Within an hour from Ben’s encounter he was arrested without warrant by the military commandant, handcuffed, and placed on the train for Columbia, more than a hundred miles distant. The first purpose of sending him in charge of a negro guard was abandoned for fear of a riot. A squad of white troops accompanied him.

Elsie was waiting at the gate, watching for his coming, her heart aglow with happiness.

When Marion and little Hugh ran to tell the exciting news, she thought it a joke and refused to believe it.

“Come, dear, don’t tease me; you know it’s not true!”

“I wish I may die if ’tain’t so!” Hugh solemnly declared. “He run Gus away ’cause he scared Aunt Margaret so. They come and put handcuffs on him and took him to Columbia. I tell you Grandpa and Grandma and Aunt Margaret are mad!”

Elsie called Phil and begged him to see what had happened.

When Phil reported Ben’s arrest without a warrant, and the indignity to which he had been subjected on the amazing charge of resisting military authority, Elsie hurried with Marion and Hugh to the hotel to express her 219 indignation, and sent Phil to Columbia on the next train to fight for his release.

By the use of a bribe Phil discovered that a special inquisition had been hastily organized to procure perjured testimony against Ben on the charge of complicity in the murder of a carpet-bag adventurer named Ashburn, who had been killed at Columbia in a row in a disreputable resort. This murder had occurred the week Ben Cameron was in Nashville. The enormous reward of $25,000 had been offered for the conviction of any man who could be implicated in the killing. Scores of venal wretches, eager for this blood money, were using every device of military tyranny to secure evidence on which to convict—no matter who the man might be. Within six hours of his arrival they had pounced on Ben.

They arrested as a witness an old negro named John Stapler, noted for his loyalty to the Camerons. The doctor had saved his life once in a dangerous illness. They were going to put him to torture and force him to swear that Ben Cameron had tried to bribe him to kill Ashburn. General Howle, the Commandant of the Columbia district, was in Charleston on a visit to headquarters.

Phil resorted to the ruse of pretending, as a Yankee, the deepest sympathy for Ashburn, and by the payment of a fee of twenty dollars to the Captain, was admitted to the fort to witness the torture.

They led the old man trembling into the presence of the Captain, who sat on an improvised throne in full uniform. 220

“Have you ordered a barber to shave this man’s head?” sternly asked the judge.

“Please, Marster, fer de Lawd’s sake, I ain’ done nuttin‘—doan’ shave my head. Dat ha’r been wropped lak dat fur ten year! I die sho’ ef I lose my ha’r.”

“Bring the barber, and take him back until he comes,” was the order. In an hour they led him again into the room blindfolded, and placed him in a chair.

“Have you let him see a preacher before putting him through?” the Captain asked. “I have an order from the General in Charleston to put him through to-day.”

“For Gawd’s sake, Marster, doan’ put me froo—I ain’t done nuttin’ en I doan’ know nuttin’!”

The old negro slipped to his knees, trembling from head to foot.

The guards caught him by the shoulders and threw him back into the chair. The bandage was removed, and just in front of him stood a brass cannon pointed at his head, a soldier beside it holding the string ready to pull. John threw himself backward, yelling:

“Goddermighty!”

When he scrambled to his feet and started to run, another cannon swung on him from the rear. He dropped to his knees and began to pray.

“Yas, Lawd, I’se er comin’. I hain’t ready—but, Lawd, I got ter come! Save me!”

“Shave him!” the Captain ordered.

While the old man sat moaning, they lathered his head with two scrubbing-brushes and shaved it clean. 221

“Now stand him up by the wall and measure him for his coffin,” was the order.

They snatched him from the chair, pushed him against the wall, and measured him. While they were taking his measure, the man next to him whispered:

“Now’s the time to save your hide—tell all about Ben Cameron trying to hire you to kill Ashburn.”

“Give him a few minutes,” said the Captain, “and maybe we can hear what Mr. Cameron said about Ashburn.”

“I doan’ know nuttin’, General,” pleaded the old darkey. “I ain’t heard nuttin’—I ain’t seed Marse Ben fer two monts.”

“You needn’t lie to us. The rebels have been posting you. But it’s no use. We’ll get it out of you.”

“‘Fo’ Gawd, Marster, I’se telling de truf!”

“Put him in the dark cell and keep him there the balance of his life unless he tells,” was the order.

At the end of four days, Phil was summoned again to witness the show.

John was carried to another part of the fort and shown the sweat-box.

“Now tell all you know or in you go!” said his tormentor.

The negro looked at the engine of torture in abject terror—a closet in the walls of the fort just big enough to admit the body, with an adjustable top to press down too low for the head to be held erect. The door closed tight against the breast of the victim. The only air admitted was through an auger-hole in the door. 222

The old man’s lips moved in prayer.

“Will you tell?” growled the Captain.

