On leaving the hotel Vincent walked a short distance, and then stopped
until Dan came up to him.
"Anyting de matter, sah?"
"Yes, Dan. There is a notice in the paper that the police have obtained
information that I am traveling disguised as a minister, and have a
negro servant with me.."
"Who told dem dat?" Dan asked in surprise.
"We can talk about that presently, Dan; the great thing at present is to
get away from here. The train for the south starts at ten. Give me the
bag, and follow me at a distance. I will get you a ticket for Nashville,
and as you pass me in the station I will hand it to you. It must not be
noticed that we are traveling together. That is the only clew they have
got."
Dan obeyed his instructions. The journey was a long one. The train was
slow and stopped frequently; passengers got in and out at every station.
The morning's news from the various points at which the respective
forces were facing each other was the general topic of conversation, and
Vincent was interested in seeing how the tone gradually changed as the
passengers from St. Louis one by one left the train and their places
were taken by those of the more southern districts. At first the
sentiment expressed had been violently Northern, and there was no
dissent from the general chorus of hope and expectation that the South
were on their last legs and that the rebellion would shortly be stamped
out; but gradually, as the train approached the State of Tennessee, the
Unionist opinion, although expressed with even greater force and
violence, was by no means universal. Many men read their papers in
silence and took no part whatever in the conversation, but Vincent could
see from the angry glances which they shot at the speakers that the
sentiments uttered were distasteful to them. He himself had scarcely
spoken during the whole journey. He had for some time devoted himself to
the newspaper, and had then purchased a book from the newsboy who
perambulated the cars. Presently a rough-looking man who had been among
the wildest and most violent in his denunciation of the South said,
looking at Vincent:
"I see by the papers to-day that one of the cursed rebel officers who
gave them the slip at Elmira is traveling in the disguise of a minister.
I guess it's mighty unpleasant to know that even if you meet a parson in
a train like as not he is a rebel in disguise. Now, mister, may I ask
where you have come from and where you are going to?"
"You may ask what you like," Vincent said quietly; "but I am certainly
not going to answer impertinent questions."
A hum of approval was heard from several of the passengers.
"If you hadn't got that black coat on," the man said angrily, "I would
put you off the car in no time."
"Black coat or no black coat," Vincent said, "you may find it more
difficult than you think. My profession is a peaceful one; but even a
peaceful man, if assaulted, may defend himself. You say it's unpleasant
to know that if you travel with a man in a black coat he may be a
traitor. It's quite as unpleasant to me to know that if I travel with a
man in a brown one he may be a notorious ruffian, and may as likely as
not have just served his time in a penitentiary."
Two or three of the passengers laughed loudly. The man, starting up,
crossed the car to where Vincent was sitting and laid his hand roughly
on his shoulder.
"You have got to get out!" he said. "No man insults Jim Mullens twice."
"Take your hand off my shoulder," Vincent said quietly, "or you will be
sorry for it."
The man shifted his hold to the collar of Vincent's coat amid cries of
shame from some of the passengers, while the others were silent, even
those of his own party objecting to an assault upon a minister. It was
only the fact that the fellow was a notorious local ruffian that
prevented their expressing open disapproval of the act. As the man
grasped Vincent's collar with his right hand Vincent saw his left go
under his coat toward the pocket in the back of the trousers where
revolvers were always carried. In an instant he sprang to his feet, and
before the man, who was taken by surprise at the suddenness of the
movement, could steady himself, he struck him a tremendous blow between
the eyes, and at the same moment, springing at his throat, threw him
backward on to the floor of the carriage. As he fell the man drew out
his revolver, but Vincent grasped his arm and with a sharp twist
wrenched the revolver from his grasp, and leaping up, threw it out of
the open window. The ruffian rose to his feat, for a moment half dazed
by the violence with which he had fallen, and poured out a string of
imprecations upon Vincent. The latter stood calmly awaiting a fresh
attack. For a moment the ruffian hesitated, and then, goaded to fury by
the taunting laughter of the lookers-on, was about to spring upon him
when he was seized by two or three of the passengers.
