  "Who's been a-writin' a letter to you?" queried the woman, withoutchanging her position.

  "That's what I don't know till I read it. It's something about thembabolitionists that our gover'ment has ordered to get outen here, Ireckon. But I'm powerful hungry. I aint had a bite to eat sense I leftin the mornin'."

  "Well, then, where's the meal an' bacon I told you to fetch along whenyou come home?" inquired Mrs. Goble. "I told you plain as I could speakit that there wasn't a drop of anything to eat in the house; an' here'sthe young ones been a-howlin' for grub the whole day long."

  "Land sakes, if I didn't forget all about it," said Goble regretfully."But how on earth am I goin' to get grub when I aint got no money to payfor it? Our committee didn't give me no money to-day kase I didn't havenothing to tell 'em. 'Pears like all the traitors keep mighty glum whenI'm around. See two or three of 'em talkin' together, an' they shet upthe minute I begin to sidle up to 'em."

  "You aint wuth shucks to work for that committee," replied his wifeimpatiently. "If I was a man an' had the job, I'd tell 'em somethingevery hour in the day."

  "How could you when there wasn't nothing to tell, I'd like to know?"

  "I'd find plenty, I bet you. You haven't disremembered how thembabolitionists an' the free niggers used to talk, about the time JohnBrown wa
s makin' that raid of his'n, have you?"

  "'Course I aint; but them's old stories now. They've kept mighty stilltongues in their heads sense that time."

  "No odds if they have. They was Union then, an' they're that same way ofthinkin' now; an' the talk that would have hung 'em then, if our folkshadn't been jest the peaceablest people in the world, would get 'em intotrouble now if it was brung up agin 'em."

  "An' would you tell them stories all over agin if you was me?" exclaimedBud Goble.

  "I wouldn't do nothing else."

  "Jest as if they happened yisterday?"

  "Toby sure. You want money, don't you? an' that there committee of yournwon't give you none 'ceptin' you can tell 'em sunthin', will they?"

  "Now, that's an idee," exclaimed Mr. Goble, gazing admiringly at hiswife. "I never onct thought of that way of doin'."

  "You never think of nothing till I tell you what to do," said Mrs. Goblesharply. "You've had no end of good jobs that you could have made moneyon if you'd only worked 'em right, but you won't listen to what I tellyou. I don't reckon you see how you could make money two ways outen thejob you've got now, do you? You might go to all the Union folks, niggers_an_' whites, an' tell 'em that if they don't give you some clothes foryour fambly to wear, an' grub for 'em to eat, you will have that therecommittee of yourn after 'em, mightn't you?"

  "So I could," exclaimed Bud gleefully. "But I'll tell 'em I want moneyfor keepin' still about what I've heard 'em say."

  "You won't do nothing of the sort," said his wife almost fiercely. "Ifyou get money, you'll set in to loafin' around Larkinses', an' I won'tsee none of it, nor any grub or clothes nuther. Look around the housean' into the cubboard an' see if you oughtn't to be ashamed of yourselffor swillin' so much apple-jack. Get the grub, I tell you, an' give someon 'em a hint that you want an order on the store keeper to get me a newdress I've been needin' for the last six months. That's one way to makeit pay. Then go to that committee an' tell 'em what you've heard thembabolitionists an' free niggers say about John Brown bein' right in whathe did, an' they'll give you sunthin' for bringin' 'em the news."

  "But them old stories won't be news."

  "No odds. They're what the committee wants, an' you're plumb blind thatyou can't see it."

  Bud Goble placed his elbows upon his knees, fastened his eyes upon theglowing coals on the hearth, and took a minute or two to consider thematter. Then he got upon his feet and went out into the darkness withouttelling his wife where he was going or what he intended to do. But thatdid not trouble Mrs. Goble. She administered a hearty shake to one ofthe ragged children who querulously demanded to know why pap hadn'tbrung home sunthin to eat, and then filled a fresh pipe and lighted itwith a brand from the fire.

