“Is that you, Rodney Allison? It is!” Then she laughed, such a merry, rollicking laugh, which the next instant gave place to indignation, as she exclaimed: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What have I done that I should not be permitted to return to Philadelphia? Am I the man your backwoodsmen searched the house for, do you think? Black Pete does not greatly resemble any British officer I ever saw,” and then she laughed again. 243 “And I’m not forage, am I? And there’s not a soul but me in this carriage; look for yourself. There, now tell Pete to drive on, please. After all, I’m glad to see you. And send my love to your mother and Naomi, won’t you.”
Rodney hesitated. She was the same imperious, winsome girl who had been his favourite playmate. No, there was no one inside the carriage; he was sure of that. How the men would laugh at him for capturing a negro and a girl! He felt like a ninny and afraid he might look like one.
“Drive on,” he said with all the importance he could command, adding: “I am sorry to delay you, but must obey orders.”
“Good night,” she called back as she rode away. The coachman was plying the whip, and there was a note of triumph in her voice that somehow jarred on Rodney’s nerves.
As he paced back and forth the conviction that he had made a grave mistake grew upon him, though for his life he could not be sure why it might be a mistake. Why need he say anything about the affair? The men would only joke him. Yes, he would tell the whole story and take the responsibility.
“Did ye inspect the inside o’ the nigger as well as the carriage?” was the question sharply asked him by the officer the following day, when it was found that the officer’s horse was gone from the stable, and that every slave on the place had run away the day before, just after the search of the house.
“‘SAY, YOU FELLERS AS HEV BREECHES OUGHT TER BRING US IN A BITE TER EAT.’”