“Be of good cheer, my friends!” he cried. “I have always held the high faith that if we appeal to the heart of the misguided foe who invades our soil we can make him a good American. I, for one, will set my life on the issue. I will go as your ambassador to this foe. He is a man of the same hopes and faith even as you and I. Touched by the same divine influences that have lifted us from the barbarism of war we can save him also! “Have no fear--this is all senseless panic. Personally I do not believe this wild canard of a foreign invasion. Our cities may be the victims of a wide conspiracy of dissatisfied Socialists and Anarchists--but a foreign foe--bah! I go to meet him with faith serene!” Pike related the story of this scene with a hush of awe in his voice as if he had seen a vision of the living God and the sight had stricken him partly dumb. Vassar appealed finally to the General to give them a pass through the lines. “Tell those two windbags to go through my lines if they wish--I don’t give a damn where they go,” Hood snapped. “I only hope and pray that a friendly bayonet lets the air out of them so that we shall never hear them again. I won’t see them. I won’t speak to them. I won’t give them a scrap of paper. If they dare to pass with any fool proposition of their disordered brains, it’s their affair--not mine. Tell them to get out of this camp quick--I don’t care which way they go.” At Pike’s solicitation Vassar escorted Barker through the lines and watched the pair disappear arm in arm down the turnpike toward Southampton. They walked five miles before they found a conveyance. They tried to hire a rig from a farmer. He refused to move at any price--even after Barker explained who he was and the tremendous import of his mission. Through much dickering they succeeded in buying of him an old horse that had been turned out to graze. The Long Islander drove a hard bargain. After loud protests, and finally denunciation for his lack of patriotism, Barker counted out two hundred and fifty dollars of his last lecture fee. He still carried the fifteen hundred dollars in cash in his inside pocket. They tried in vain to find another horse. For this one they had no saddle. As Barker was getting stout, and puffed painfully at the hills, little Pike insisted that he ride. “You first, Brother Pike--“ the orator maintained. “No--no--Brother Barker, you ride, I can walk!” Pike protested. They finally compromised on the principles of the peace propaganda and both of them mounted the old steed--the silver-tongued orator in front and his faithful henchman behind holding to his ample waist.