"I reckon you have made a fool enough of yourself already," one of them
said; "and we are not going to see a minister ill-treated, not if we
know it."
"You need not hold him," Vincent said. "It is not because one wears a
black coat and is adverse to fighting that one is not able to defend
one's self. We all learn the same things at college whether we are going
into the church or any other profession. You can let him alone if he
really wants any more, which I do not believe. I should be ashamed of
myself if I could not punish a ruffian of his kind."
"Let me get at him!" yelled Mullens; and the men who held him, taking
Vincent at his word, released him. He rushed forward, but was received
with another tremendous blow on the mouth. He paused a moment in his
rush, and Vincent, springing forward, administered another blow upon the
same spot, knocking him off his legs on to the floor. On getting up he
gave no sign of a desire to renew the conflict. His lips were badly cut
and the blood was streaming from his mouth, and he looked at Vincent
with an air of absolute bewilderment. The latter, seeing that the
conflict was over, quietly resumed his seat; while several of the
passengers came up to him, and, shaking him warmly by the hand,
congratulated him upon having punished his assailant.
"I wish we had a few more ministers of your sort down this way," one
said. "That's the sort of preaching fellows like this understand. It was
well you got his six-shooter out of his hand, for he would have used it
as sure as fate. He ought to have been lynched long ago, but since the
troubles began these fellows have had all their own way. But look to
yourself when he gets out; he belongs to a band who call themselves
Unionists, but who are nothing but plunderers and robbers. If you take
my advice, when you get to the end of your journey you will not leave
the station, but take a ticket straight back north. I tell you your life
won't be safe five minutes when you once get outside the town. They
daren't do anything there, for though folks have had to put up with a
good deal they wouldn't stand the shooting of a minister; still, outside
the town I would not answer for your life for an hour."
"I have my duties to perform," Vincent said, "and I shall certainly
carry them through; but I am obliged to you for your advice. I can quite
understand that ruffian," and he looked at Mullens, who, with his
handkerchief to his mouth, was sitting alone in a corner--for the rest
had all drawn away from him in disgust--and glaring ferociously at him,
"will revenge himself if he has the opportunity. However as far as
possible I shall be on my guard."
"At any rate," the man said, "I should advise you when you get to
Nashville to charge him with assault. We can all testify that he laid
hands on you first. That way he will get locked up for some days anyhow,
and you can go away about your business, and he won't know where to find
you when he gets out."
"Thank you--that would be a very good plan; but I might lose a day or
two in having to appear against him; I am pressed for time and have some
important business on hand and I have no doubt I shall be able to throw
him off my track, finish my business, and be off again before he can
come across me."
"Well, I hope no harm will come of it," the other said. "I like you, and
I never saw any one hit so quickly and so hard. It's a downright pity
you are a preacher. My name's John Morrison, and my farm is ten miles
from Nashville, on the Cumberland River. If you should be going in that
direction I should be right glad if you would drop in on me."
The real reason that decided Vincent against following the advice to
give his assailant in charge was that he feared he himself might be
questioned as to the object of his journey and his destination. The
fellow would not improbably say that he believed he was the Confederate
officer who was trying to escape in the disguise of a clergyman and that
he had therefore tried to arrest him. He could of course give no grounds
for the accusation, still questions might be asked which would be
impossible for him to answer; and, however plausible a story he might
invent, the lawyer whom the fellow would doubtless employ to defend him
might suggest that the truth of his statements might be easily tested by
the despatch of a telegram, in which case he would be placed in a most
awkward situation. It was better to run the risk of trouble with the
fellow and his gang than to do anything which might lead to inquiries as
to his identity.
When the train reached Nashville, Vincent proceeded to an hotel. It was
already late in the afternoon, for the journey had occupied more than
thirty hours. As soon as it was dark he went out again and joined Dan,
whom he had ordered to follow him at a distance and to be at the corner
of the first turning to the right of the hotel as soon as it became
dark. Dan was at the point agreed upon, and he followed Vincent until
the latter stopped in a quiet and badly lighted street.
