CHAPTER IX.GEORGE GRAY.

“My deah chile, ’tis too bad.”

“Too bad, mother! I tell you I’s agoin’ to run away. Ole Massa can’t whip dis chile no moah. I’d rather be shot or hab the dogs tear me to pieces.”

“Hush, chile, hush! you’ll break your ole mudder’s heart, ’cause it’s a’most done gone smashed afore, an’ now she knows you can neber, neber, get across the big river an’ de great lake. I tell yer, chile, you better stay wid ole mas’r if em do whip.”

“Mother, my mine is made up. Massa Jones hab whipped George Gray for de las time. I hate to leave you, mother, but then I’s agoin’. Some day de Massa’ll sell me as he did father an’ de res’ of us down South, an’ then you shall see George no moah, an’ I’d hab no blessed chance for ’scape, so now I’s goin’ for freedom or I’s goin’ to die. I say ole massa can’t whip me no moah.”

“De will ob de Lor’ be done, chile; but how is you agoin’ to do it?”

“I’ll tell you mother, ole Massa’ll neber s’pec’ you. He’ll neber look for George ’bout dis shanty. So I’s agoin’ down to de river an’ cross down in de skiff,den I goes to de swamp an’ comes carefully back an’ crawls under your bed. When Massa misses me, you can tell him I’s runned away, an’ he’ll start the horses an’ the men for de swamp, an’ for two or three days they’ll hunt for George there jus’ as they did for Uncle Pete; den Massa’ll put me in de papers as a runaway nigger, an’ then when all is ober heah I’s comin’ out an’ goin’ at de river an’ cross de mountins till I gits to Canidy.”

“De bressed Lor’, an’ doan yer s’pec’ ole Massa’ll hunt dis shanty frough an’ frough, chile?”

“Ole Massa’ll never s’pec’ you, mother; you’s been wid him too long. He never whipped you, an’ when he comes in de mornin’, for to inquire, you mus’ be prayin’; prayin’ for me that I may be cotched.”

“Bress de Lor’, he mus’ ’ov put all dis in de head of de chile as he put his son Moses in de bullrushes down dar in de lan’ of Canin. Chile, your black ole mudder’ll cover you wid her bed like as the ole black hen covers her chicks when de hawk comes to steal de little ones from dar mudder’s lub. Now, chile, jus’ you fix it all up an’ de Lor’ ob dat big feller, Sabot, yes dat was de man, be wid you, an’ it doan matter bout dis ole woman no moah.”

The above conversation took place many years ago in a cabin in the negro quarter of the plantation of Samuel Jones on the James river, in Virginia. Mr. Jones was a thriving planter and an extensive dealer in slaves. Though in some respects of the better class of slave-breeders, he inherited many of thelegitimate characteristics of the peculiar institution. Towards the men slaves he was tyrannical in the extreme, whilst eyeing the fairer and younger among the women with an eye of lechery.

The plantation had come to him from his father, and with it the family of John Gray consisting of himself and wife, known for miles around as “Prayin’ Hanner,” and several children. The father and older children, all having a slight tinge of the Caucassian about them, Mr. Jones early sold to southern dealers, retaining only the mother and her infant George.

The mother, on account of her acknowledged piety and ability to labor, was assigned a special cabin and for years had done the family laundry work and baking and discharged other duties of a similar character. Resigned to her condition, she labored on year after year, ever singing and praying and with her loyalty all unquestioned. Not so with her growing boy, however. The white blood that was in him, though limited, constantly rebelled against his condition, and as his years advanced, brought on frequent conflicts between him and his master, which invariably ended in the boy’s being severely whipped. Though feeling for him, on such occasions, as only a mother can feel, still Hannah Gray exhorted him to be obedient and submissive. Whenever the master threatened to sell him south, then it was that her prayers that one of her kin might be left to her mightily prevailed. The natural adaptability of theyouth secured for him many privileges, and he had been with his master several times to the national capital and other points and had picked up much general intelligence, and his mode of expression had, to some extent, risen above the plantation vernacular.

