20 A Man of Fear

On the morning of my third day in Danville I met Jasper Lee, smart and dapper, and clad once more in American costume. I did not seek to conceal my surprise at his appearance, but he was complete master of himself, greeting me with an appearance of great warmth—it was in the presence of others—and hastening to explain how he had come back to his own race. I was fain to confess to myself that his statements were ingenious and plausible, because he told half the truth, and thus had a solid basis upon which to proceed with his lies.

“You know, cousin,” he said, “that I was forced to adopt the costume of those hideous red wretches, and pretend that I had become one of them. But only a day or two after your own escape I managed to slip from their village, and after countless hardships reached the Ohio. Ah, it is like a terrible dream, those days in the Indian village!”

Jasper could have made his fortune as a play actor, and there was none present, save myself, who doubted the sincerity of his words. Perhaps many in like circumstances would have done the same, and how could one situated as I prove that his motives had been bad?

And I was in doubt whether I should speak, even were my words to carry conviction. So I kept silence, not seeking to restrain Jasper from pluming and disporting himself as he would. Nor was he at all neglectful in this particular, making himself with his fine tale much of a hero in Danville, and soon establishing a more intimate friendship than ever with Mr. Carew. He was restored too into a sort of place with Rose Carew, persuading her that he had been an injured man—in fact, somewhat of a martyr. I saw readily the drift of his design, which, in truth, was not new, and I was bound to own that all the chances were in his favour. Even one less worthy than Mr. Carew might well favour Jasper’s suit for the hand of his daughter.

Three days after Jasper arrived Captain Hardy came, and his mission was to call for volunteers to serve in the regular army on the border. His appearance was at a most inopportune moment, the passions of the Kentuckians being inflamed and the mind of every man full of anger against the generals who had led the army into such a snare. He asked for those who would serve to meet him on an appointed day in the public square; but instead there came a mob which began first to jeer and then pelt him with snow-balls, although I noticed the “coward” Underwood seeking to restrain them. Poor Captain Hardy knew not what to do. He put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and evidently his first thought was to draw it and lay about him with the flat of the blade; but he saw that such an act would not serve. These were people who would retort blows with death.

The jeers increased in number, and a lump of snow hardened in water knocked the captain’s cocked hat from his head. It was then that a woman interfered, and it was fortunate that it was so, as I know not whether a man could have commanded like respect. The crowd was about to rush upon the captain, and perhaps he would have received much rougher treatment than a mere snow-balling, but Rose Carew burst through the ring and upbraided them for such conduct.

“This is the act of cowards,” she said. “If you must do violence, why not go forth and fight the savages?”

The point of her remarks reached them, and they saw, too, the humour of what she said. Moreover, our Kentuckians are an impulsive race, and if there is one quality more strongly developed than another in them it is deference to womanhood. Captain Hardy, defended by Rose Carew, was as safe as if he sat undisturbed in his own home.

“I think you are upon a poor business,” she continued, “and there are some among you who have set themselves to another task still poorer. I know of it, I have heard of it, and I tell you to take care lest you do yourselves a mischief.”

She paused and looked around, her face glowing, and her look was so accusing that the gaze of none in that crowd could stand before it. I made no movement then, because I was occupied with admiration of her quick and generous action. To me a beautiful woman is more beautiful than ever when she is moved by noble anger.

“This man to whom you would do harm,” she continued, “is far braver than any among you. He was in that battle on the Wabash, and he risked his life many times. I was there and I know. Which of you has done as much?”

They gave no answer and began to scatter in the town, though not neglecting to applaud her as they went. Such was their impulse.

Captain Hardy took off his hat, which he had replaced, and which was somewhat indented by its contact with hardened snow. Nevertheless, its damaged condition did not affect his politeness.

“It is pleasant at any time to be saved, Miss Carew,” he said, “but when one has so fair a rescuer one knows not what to say.”

“Then say nothing,” she replied, and she laughed —I think it came as a relief to her tense feelings. Then she turned to me.

“Why did you not stop them, Mr. Lee?” she asked.

I reddened. I could not deny that I had been somewhat slack in moving to Captain Hardy’s relief.

“You did not give me the opportunity,” I said. “You were so much readier than I.”

She accepted my apology, but whether satisfied with it or not I did not know. Then we walked on with Captain Hardy, and he told us that the Government must have volunteers to protect the border, since the President could send no more troops at present. I gave him some hint of the state of public opinion in Kentucky, a hint that perhaps he did not need after his recent experience, and in a few minutes he left us, as his time was pressing. I, too, had begun to excuse myself, but Miss Carew asked me to go with her to her father’s house, and I could not refuse.

“Why have you not come there since our return?” she asked.

“I did not know that I would be welcome,” I replied. “My cousin Jasper is here now, and he is able to do all the honours of the Lee family.”

