III.
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 were already 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 struck and 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 the Parson “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 show them 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, he took 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 a trap he 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.