Colonel Kenton and his friends came from the house, shaking hands joyfully with their deliverers. Lanterns were produced, and they searched the lawn. Three men lay stiff and cold behind the dwarf pines. Harry shuddered. He was seeing for the first time the terrible fruits of civil war. It was not merely the pitched battles of armies, but often neighbor against neighbor, and sometimes the cloak of North or South would be used as a disguise for the basest of motives.

They also found two sanguinary trails leading to the wood in which the mountaineers had hitched their horses, indicating that the defenders of the Kenton house had shot well. But by the next morning Skelly's men had made good their flight far into the hills where no one could follow them. They sent no request for their own dead who were buried by the Pendleton people.

But the town raised a home guard to defend itself against raiders of any kind, and Colonel Kenton and Harry promptly made ready for their journey to Frankfort, where the choice of the state must soon be made, and whither Raymond Bertrand, the South Carolinian, had gone already. Colonel Kenton feared no charge because of the fight with Skelly's men. He was but defending his own home and here, as in the motherland, a man's house was his castle.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FIGHT FOR A STATE

Colonel Kenton and Harry avoided Louisville, which was now in the hands of Northern sympathizers, and, travelling partly by rail and partly by stage, reached Frankfort early in May to attend the special session of the Legislature called by Governor Magoffin. Although the skirmishing had taken place already along the edge of highland and lowland, the state still sought to maintain its position of neutrality. There was war within its borders, and yet no war. In feeling, it was Southern, and yet its judgment was with the Union. Thousands of ardent young men had drifted southward to join the armies forming there, and thousands of others, equally ardent, had turned northward to join forces that would oppose those below. Harry, young as he was, recognized that his own state would be more fiercely divided than any other by the great strife.

But Federal and Confederate alike preserved the semblance of peace as they gathered at Frankfort for the political struggle over the state. Colonel Kenton and his son took the train at a point about forty miles from the capital, and they found it crowded with public men going from Louisville to Frankfort. It was the oldest railroad west of the Alleghanies, and among the first ever built. The coaches swung around curves, and dust and particles flew in at the windows, but the speed was a relief after the crawling of the stage and Harry stretched himself luxuriously on the plush seat.

A tall man in civilian attire, holding himself very stiffly, despite the swinging and swaying of the train, rose from his seat, and came forward to greet Colonel Kenton.

"George," he said, his voice quivering slightly, "you and I have fought together in many battles in Mexico and the West, but it is likely now that we shall fight other battles on this own soil of ours against each other. But, George, let us be friends always, and let us pledge it here and now."

The words might have seemed a little dramatic elsewhere, but not so under the circ.u.mstances of time and place. Colonel Kenton's quick response came from the depths of a generous soul.

"John," he said as their two hands met in the grip of brothers of the camp and field, "you and I may be on opposing sides, but we can never be enemies. John, this is my son, Harry. Harry, this is Major John Warren of Mason County and the regular army of the United States; he does not think as we do, but even at West Point he was a stubborn idiot. He and I were continually arguing, and he would never admit that he was always wrong. I never knew him to be right in anything except mathematics, and then he was never wrong."

Major Warren smiled and sat down by his old comrade.

"You've a fine boy there, George," he said, "and I suppose he probably takes his opinions from his father, which is a great mistake. I think if I were to talk to him I could show him his, or rather your, error."

"Not by your system of mathematical reasoning, John. Your method is well enough for the building of a fortress or calculating the range of a gun. But it won't do for the actions of men. You allow nothing for feeling, sentiment, a.s.sociation, propinquity, heredity, climate and, and-"

"Get a dictionary or a book of synonyms, George."

"Perhaps I should. I understand how we happen to differ. But I can't explain it well. Well, maybe it will all blow over. The worries of today are often the jokes of tomorrow."

Major Warren shook his head.

"It may blow over," he said, "but it will be a mighty wind; it will blow a long time, and many things for which you and I care, George, will be blown away by it. When that great and terrible wind stops blowing, our country will be changed forever."

"Don't be so downcast, John, you are not dead yet," said Colonel Kenton, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "You've often seen big clouds go by without either wind or rain."

"How about that attack upon your house and you and your friends? The clouds had something in them then."

"Merely mountain outlaws taking advantage of unsettled conditions."

Harry had listened closely and he knew that his father was only giving voice to his hopes, not to his beliefs. But as they ceased to talk of the great question, his attention wandered to the country through which they were pa.s.sing. Spring was now deep and green in Kentucky. They were running through a land of deep, rich soil, with an outcrop of white limestone showing here and there above the heavy green gra.s.s. A peaceful country and prosperous. It seemed impossible that it should be torn by war, by war between those who lived upon it.

Then the train left the gra.s.s lands, cut through a narrow but rough range of hills, entered a gorge and stopped in Frankfort, the little capital, beside the deep and blue Kentucky.

Frankfort had only a few thousand inhabitants, but Harry found here much of the feeling that he had seen in Nashville and Charleston, with an important difference. There it was all Southern, or nearly so, but here North struggled with South on terms that certainly were not worse than equal.

Although the place was crowded, he and his father were lucky enough to secure a room at the chief hotel, which was also the only one of any importance. The hotel itself swarmed with the opposing factions. Senator Culver and Judge Kendrick had a room together across the hall from theirs, and next to them four red hot sympathizers with the Union slept on cots in one apartment. Further down the hall Harvey Whitridge, a state senator, huge of stature, much whiskered, and the proud possessor of a voice that could be heard nearly a mile, occupied a room with Samuel Fowler, a tall, thin, quiet member of the Lower House. The two were staunch Unionists.