“Your cousin Jasper is himself, not you,” she said, “and I tell you, Mr. Lee, that you are cherishing a false pride. No man is more honoured here than you. Why should you keep yourself from the public view? You might become a great figure in this new land.”

“I do not wish it,” I said, and I was sincere then.

Her face was grave and sad, the flush of strenuous action having passed.

“You wrong yourself,” she continued. “Kentucky occupies a position of much danger, and it needs men of tenacity and steady conduct. Your voice might do much good here.”

“It would not be listened to.”

“You do not know that. Your help is needed in Kentucky as much as it was back there in the wilderness with St. Clair. Do you think that I am blind and deaf because I am a woman? I know the feeling that has arisen here, and how artful men are fomenting it for their own selfish ends. I think they are the worst of traitors to take advantage of such a time when we are under misfortune, and the minds of men turn naturally to new things.”

She spoke the condemnation of her own father, and because she used such words I was persuaded that she did not know of his complicity.

“You will not have a part in any such affair,” she said to me.

“Did you think that I would share it?” I asked.

She replied in the negative, and I saw that she was sincere. Then she began to talk freely, and it was a relief to her to make this confidence. I repeat that women are better patriots than men, because their patriotism is never tinctured with calculation; it is always sentimental and of the heart, like their love for husband or child. Because they had suffered much in behalf of the country, and had received no reward, the Kentuckians, she thought, ought to stand all the more firmly in its defence. Were she a man she would help Captain Hardy in his mission to the utmost of her ability. I should mention here that even as a woman she was of great aid to him, perhaps greater than if she had been a man. While she spoke thus I resolved to keep her ignorant of her father’s duplicity and complicity if I could. I believed that he talked one way to her, and another to Knowlton and Curry and their like.

The night following this conversation was cold and dark, and wearying of the little inn at which I stayed, perforce, for lack of a better place, I strolled outside for the sake of the brisk air so necessary now to me, a man of the wilderness. I looked at the forms of the buildings rising obscurely, and the dozen lights or so, twinkling here and there; then I looked at the dim figure of old Joe Grimes hastening past. I knew his slouch in an instant despite the darkness, and I hailed him.

“Why such a hurry, Joe, at this time of the night?” I asked.

“Ask no questions an’ you’ll get no lies,” he replied, and was for passing on; but I seized him by the arm, and as I was the stronger man he was compelled to stop. Joe Grimes was always a poor dissembler, and I knew by the tone of his response that mischief was afoot.

“Joe,” I said, “you are about to do something of which you are ashamed.”

He flushed guiltily and then grew angry, endeavouring to snatch himself loose, although I held to his arm.

“What’s my business to do is yours to let alone,” he said. “You’ve been a good comrade of mine, John Lee, but I’ve lived in the wilderness a long time, and I don’t mean to begin asking you now if I may go out in the dark by myself.”

But I knew him thoroughly, and therefore I could afford to talk to him as I did.

“Joe,” I said, “you’ve never needed to ask me before, but you do now. I told you the other day that you could not be a villain, but you can be a fool, and you are proving it.”

He pulled loose from me with an oath and hurried away. That he was troubled by a guilty conscience I felt sure, or he would not have been so impatient about it, and I was moved to follow him; an impulse that I obeyed, and I felt right in doing so. He walked toward a small wooden building in the outskirts of the town, which I recognised as the home of Underwood’s little school. It was unlighted, but when old Joe knocked on the door he was admitted, and I formed at once the conclusion that the conspirators were meeting there. I was alarmed. I had not really believed that the matter would go so far, and the fact that Rose Carew’s father, led on by some fantastic dream, was among these men did not lessen my trouble. I was amazed, too, that the schoolmaster should be one of them. I did not think him so bold.

I lingered there long, trying to decide what I ought to do, or rather what I would do. It was my duty to denounce these men and to put a stop by what means I could to their treasonable plottings. And yet I hesitated; they would retort upon me with that old conviction of mine; they would say that there is nothing like the zeal of the converted, and that I was trying to win credit by accusing others of what I had done. And there, too, was Rose Carew’s father.

I was aroused from my doubts by a light step, and I beheld the schoolmaster, Underwood himself, approaching. My impulse when I saw him was one of distinct aversion. I remembered the epithet that had been applied to him—the basest of all names upon the border, “coward”—and now to find him a conspirator also, sneaking through the darkness, was too much for my feelings.

“You are late for your wicked work, Mr. Coward,” I said to myself, “and ’tis no wonder; cowards usually are.”

I expected him to glide past me like a shadow, sure that a schoolmaster’s eyes would not note me in that darkness; instead, he turned and came straight to me.

“Have you seen any one go into that house, Mr. Lee?” he asked, pointing toward the school building.