"Things are going badly, Dan. I had a row with a ruffian in the train,
and he has got friends here, and this will add greatly to our danger in
getting to our lines. I must get another disguise. What money have you
left?"
"Not a cent, sah. I had only a five-cent piece left when we left St.
Louis, and I spent him on bread on de journey."
"That is bad, Dan. I did not think your stock was so nearly expended."
"I had to keep myself, sah, and to pay for de railroad, and to buy dem
tree suits of clothes, and to make de nigger I lodged with a present to
keep him mouth shut."
"Oh, I know you have had lots of expenses, Dan, and I am sure that you
have not wasted your money; but I had not thought about it. I have only
got ten dollars left, and we may have a hundred and fifty miles to
travel before we are safe. Anyhow, you must get another disguise, and
trust to luck for the rest. We have tramped a hundred and fifty miles
before now without having anything beyond what we could pick up on the
road. Here's the money. Get a rough suit of workingman's clothes, and
join me here again in an hour's time. Let us find out the name of the
street before we separate, for we may miss our way and not be able to
meet again."
Passing up into the busy streets, Vincent presently stopped and
purchased a paper of a newsboy who was running along shouting, "News
from the war. Defeat of the rebels. Fight in a railway car near
Nashville; a minister punishes a border ruffian."
"Confound those newspaper fellows!" Vincent muttered to himself as he
walked away. "They pick up every scrap of news. I suppose a reporter got
hold of some one who was in the car." Turning down a quiet street, he
opened the paper and by the light of the lamp read a graphic and minute
account of the struggle in the train.
"I won't go back to the hotel," he said to himself. "I shall be having
reporters to interview me. I shall be expected to give them a history of
my whole life; where I was born, and where I went to school, and whether
I prefer beef to mutton, and whether I drink beer, and a thousand other
things. No; the sooner I am away the better. As to the hotel, I have
only had one meal, and they have got the bag with what clothes there
are; that will pay them well." Accordingly when he rejoined Dan he told
him that they would start at once.
"It is the best way, anyhow," he said. "To-morrow, no doubt, the fellow
I had the row with will be watching the hotel to see which way I go off,
but after once seeing me go to the hotel he will not guess that I shall
be starting this evening. What have you got left, Dan?"
"I got two dollars, sah."
"That makes us quite rich men. We will stop at the first shop we come to
and lay in a stock of bread and a pound or two of ham."
"And a bottle of rum, sah. Berry wet and cold sleeping out of doors now,
sah. Want a little comfort anyhow."
"Very well, Dan; I think we can afford that."
"Get one for half a dollar, massa. Could not lay out half a dollar
better."
Half an hour later they had left Nashville behind them, and were
tramping along the road toward the east, Dan carrying a bundle in which
the provisions were wrapped, and the neck of the bottle of rum sticking
out of his pocket. As soon as they were well in the country Vincent
changed his clothes for those Dan had just bought him, and making the
others up into a bundle continued his way.
"Why you not leave dem black clothes behind, sah? What good take dem wid
you?"
"I am not going to carry them far, Dan. The first wood or thick clump of
bushes we come to I shall hide them away; but if you were to leave them
here they would be found the first thing in the morning, and perhaps be
carried into the town and handed over to the police, and they might put
that and the fact of my not having returned to the hotel--which is sure
to be talked about--together, and come to the conclusion that either
Mullens was right and that I was an escaped Confederate, or that I had
been murdered by Mullens. In either case they might get up a search, and
perhaps send telegrams to the troops in the towns beyond us. Anyhow,
it's best the clothes should not be found."
All night they tramped along, pausing only for half an hour about
midnight, when Dan suggested that as he had only had some bread to
eat--and not too much of that--during the last forty-eight hours, he
thought that he could do with some supper. Accordingly the bundle was
opened, and they sat down and partook of a hearty meal. Dan had wisely
taken the precaution of having the cork drawn from the bottle when he
bought it, replacing it so that it could be easily extracted when
required, and Vincent acknowledged that the spirit was a not unwelcome
addition to the meal. When morning broke they had reached Duck's River,
a broad stream crossing the road.