The conflict on this particular occasion had arisen between master and slave because George had asked the privilege of visiting a young quadroon of the plantation on whom Jones had fastened his lecherous eyes. As usual the controversy ended in the young man’s being bound to a post by some of the hands and then inhumanly flogged by his owner. Stung to madness, when all were settled for the night, he left his quarters and sought the cabin of his mother, and there, as we have seen, divulged his determination to seek a land of freedom. True to his purpose, when he had gained his mother’s consent, he went down to the river and unloosing a skiff floated down with the current some distance and then landing, struck boldly across to a neighboring swamp. Entering this, he passed on a short distance until he came to a small creek which led directly to the river. He now divested himself of his clothing which he safely placed upon his shoulders, and following the cove soon reached the river into which he plunged, and being an expert swimmer, was soon on the home side again, and making his way quietly to his mother’s cabin, where he was safely secreted beneath what he had augured an impregnable citadel, her bed.

HANNAH PRAYING.

Morning came soon, and the hands sallied from their quarters but with them came no George Gray. The word spread rapidly and soon reached both the cabin of Prayin’ Hanner and the mansion that he was missing. As soon as the proprietor could dress himself and make proper inquiries, he hastened to the shanty of the mother whom he found at her morning devotions, having begun them just as she saw his approach. Not wishing to disturb her he stopped before the door and caught these words of invocation:

“Bressed Lor’, dey say my poah, dear chile am gone. Am he drown? may de Lor’ raise de body up dat dis ole black form may follow in its sorrow to de grabe. Hab he killed hisself? may de Lor’ hab mercy on his soul, for Geog’ was a bad boy; he made mas’r heaps o’ trouble. O Lor’, if he hab runned away, may mas’r cotch him agin—not de houn’, but mas’r an’ de men, an’ den when mas’r Jones whip him, may de bressed Lor’ sen’ down ole Lija, an’ ’vert his soul, dat he no moah disrember mas’r but dat he do his will for his ole mudder’s sake, an’ for de sake ob his good mas’r, an’ for de sake ob dat heben whar de Lor’ is. Dis, Lor’, am de prayer of poah ole Hanner, amen.”

The prayer ceased and the master entered, only to find, as he inferred from it, that the intelligence of George’s departure had preceded him, and farther that the boy had been in there the night before and acted very strangely; that the mother had advised him to go to his quarters and be a good boy.

Leaving the woman to her work, he went out and gave orders for a search. Soon it was discovered that the skiff was gone and directly after it was found half a mile down the river with footsteps leading towards the swamp. A pack of hounds belonging on a plantation below was sent for and search begun in earnest, and kept up unceasingly for three days but without success, and then the hands were called in. In the meantime there appeared in the LynchburgHeraldthe following:

$500.00 Reward.

“Run Awayfrom the subscriber, George Gray, a negro, nearly pure, about twenty-one years old, and weighing one-hundred and fifty pounds. He talks pretty good English. Five hundred dollars will be given for him alive.”Samuel Jones.

Antwerp, Va., June 25, 1841.

During these days the cabin of Prayin’ Hanner was filled with sacred songs, earnest prayers and sympathizing visitors, not one of whom, white or black, as he listened to, or participated in the devotions, supposed for one moment that he who had called them all forth, that “deah chile,” was quietly drinking them in. When the nights came, and everything was still, then George emerged for a little time to rest and refresh himself.

GEORGE GRAY’S ESCAPE.

Thus matters passed until the fourth night came. The sun set amid gathering clouds. The returned hunters gathered in their quarters, some of them to tell how earnestly they had sought to find nothin’; others to depict their true loyalty to Mar’s Jones, and the whites in their homes around, to swear vengeance on every nigger caught fleeing. As the storm broke and the darkness became more intense, George came forth. A little bundle of clothing, with three days’ rations of food, had been carefully prepared for him. There was an embrace, tender as though the participants had been free, a “God bless you, Mother,” a “May de Lor’ still be wid yer as he hab bin,” uttered as earnestly as though by cultured lips, and mother and son parted, never to see each other again.

George Gray went forth fearlessly into the darkness. The country he knew for miles around, and for weary hours he made his way directly up the south bank of the James. Long after midnight the moon arose, and seeking a fitting place, he crossed the river and just as the first gray streakings of the dawn appeared, quietly secreted himself in a jungle of bushes upon the mountain which here comes down close to the river. The rain had obliterated all traces of his course; he was thought to have gone in an opposite direction four days before. Thus far his plans had worked admirably, and feeling safe, he partook of his rations and lay down to a refreshing sleep.

