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.
IV.
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 sen me on anuder road to Erie an’ put me on the ‘Thomas Jefferson,’ the name of that great author of liberty from ole Virginy, and soon I was safe in Canidy.”