Here they drew aside into a thick grove, and determined to get a few
hours' sleep before proceeding. It was nearly midday before they woke
and proceeded to the edge of the trees. Vincent reconnoitered the
position.
"It is just as well we did not try to cross, Dan. I see the tents of at
least a regiment on the other bank. No doubt they are stationed there to
guard the road and railway bridge. This part of the country is pretty
equally divided in opinion, though more of the people are for the South
than for the North; but I know there are guerrilla parties on both sides
moving about, and if a Confederate band was to pounce down on these
bridges and destroy them it would cut the communication with their army
in front, and put them in a very ugly position if they were defeated. No
doubt that's why they have stationed that regiment there. Anyhow, it
makes it awkward for us. We should be sure to be questioned where we are
going, and as I know nothing whatever of the geography of the place we
should find it very difficult to satisfy them. We must cross the river
somewhere else. There are sure to be some boats somewhere along the
banks; at any rate, the first thing to do is to move further away from
the road."
They walked for two or three miles across the country. The fields for
the most part were deserted, and although here and there they saw
cultivated patches, it was evident that most of the inhabitants had
quitted that part of the country, which had been the scene of almost
continued fighting from the commencement of the war; the sufferings of
the inhabitants being greatly heightened by the bands of marauders who
moved about plundering and destroying under the pretense of punishing
those whom they considered hostile to the cause in whose
favor--nominally, at least--they had enrolled themselves. The sight of
ruined farms and burned houses roused Vincent's indignation; for in
Virginia private property had, up to the time of Pope's assuming command
of the army, been respected, and this phase of civil war was new and
very painful to him.
"It would be a good thing," he said to Dan, "if the generals on both
sides in this district would agree to a month's truce, and join each
other in hunting down and hanging these marauding scoundrels. On our
side Mosby and a few other leaders of bands composed almost entirely of
gentlemen, have never been accused of practices of this kind; but, with
these exceptions, there is little to choose between them."
After walking for four or five miles they again sat down till evening,
and then going down to the river endeavored to find a boat by which they
could cross, but to their disappointment no craft of any kind was
visible, although in many places there were stages by the riverside,
evidently used by farmers for unloading their produce into boats.
Vincent concluded at last that at some period of the struggle all the
boats must have been collected and either sunk or carried away by one of
the parties to prevent the other crossing the river.
Hitherto they had carefully avoided all the farmhouses that appeared to
be inhabited; but Vincent now determined to approach one of them and
endeavor to gain some information as to the distance from the next
bridge, and whether it was guarded by troops, and to find out if
possible the position in which the Northern forces in Tennessee were at
present posted--all of which points he was at present ignorant of. He
passed two or three large farmhouses without entering, for although the
greater part of the male population were away with one or other of the
armies, he might still find two or three hands in such buildings.
Besides, it was now late, and whatever the politics of the inmates they
would be suspicious of such late arrivals, and would probably altogether
refuse them admittance. Accordingly another night was spent in the wood.
The next morning, after walking a mile or two, they saw a house at which
Vincent determined to try their fortune. It was small, but seemed to
have belonged to people above the class of farmer. It stood in a little
plantation, and was surrounded by a veranda. Most of the blinds were
down, and Vincent judged that the inmates could not be numerous.
"You remain here, Dan, and I will go and knock at the door. It is better
that we should not be seen together." Vincent accordingly went forward
and knocked at the door. An old negress opened it.
"We have nothing for tramps," she said. "De house am pretty well cleared
out ob eberyting." She was about to shut the door when Vincent put his
foot forward and prevented it closing. "Massa Charles," the negress
called out, "bring yo' shot-gun quick; here am tief want to break into
the house."
"I am neither a thief nor a tramp," Vincent said; "and I do not want
anything, except that I should be glad to buy a loaf of bread if you
have one that you could spare. I have lost my way, and I want to ask
directions."
"Dat am pretty likely story," the old woman said. "Bring up dat shot-gun
quick, Massa Charles."