Night found him again in motion, and by the time morning came he had made considerable progress. Again he rested and refreshed himself, and quietlysurveyed the prospect for the future. He knew he was a long way from the Ohio; that much of the way was wild and mountainous, and that wherever there were people the dangers were greatest. His little stock of provisions would soon be gone, and then the berries and fruits of the forest would be his almost sole dependence, only occasionally he might go down to some bondman’s cabin. With these facts before him he faltered not, but pressed resolutely forward, only to find as he approached the river, after weary weeks of vigil, that his master’s advertisement had preceded him, and that base men were watching that they might claim the reward. This news came to him from colored men whom he occasionally contrived to see, for the great humanitarian thoroughfare of the daysante bellumhad its ramifications among the mountains of Virginia, as well as its broader lines on freer soil, though unlike those of the latter their officers were of somber hue. Taken in charge by one of these, George was safely put across the river one stormy night, and in care of a genuine “broad-brim conductor” on a main trunk line, but not until his presence had been scented by a pack of white bloodhounds all too anxious for the recompence of reward, and whose unholy avarice was equalled only by the wary alertness of the disciple of George Fox.

II.

“O for a thousand tongues to singMy great Redeemer’s praise;The glories of my God and King,The triumphs of His grace.”

“O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer’s praise;

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of His grace.”

Thus sang Azel Tracy as he stood running a wheel in his little shop in Hartford, Ohio. The last words were uttered in a subdued tone. This done, the air was continued in a fine specimen of genuine Yankee whistling, intermingled with occasional snatches from “China,” or “Coronation.”

It was only a sample of Mr. Tracy’srailroadtelegraphy, for the low attic of his shop, filled, in part, with bits of lumber and parts of defunct wagons, was an importantstationand it frequently became necessary to signal the waiting passengers, of whom nearly one-hundred, according to the family reckoning, found rest and protection within its narrow limits, a fact one would scarcely believe as he passes it, looking to-day almost identical with its appearance fifty years ago.

Notwithstanding Hartford is a historic anti-slavery town, there were not wanting those within its borders, who for “the recompense of reward,” would willingly have divulged the presence of any fugitives in keeping had he known their whereabouts. It was to guard against this class of persons frequenting his shop that the old wagon-maker had adopted a musical system of signalizing those in his care. When any danger threatened, and silence wasimperative, he would sing a snatch of some familiar hymn or whistle its air; but when “the coast was clear,” Hail Columbia or Yankee Doodle was the signal for “unlimbering.”

On this occasion both the words quoted and the whistling of “Old Hundred” were considered necessary as a double danger signal, for only three nights before there had climbed the narrow ladder in the corner of the shop, drawn it up and let down a board, thus completing the floor, an individual filling to a “dot” the description given in the hand-bill previously referred to, and which was already liberally scattered through Eastern Ohio and Western Pennsylvania. No questions had been asked and only necessary instructions and provisions given. Thirty-six hours later two strangers had put in an appearance in the quiet town, and soon avowed themselves as in quest of the subject of the reward offered.

They had continued to lounge about the village till this Saturday afternoon, much of the time in uncomfortable proximity to the Tracy wagon shop, for they claimed the object of their search had been seen approaching it, and they were even now directly in its front in the highway, holding a colloquy with Dudley, the junior Tracy, and at present, 1894, the inheritor of his father’s trade and shop. “Dud,” as he is familiarly called, was then a strapping boy in his middle teens, bare-footed, without coat or vest, tow-headed, and to all appearances a fine subject for an interview.

“See here, boy,” said one of the strangers, “have you seen anything of a young nigger about here within a day or two?”

“What do you mean, one of them black fellers like that’n the bill tells about yonder?”

“Yes, he’s the chap we want to find.”

“Wal, no, I hain’t seen no such feller, but I hearn about him two or three days ago.”

“How?”

“Why I was a layin’ in the bushes up back of the church and the Gen’ral an’ Sam Fuller cum along and the Gen’ral sez he, ‘Fuller, that boy’s got to be got off. They’r arter him.’”

“Who’s the General?”

“Wal, that’s Mr. Bushnell. They say he keeps some of them black ’uns some times.”

“Tell us what they said.”

“Wal, Fuller he said, ‘What’s going to be done?’ and the Gen’ral said, ‘You come up with the team after dark and take him down to the tow-path that’s down in Pennsylvanee and tell him to keep north till he came to some colored fokeses and they’d send him to Jehu and then he’d be all right.’”

