I.
“I say, Ed, if you get away with me, it will have to be done soon.”
“Yes, Massa Coppoc; da’s ’ginnin’ to spishun you right smart.”
“I know that, Ed, and if you are ready to strike for freedom to-night, we will see what can be done. If not, I must be off.”
“Well, Massa, dis chil’ am ready. Him no lan’ to sell, no truck to ’spose of, no wife an’ chil’n to ’cupy his detention, an’ he ’queaths his ’sitiashun to any one wat wants it.”
“Very well, Ed, as soon as all is quiet, meet me at the shed in your Sunday best; and now be off.”
“Suah, sartin, bof, Massa Coppoc.”
The above conversation took place about twenty miles back from Ohio between a young Buckeye who was ostensibly vending some kind of wares among the F. F. V’s., but really paving the way to that startling episode at Harper’s Ferry, in which he, a few years later, played so conspicuous a part; and a genuine descendant of Ham, after the real Virginian type, quaint, ungainly, and standing about six feet six, and rejoicing in the sobriquet, Ed. Howard.
Coppoc had been some little time in the neighborhood, and the impression began to prevail that his presence boded no guaranty of the retention of movable property. This his shrewd eye had perceived, and his resolve to rescue Ed. led to the above conversation, the conclusion of a series that had transpired between them.