I opened my portmanteau, that lay on the floor of the wagon, and handed him a copy of Whittier's poems. It happened to be the only book, excepting the Bible, that I had with me.
"Read that, Scipio," I said. "It is a book of poetry, but written by a good man at the North, who greatly pities the slave."
He took the book, and the big tears rolled down his cheeks, as he said: "Tank you, massa, tank you. Nobody war neber so good to me afore."
During our conversation, the sky, which had looked threatening all the morning, began to let fall the big drops of rain; and before we reached Conwayboro, it poured down much after the fashion of the previous night. It being cruelty to both man and beast to remain out in such a deluge, we pulled up at the village hotel (kept, like the one at Georgetown, by a lady), and determined to remain overnight, unless the rain should abate in time to allow us to reach our destination before dark.
Dinner being ready soon after our arrival (the people of Conwayboro, like the "common folks" that Davy Crockett told about, dine at twelve), I sat down to it, first hanging my outer garments, which were somewhat wet, before the fire in the sitting-room. The house seemed to be a sort of public boarding-house, as well as hotel, for quite a number of persons, evidently town's-people were at the dinner-table. My appearance attracted some attention, though not more, I thought, than would be naturally excited in so quiet a place by the arrival of a stranger; but "as nobody said nothing to me, I said nothing to nobody."
Dinner over, I adjourned to the "sitting-room," and seating myself by the fire, watched the drying of my "outer habiliments." While thus engaged, the door opened, and three men—whom I should have taken for South Carolina gentlemen, had not a further acquaintance convinced me to the contrary—entered the room. Walking directly up to where I was sitting, the foremost one accosted me something after this manner:
"I see you are from the North, sir."
Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the "salute," but guessing his object, I answered: "No, sir; I am from the South."
"From what part of the South?"
"I left Georgetown yesterday, and Charleston two days before that," I replied, endeavoring to seem entirely oblivious to his meaning.