Everybody knew everybody else in this dissevered gathering. Nearly everybody was kin by blood to everybody else. In a state affected little by immigration families were more or less related. If there was to be a war it would be, so far as they were concerned, a war of cousins against cousins.

Colonel Kenton and Harry had scarcely bathed their faces and set their clothing to rights, when there was a sharp knock at the door and the Colonel admitted Raymond Bertrand, the South Carolinian, dark of complexion, volatile and wonderfully neat in apparel. He seemed at once to Harry to be a messenger from that Charleston which he had liked, and in the life of which he had had a share. Bertrand shook hands with both with great enthusiasm, but his eyes sparkled when he spoke to Harry.

"And you were there when they fired on Sumter!" he exclaimed. "And you had a part in it! What a glorious day! What a glorious deed! And I had to be here in your cold state, trying to make these descendants of stubborn Scotch and English see the right, and follow gladly in the path of our beautiful star, South Carolina!"

"How goes the cause here, Bertrand?" asked Colonel Kenton, breaking in on his prose epic.

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and his face expressed discontent.

"Not well," he replied, "not as well as I had hoped. There is still something in the name of the Union that stirs the hearts of the Kentuckians. They hesitate. I have worked, I have talked, I have used all the arguments of our ill.u.s.trious President, Mr. Davis, and of the other great men who have charge of Southern fortunes, and they still hesitate. Their blood is not hot enough. They do not have the vision. They lack the fire and splendor of the South Carolinians!"

Harry felt a little heat, but Colonel Kenton was not disturbed at all by the criticism.

"Perhaps you are right, Bertrand," he said thoughtfully. "We Kentuckians have the reputation of being very quick on the trigger, but we are conservative in big things. This is going to be a great war, a mighty great war, and I suppose our people feel like taking a good long look, and then another, equally as long, before they leap."

Bertrand, hot-blooded and impatient, bit his lip.

"It will not do! It will not do!" he exclaimed. "We must have this state. Virginia has gone out! Kentucky is her daughter! Then why does not she do the same?"

"You must give us time, Bertrand," said Colonel Kenton, still speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "We are not starting upon any summer holiday, and I can understand how the people here feel. I'm going with my people and I'm going to fire on the old flag, under which I've fought so often, but you needn't think it comes so easy. This thing of choosing between the sections is the hardest task that was ever set for a man."

Harry had never heard his father speak with more solemnity. Bertrand was silent, overawed by the older man, but to the boy the words were extremely impressive. His youthful temperament was sensitive to atmosphere. In Charleston he shared the fire, zeal and enthusiasm of an impressionable people. They saw only one side and, for a while, he saw only one side, too. Here in Frankfort the atmosphere was changed. They saw two sides and he saw two sides with them.

"But you need have no fear about us, Bertrand," continued Colonel Kenton. "My heart is with the South, and so is my boy's. I thought that Kentucky would go out of the Union without a fight, but since there is to be a struggle we'll go through with it, and win it. Don't be afraid, the state will be with you yet."

They talked a little longer and then Bertrand left. Harry politely held the door open for him, and, as he went down the hall, he saw him pa.s.s Whitridge and Fowler. Contrary to the custom which still preserved the amenities they did not speak. Bertrand gave them a look of defiance. It seemed to Harry that he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips firmly together, and, looking straight ahead of him, walked to the stairway, down which he disappeared. As Harry still stood in the open doorway, Whitridge and Fowler approached.

"Can we come in?" Whitridge asked.

"Yes, Harvey," said Colonel Kenton over the boy's shoulder. "Both of you are welcome here at any time."

The two men entered and Harry gave them chairs. Whitridge's creaked beneath him with his mighty weight.

"George," said the Senator pointedly but without animosity, "you and I have known each other a good many years, and we are eighth or tenth cousins, which counts for something in this state. Now, you have come here to Frankfort to pull Kentucky out of the Union, and I've come to pull so hard against you that you can't. You know it and I know it. All's square and above board, but why do you bring here that South Carolina Frenchman to meddle in the affairs of the good old state of Kentucky? Is it any business of his or of the other people down there? Can't we decide it ourselves? We're a big family here in Kentucky, and we oughtn't to bring strangers into the family council, even if we do have a disagreement. Besides, he represents the Knights of the Golden Circle, and what they are planning is plumb foolishness. Even if you are bound to go out and split up the Union, I'd think you wouldn't have anything to do with the wholesale grabbing of Spanish-speaking territories to the southward."

"There's a lot in what you say, Harvey," replied Colonel Kenton, speaking with the utmost good humor, "but I didn't bring Bertrand here; he came of his own accord. Besides, while I'm strong for the South, I think this Knights of the Golden Circle business is bad, just as you do."

"I'm glad you've got that much sense left, George," said Whitridge. "You army men never do know much about politics. It's easy to pull the wool over your eyes."

"Have you and Fowler come here for that purpose?" asked the colonel, smiling.

It was the preliminary to a long argument carried on without temper. Harry listened attentively, but as soon as it was over and Whitridge and Fowler had gone, he tumbled into his bed and went to sleep.

He rose early the next morning, before his father in fact, as he was eager to see more of Frankfort, ate a solid breakfast almost alone, and went into the streets, where the first person he met was his own cousin and schoolmate, d.i.c.k Mason. The two boys started, looked first at each other with hostile glances, which changed the next instant to looks of pleasure and welcome, and then shook hands with power and heartiness. They could not be enemies. They were boys together again.

"Why, d.i.c.k," exclaimed Harry, "I thought you had gone east to save the Union."