“How far is it to the tow-path?”

“O I don’t know; that’s on the canawl where they drive the hosses hitched to the boats, an’ I never was so fur from hum.”

There was some farther parleying, seemingly entirely satisfactory to the strangers, then they dropped a “bit” into Dud’s hands, and under the influenceof spurs two horses struck out briskly for the land of the Pennymights.

“Dud, I say Dud, come here quick,” called the senior Tracy to the boy who stood gazing after the rapidly receding forms of the horsemen, and the junior slowly responded to the call.

As soon as Dud was within the door the query was raised, “What did the gentlemen want?”

“O nothing much, only they asked me if I’d seen the nigger advertised on the hand-bill yonder?”

“Well, what did you tell them?”

“O not much; I just yawned a little, telling them I heard the Gen’ral tell Mr. Fuller that he must get the boy down to Clarksville and start him north for Bishop, who would get him to the lake.”

“Why, Dud, what a—”

“Come now, dad, no accusations. Didn’t I just hear you tuning your gospel melody as much as to say, ‘Keep still up there,’ and didn’t I hear you tell mother last night, when you thought we children were asleep, you didn’t know what to do? But I did, and I’ve done it and now you needn’t try to keep this thing from me any longer. You’ve thought I don’t know what’s up, but I guess I’ve seen the last twenty darkies you’ve holed in the shop and Uncle Sam has taken away, and now that I’ve got those fellows off, I think you can afford to let me take a hand after this.”

A look of astonishment, mingled with satisfaction, overspread the countenance of Azel Tracy at thisrevelation of the fact that his son was acquainted with so much of the method of theroad, a thing of which he and many another parent, for prudential reasons, tried to keep their children in ignorance, and taking the hand of the boy he replied, “You shall have all the hand in it you wish, my son.”

The sun had dropped below the western horizon when the aforesaid bare-footed boy might have been seen making his way eastward to the home of farmer Fuller, bearing the following note:

48 to 1001.

Dud has cooked the goose. The feathers are left—they are good for Fennland, and the parson needs a text for to-morrow. The loft is good—the cellar better.

Leza.

As a result of this note, when darkness had settled down upon the earth, when candles were extinguished alike in farm house and village home, the old-fashioned buggy of Samuel Fuller stood before the little Hartford shop, and Dud, the Caucassian, surrendered his seat to an African of deepest sable, and soon the vehicle was speeding rapidly northward.

Night, sable goddess, had let her curtains down not only upon a day, but upon a week of toil, for the “Cotter’s Saturday Night” had come to all alike, and the good people of Gustavus, Ohio, had been several hours in the Land of Nod; the dome on the old academy and the spires of the village churches werealready casting moonlight shadows eastward, and good old Parson Fenn was dreaming of “Seventeenthly” in to-morrow’s sermon, when there came three distinct raps upon his back door. Such signals were in no wise unusual to him, and he immediately responded to the call, only to find there a friend from fifteen miles away, and beside him a dusky figure crouching and trembling as if fearful of the moonbeams themselves.

“There’s no time to be lost, Parson,” said he from without. “The hounds are on the track of this game. It has only been by the most indefatigable energy that he has been kept from their grasp from the Ohio to near here. Even now they are abreast of us, only lured across the Pennsylvania line.”

“He can be gotten no farther to-night,” said the Parson musingly, “and all we can do is to put him in hold and keep him till the day goes by. You know the rest.”

There was no word of reply, but a figure gliding silently into the street, a vehicle, with muffled wheels, was headed southward and driven rapidly away. The parson having partially dressed himself, took a jug of water from the well, a loaf of bread and a large slice of meat from the pantry and beckoning the silent figure to follow him, proceeded to a building on the northwest corner of the square, on the front of which appeared the name, “George Hezlip.” Passing to the rear, he pushed aside a door. Both having entered, the door was closed, a light struckand the strange figure was soon reposing in one of several hogsheads carelessly stowed away there, whilst good Benjamin Fenn returned to his bed only to ponder on that mysterious providence which had predestined him to this materialistic work of salvation.

The Sabbath came, and with it, at the appointed hour, the people to the village church. The pastor preached with great power from the words, “Proclaim liberty throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof.”