  Bud climbed the fence that ran between the road and the little barrenpasture in which he permitted his pigs to roam (when he had any), workedhis way through a narrow strip of woodland, and finally struck the laneleading from Mr. Riley's tobacco patch to the negro quarter a double rowof whitewashed cabins in which the field-hands lived. A few minuteslater, after making free use of a club with which he had taken theprecaution to arm himself, and fighting his way through a battalion ofcoon dogs that assembled to dispute his progress, he opened the door ofone of the cabins and entered without ceremony. If the occupants hadbeen white folks, Bud wouldn't have done that; but who ever heard of aSouthern gentleman knocking at a negro's door?

  "What made you-uns set there like so many bumps on a log when you heardme comin'?" was the way in which he greeted Uncle Toby and his family,who were sitting in front of the fire resting after the labors of theday. "Why didn't you come out and shoo off them dogs of your'n? You'dbest be mighty careful how you treat me, kase I'm a bigger man in thissettle_ment_ nor you think I be. What's that you're shovin' out of sightbehind your cheer? Let me have a look at it."

  Uncle Toby was one of the most popular negro preachers in the county,and had been known to boast of the fact that he addressed a largerSunday morning congregation than any white minister in Barrington. BudGoble thought he was a dangerous nigger to have around, and often askedMr. Riley why he did not "shut him up." But the planter only laughed andsaid that if old Toby could preach so much better than the Barringtonministers, he didn't think he ought to be deposed. So long as thedarkeys who came into his grove of a Sunday had passes from theirmasters, it was all right; but there was something that was not allright, and it was the occasion of no little uneasiness and perplexity toMr. Riley. By some hocus-pocus Toby had learned to read his Bible. Therewas nothing wrong in that, of course, but a darkey who could read hisBible would be likely to read papers as well; and from them, especiallyif they chanced to be Northern papers, he might imbibe some ideas thatno slave had any business to entertain. It was said, and Bud Goblebelieved it, that Toby had a great deal to do with the "undergroundrailroad" that had carried so many runaway negroes to freedom. You willbe surprised when you hear that Bud was ignorant enough to take thisexpression literally. He really thought that some one had built arailroad under Barrington for the purpose of assisting discontentedslaves to escape to Canada, and some of the wags at the military academyoffered him a large sum of money if he would find it and conduct them toit, so that they might tear it up. Bud concluded that somewhere in thewoods there must be a ladder or flight of stairs that led down to therailroad, and he spent days in looking for it. When Mr. Riley, takingpity on his ignorance, explained the matter to him, Bud was fightingmad; and ever since that time he had been watching for an opportunity tobe revenged upon the boys who had played upon his credulity.

  "Let me have a look at that there thing you was a-shovin' out of sightbehine your cheer when I come in," repeated Bud, striding up to thefire-place and catching up the article that had caught his eye. "Lookedto me like one of them 'sendiary papers, an' it is too. What businessyou got to be readin' like a white gentleman?" he added, slapping Tobyon the head with the paper which he picked up from the floor.

  "Oh, Marse Gobble," began Toby.

  "'Tain't my name," howled Bud, who always got angry whenever anybodytook liberties with his cognomen. "G-o don't spell Gob, does it? Youcan't read or spell alongside of me, but you know too much to be of anymore use around here. Me and Mr. Riley b'long to the Committee ofSafety, an' it's our bounden duty to take chaps like you out in thewoods an' lick ye. What do you say to that?"

  Old Toby was so very badly frightened that he could not say anything. Hehad been caught almost in the act of reading a copy of the New York_Tribune_, and what would Mr. Riley say and do when he heard of it? Thelatter was known far and wide as a kind master. He gave his slavesplenty to eat and wear and never overworked them; but he believed asmost of his class did, and it wasn't likely that he would deal lenientlywith one of his chattels who would bring a paper like the _Tribune_ onthe plantation, and afterward spread discontent among his fellows bypreaching in secret the doctrines he found in it. Bud easily read thethoughts that were passing in the old negro's mind, and told himselfthat Susie deserved a new dress in return for the suggestions she hadgiven him. He saw his advantage and determined to push it.