“I cain’t tell ye nuttin’ ‘cept’n’ a lie!” he moaned.

They thrust him in, slammed the door, and in a loud voice the Captain said:

“Keep him there for thirty days unless he tells.”

He was left in the agony of the sweat-box for thirty-three hours and taken out. His limbs were swollen and when he attempted to walk he tottered and fell.

The guard jerked him to his feet, and the Captain said:

“I’m afraid we’ve taken him out too soon, but if he don’t tell he can go back and finish the month out.”

The poor old negro dropped in a faint, and they carried him back to his cell.

Phil determined to spare no means, fair or foul, to secure Ben’s release from the clutches of these devils. He had as yet been unable to locate his place of confinement.

He continued his ruse of friendly curiosity, kept in touch with the Captain, and the Captain in touch with his pocketbook.

Summoned to witness another interesting ceremony, he hurried to the fort.

The officer winked at him confidentially, and took him out to a row of dungeons built of logs and ceiled inside with heavy boards. A single pane of glass about eight inches square admitted light ten feet from the ground.

There was a commotion inside, curses, groans, and cries for mercy mingling in rapid succession.

“What is it?” asked Phil.

“Hell’s goin’ on in there!” laughed the officer. 223

“Evidently.”

A heavy crash, as though a ton weight had struck the floor, and then all was still.

“By George, it’s too bad we can’t see it all!” exclaimed the officer.

“What does it mean?” urged Phil.

Again the Captain laughed immoderately.

“I’ve got a blue-blood in there taking the bluin’ out of his system. He gave me some impudence. I’m teaching him who’s running this country!”

“What are you doing to him?” Phil asked with a sudden suspicion.

“Oh, just having a little fun! I put two big white drunks in there with him—half-fighting drunks, you know—and told them to work on his teeth and manicure his face a little to initiate him into the ranks of the common people, so to speak!”

Again he laughed.

Phil, listening at the keyhole, held up his hand:

“Hush, they’re talking——”

He could hear Ben Cameron’s voice in the softest drawl:

“Say it again.”

“Please, Marster!”

“Now both together, and a little louder!”

“Please, Marster,” came the united chorus.

“Now what kind of a dog did I say you are?”

“The kind as comes when his marster calls.”

“Both together—the under dog seems to have too much cover, like his mouth might be full of cotton.”

They repeated it louder. 224

“A common—stump-tailed—cur-dog?”

“Yessir.”

“Say it.”

“A common—stump-tailed—cur-dog—Marster!”

“A pair of them.”

“A pair of ’em.”

“No, the whole thing—all together—‘we—are—a—pair!’”

“Yes—Marster.” They repeated it in chorus.

“With apologies to the dogs——”

“Apologies to the dogs——”

“And why does your master honour the kennel with his presence to-day?”

“He hit a nigger on the head so hard that he strained the nigger’s ankle, and he’s restin’ from his labours.”

“That’s right, Towser. If I had you and Tige a few hours every day I could make good squirrel-dogs out of you.”

There was a pause. Phil looked up and smiled.

“What does it sound like?” asked the Captain, with a shade of doubt in his voice.

“Sounds to me like a Sunday-school teacher taking his class through a new catechism.”

The Captain fumbled hurriedly for his keys.

“There’s something wrong in there.”

He opened the door and sprang in.

Ben Cameron was sitting on top of the two toughs, knocking their heads together as they repeated each chorus.

“Walk in, gentlemen. The show is going on now—the animals are doing beautifully,” said Ben. 225

The Captain muttered an oath. Phil suddenly grasped him by the throat, hurled him against the wall, and snatched the keys from his hand.

“Now open your mouth, you white-livered cur, and inside of twenty-four hours I’ll have you behind the bars. I have all the evidence I need. I’m an ex-officer of the United States Army, of the fighting corps—not the vulture division. This is my friend. Accompany us to the street and strike your charges from the record.”

The coward did as he was ordered, and Ben hurried back to Piedmont with a friend toward whom he began to feel closer than a brother.

When Elsie heard the full story of the outrage, she bore herself toward Ben with unusual tenderness, and yet he knew that the event had driven their lives farther apart. He felt instinctively the cold silent eye of her father, and his pride stiffened under it. The girl had never considered the possibility of a marriage without her father’s blessing. Ben Cameron was too proud to ask it. He began to fear that the differences between her father and his people reached to the deepest sources of life.

Phil found himself a hero at the Cameron House. Margaret said little, but her bearing spoke in deeper language than words. He felt it would be mean to take advantage of her gratitude.

But he was quick to respond to the motherly tenderness of Mrs. Cameron. In the groups of neighbours who gathered in the evenings to discuss with the doctor the hopes, fears, and sorrows of the people, Phil was a charmed listener to the most brilliant conversations he 226 had ever heard. It seemed the normal expression of their lives. He had never before seen people come together to talk to one another after this fashion. More and ............