“Yes, Mr. Underwood,” I replied; “all your fellow-plotters are there; they wait for you only; you should hasten.”

“I do not understand you,” he said.

I laughed. I felt in a bitter humour, and this man rubbed me the wrong way.

“I ask you to come with me, Mr. Lee,” he said with sudden vigour. “I wish you to be a witness of what is about to occur.”

He put his hand upon my arm, and his fingers felt like iron. The man’s manner changed, and his eager face, which was close to mine, showed strength. There was mastery, too, in his eyes, and I yielded to his request without a word.

We approached the house, and he knocked upon the door. It was opened but a few inches, and some one was about to ask the name of him who came, but Underwood pushed past him, and I followed.

It was an odd place in which to hold such a meeting, but perhaps the best that could be found in Danville, as it was untenanted at night. It was a single room with wooden benches for the pupils, and a split-bottomed chair, beside which stood a little table, for the teacher. The room was lighted by one window, the clapboard shutter of which was now closed, keeping any ray of the dim candle that burned on the table from reaching the outside. In the room were Mr. Carew, Jasper, Knowlton, Curry, Harvey, old Joe Grimes, and a half-dozen others. Faint as the light was, I saw a look of apprehension upon all their faces, when we entered, but it disappeared gradually.

“I see that you have reconsidered, Lee,” said Mr. Carew in familiar tones. “You do well.”

It was my intent to answer him, but I lacked opportunity because the schoolmaster spoke with such quickness.

“You do not do well, Mr. Carew,” he said. “You do ill to turn such a place as this into a nest for conspirators.”

“Be quiet, Underwood,” said Curry fiercely, with a snap of his aggressive jaws. “You are but a teacher in this house, and you do not own it.”

Curry was a man of influence and wealth in the community, and Underwood was in a measure dependent upon him for his place. But the schoolmaster was not daunted. He might be a physical but certainly he was not a moral coward, and at that moment I admired him.

His long thin finger swayed a little as he spoke, but his eyes, which had appeared dull to me before, were burning.

“I know the purpose for which you have come here,” he said, and his eyes roved from one to the other of the conspirators, “and if these proceedings are not stopped at once I shall denounce you. There is law in Kentucky for such things as this, and there are plenty of men who will enforce it. None of you is so high that he may not be brought down.”

As he said these last words he shook his finger in the face of Curry, who sprang to his feet with an oath, his face as red as blood, ready to strike at the accuser had not Mr. Carew pulled him down.

“Underwood is excited,” said Mr. Carew, easily and smoothly. “Too much reading of books has given him a vain imagination. We are here to discuss measures for the protection of the border as becomes good citizens, and the schoolmaster’s fancy attributes to us some strange purpose of which perhaps no one ever dreamed.”

“That, Mr. Carew,” said Underwood, “is a clumsy falsehood.”

But Mr. Carew yet kept his temper. Nature had fitted him to be an intriguer.

“Will you kindly give me the name of your tipple, Underwood?” he said, “because when I wish to see things which are not of this earth I shall have merely to taste it.”

But Underwood was not abashed. He spoke again vehemently, and I was surprised at his eloquence. Nor was its effect lost.

“You can not deceive me, Mr. Carew,” he said. “You do not even persuade yourself that you have done so. I know well what has brought you here, and if you do not put an immediate end to such proceedings I swear that I will arouse Kentucky against you!”

It was then that Jasper spoke. He had been sitting at his ease, his expression slightly satirical.

“I am glad, Mr. Underwood,” he said, “that in your great task of casting out devils you have brought with you my good cousin, John Lee. It is said in the wise book that he who is without sin should cast the first stone, and so, what more fitting than that John Lee should accuse this worthy company of gentlemen?”

I was about to speak, but again the schoolmaster was too quick for me.

“I know John Lee’s history,” he said, “and I know too that he is loved by the people of this land whom he has served well. He shall tell with me to-morrow what he has seen and what he knows. And I warn you, Jasper Lee, that the people of Kentucky will pay much more heed to his words than they will to yours.”

Jasper shrank a little, but in a moment or two recovered his coolness.

“Shall we proceed with our discussion, Mr. Carew, when our unbidden guests withdraw?” he asked.

I noticed that the young man Harvey was moving uneasily, and his weak mouth was trembling. I judged that his spirit inclined him to leave them, but Curry suddenly clapped a heavy hand upon his shoulder, and he collapsed as if the touch of that hand had bent him to the will of the older man.

“Come, Mr. Underwood,” I said, putting my hand upon the arm of the schoolmaster, “you have delivered your message here, and none could have done the task with more spirit and directness. Let us go.”

He walked to the door with me, but he turned there and said, with much solemnity, to the assembly in the room:

“You have had your warning. Heed it!” Then we went out together, and we heard them closing and barring the door behind us.

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