That sermon was long a matter of comment among the people, a balm to some, a firebrand to others, according to the political faith they entertained, but orthodox to us all after the lapse of many years.

The services ended and dinner over, the Parson sat down to his study-table and penned the following:—

5—9—081—1001—S——s——g.

XXX. In Rome when the white rabbit hangs high the Prætor leads the Vestal band by linden fields, that he may hear the tuning of the great profaner’s voice ere the game goes to Quintus Anno Mundi.

49—1001—U.g.r.r.

The note thus written, was sealed and given to a trusty lad who soon placed it in the hands of an athletic, theological nimrod living in the village, whose love of humanity and admiration for universal redemption were only equalled by that of his affection for his dog, his gun and fishing tackle. When he had read the note, he bade the messenger tell theParson “When the stars are out,” and proceeded at once to change his Sunday garb for a hunting suit.

The bell had already rung for the evening service, and the villagers and the country folk were thronging to the church when two horsemen, on jaded steeds, came down from the north and reigned up at the tavern across from Hezlip’s store and requested refreshments for themselves and horses. The animals were taken in charge by the hostler whilst the riders proceeded to the bar-room and washed and cleaned themselves from the effects of their dusty ride.

Waiting supper, they had a private interview with the landlord in which they stated that they were in pursuit of a young negro who had crossed the Ohio river a few days before and been secreted by an old Quaker. They had traced him as far north as Hartford. There they had been decoyed into Pennsylvania whilst they believed that the fugitive had been run into a line farther west. After going as far north as Espyville they had come across to see if they could not regain the trail.

They were informed, in return, that there were persons in the neighborhood in the employ of the Underground Railroad, of whom the old Parson was the chief, and that it was thought from the energy with which he had preached that morning that there must be a passenger somewhere about. At the least, Boniface assured the officials, for such they had avowed themselves, that after supper he would showthem one of the company’s waiting rooms which he had accidentally discovered.

Twilight had deepened into evening; the “Gustavus House” bell was ringing refreshments for two, and Parson Fenn was praying fervently, “Lord, send sure deliverance to him that fleeth from oppression, and bring to naught the efforts of them that pursue for blood money,” just as a square-rigged form, with elastic step, and showing great power of endurance stepped into the rear of the Hezlip building. Shoving open the door the man uttered a low whistle which was immediately responded to, and a dusky form emerged from one of the hogsheads and followed the leader without a word. Passing through the fields a short distance, they crossed the public highway beyond the churchyard and took to the woods on the right. With rapid strides they passed across fields and through forests for several miles until, leaving the little hamlet of Lindenville to the right, they descended to the Pymatuning flats where the guide deposited his ward in one of those little “hay barns,” so common on the Reserve forty years ago. Returning by the home of the owner, whom he signaled at his bed-room window, he left the laconic instruction, “Feed the yearling steer,” and pressed rapidly on to regain his home, which he did shortly after midnight.

Supper ended at the tavern, the host took a lantern and led his guests across the street to the basement of the store, where the jug, emptied of its contents,and fragments of the bread and meat were readily found, and an accidental application of the hand to the inner surface of the extemporized bed-room showed it still warm from the contact of human flesh.

The language which escaped the foiled pursuers when they found how near they had probably been to the object of their pursuit, was far more forcible than classic. They would have instituted a pursuit at once but Boniface told them such a thing would be useless there, for the old Parson, who was expounding Calvinism across the way, and a young Universalist in the village, who were perfectly at loggerheads on matters of theology, were so in unison on the matter of running off fugitives that they would make it hotter than —— for any one who should assist them, as the most of the community were on the side of the “road.” He advised that they go to Ashtabula, where the runaway would probably take boat for Canada, as their best plan.

This advise they accepted, and after a night’s rest and some observations made about the village in the morning, they departed northward, and in due time drew up at the “American” in Jefferson where their presence soon attracted the attention of a “road official.”

Having breakfast, our liberal theologian sauntered through the village, taking in the dimensions of the strangers and noting their departure northward, then, waiting until the sun had passed the meridian, hetook his gun upon his shoulder and struck eastward as though meaning to make the Kinsman forests. Reaching a convenient point, he changed his course, and an hour before sunset threw down a half dozen squirrels upon the doorstep of the man whose slumbers he had disturbed the previous night. There was a little good-natured parleying as to who should dress the game, then busy hands were at work, and as the sun sank behind the western woodlands the family and hunter-guest sat down to a feast that would have tempted the appetite of a king.

Supper over, the guest challenged the host to take him to an appointment he had a few miles north, which was acceded to, and whilst the latter was getting ready the former went on the way a little to look after atraphe had set sometime before. An hour later and a vehicle with two men in the seat and a straw-covered bundle beneath was driven rapidly towards Jefferson. Arrived within a mile of the town, a halt was called under cover of a little clump of trees, one of the men alighted and stirred up the straw from which emerged a human figure. These two took a field path to the village, whilst the driver turned a little out of the public highway to await returns.

Twenty minutes later there was a rap at the side door of bluff Ben Wade’s home.

“Who the d—l is there?” said a gruff voice from an upper window.

“‘Thribble X’ from ‘A Thousand and One,’” was the quick response.

“What the h—l do you want at this time of night.”

“I have a white rabbit.”

“Take the black k—ss to Atkins; he’ll stuff his hide.”

A half hour more and the “white rabbit” was stowed in the capacious garret of “Anno Mundi” and “Thribble X” was being driven at a gay pace toward the confines of Old Trumbull.

A company of persons awaiting a western bound train stood chatting with the veteran Seely upon the platform at Girard, Pa. Among them, evidently well up in the sixties, was a man of unusually muscular frame. His countenance was open and pleasant, but mostly enveloped in a heavy beard of almost snowy whiteness. Judging from the appearance of his eyes, he was endowed with a more than average gift of language. Indeed he was the central figure in the company. The “Toledo” rolled up and as the group passed into the coach a colored man seated a little back took a close survey of this individual. As they seated themselves in his rear, the negro arose, passed to the front of the car and turning round placed his eyes squarely upon the face of the old gentleman. Thus he stood until Springfield was passed, until Conneaut was nearly reached. Feeling annoyed himself, and noticing that the gaze was attracting the attention of his fellow passengers, the gentleman arose and going forward said:

“Stranger, let us have this out. I can tolerate this impertinence no longer.”

“No ’pertinence, massa, no’ ’pertinence at all,” responded the negro, “I knowed yer the minit yer comed aboard.”

“You know me? I never saw you before that I remember.”

“Bery like, bery like, massa, you’s named Shipman, and doan yer remember the ‘white rabbit’ yer crawled on the hands and knees wid through the tater patch arter you’d got him out of the cellar whar the old Parson had stowed him. Dis chile hab never forgot that face though it had no whiskers then. The Lor’ bress yer, massa, doan yer ’member so long ago?” and the overjoyed man held out his hand which was grasped in a hearty shake by that of his whiter brother.

Seating themselves together, the colored man told the story of his early servitude, and how, armed with no weapon but a butcher knife for defense, he had made that long flight across the mountains without one sense of fear until he had crossed into Ohio and learned that men were there watching for him to claim the reward offered for his return.

“But how,” queried the venerable Shipman, “did you get along after I left you?”

“Lor’ bress you, massa, de next mornin’ that ole swearer, Massa Wade, he comed over to dat Massa Atkins an’ he say, ‘Doan sen’ dat black k—ss to de harb’r, kase h—ll’s a watchin’ for him.’ So dey senme on anuder road to Erie an’ put me on the ‘Thomas Jefferson,’ the name of that great author oflibertyfrom ole Virginy, and soon I was safe in Canidy.”

“And what then?” said Uncle Charley.

“An’ den, Massa Shipman, George Gray went to work to earn money to buy his old mother, but when he had enough he learned she was dead, so he bought him a little home, and then the great wah comed and set all his people free, an’ so now he’s jus’ agoin’ down inter that country to see if Massa Jones hab eber heard from dat ‘deah chile’ who was ‘drown,’ or ‘killed hisself’ or ‘runned away.’ But here am my stoppin’ place, an’ may the good Lor’ bress and save Massa Shipman forever, am the prayer ob de White Rabbit.”

There was another hearty hand-shaking, amid the cheerings of the little throng who had been attentive listeners to the conversation, mutual pledges to meet on the “other shore,” and the old ex-conductor from “station 1001, U. g. r. r.,” and his sable passenger parted company under far pleasanter circumstances than they did in the long ago on the doorstep of Anno Mundi in the village home of Giddings and Wade.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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