"What is it, Chloe?" another female voice asked.
"Here am a man pretend he hab lost his way and wants to buy a loaf. You
stand back, Miss Lucy, and let your broder shoot de villain dead."
"I can assure you that I am not a robber, madam," Vincent said through
the partly opened door. "I am alone, and only beg some information,
which I doubt not you can give me."
"Open the door, Chloe," the second voice said inside; "that is not the
voice of a robber."
The old woman reluctantly obeyed the order and opened the door, and
Vincent saw in the passage a young girl of some sixteen years old. He
took off his hat.
"I am very sorry to disturb you," he said; "but I am an entire stranger
here, and am most desirous of crossing the river, but can find no boat
with which to do so."
"Why did you not cross by the bridge?" the girl asked. "How did you miss
the straight road?"
"Frankly, because there were Northern troops there," Vincent said, "and
I wish to avoid them if possible."
"You are a Confederate?" the girl asked, when the old negress
interrupted her:
"Hush! Miss Lucy, don't you talk about dem tings; der plenty of mischief
done already. What hab you to do wid one side or do oder?"
The girl paid no attention to her words, but stood awaiting Vincent's
answer. He did not hesitate. There was something in her face that told
him that, friend or foe, she was not likely to betray a fugitive, and he
answered:
"I am a Confederate officer, madam. I have made my escape from Elmira
prison, and am trying to find my way back into our lines."
"Come in, sir," the girl said, holding out her hand. "We are
Secessionists, heart and soul. My father and my brother are with our
troops--that is, if they are both alive. I have little to offer you, for
the Yankee bands have been here several times, have driven off our
cattle, emptied our barns, and even robbed our hen-nests, and taken
everything in the house they thought worth carrying away. But whatever
there is, sir, you are heartily welcome to. I had a paper yesterday--it
is not often I get one--and I saw there that three of our officers had
escaped from Elmira. Are you one of them?"
"Yes, madam. I am Lieutenant Wingfield."
"Ah! then you are in the cavalry. You have fought under Stuart," the
girl said. "The paper said so. Oh, how I wish we had Stuart and
Stonewall Jackson on this side! we should soon drive the Yankees out of
Tennessee."
"They would try to, anyhow," Vincent said, smiling, "and if it were
possible they would assuredly do it. I was in Ashley's horse with the
Stonewall division through the first campaign in the Shenandoah Valley
and up to Bull Run, and after that under Stuart. But is not your brother
here? Your servant called to him."
"There is no one here but ourselves," the girl replied. "That was a
fiction of Chloe's, and it has succeeded sometimes when we have had
rough visitors. And now what can I do for you, sir? You said you wanted
to buy a loaf of bread, and therefore, I suppose, you are hungry. Chloe,
put the bacon and bread on the table, and make some coffee. I am afraid
that is all we can do, sir, but such as it is you are heartily welcome
to it."
"I thank you greatly," Vincent replied, "and will, if you will allow me,
take half my breakfast out to my boy who is waiting over there."
"Why did you not bring him in?" the girl asked. "Of course he will be
welcome too."
"I did not bring him in before because two men in these days are likely
to alarm a lonely household; and I would rather not bring him in now,
because, if by any possibility the searchers, who are no doubt after me,
should call and ask you whether two men, one a white and the other a
negro, had been here, you could answer no."
"But they cannot be troubling much about prisoners," the girl said.
"Why, in the fighting here and in Missouri they have taken many
thousands of prisoners, and you have taken still more of them in
Virginia; surely they cannot trouble themselves much about one getting
away."
"I am not afraid of a search of that kind," Vincent said; "but,
unfortunately, on my way down I had a row in the train with a ruffian
named Mullens, who is, I understand, connected with one of these bands
of brigands, and I feel sure that he will hunt me down if he can."
The girl turned pale.
"Oh!" she said, "I saw that in the paper too, but it said that it was a
minister. And it was you who beat that man and threw his revolver out of
the window? Oh, then, you are in danger indeed, sir. He is one of the
worst ruffians in the State, and is the leader of the party who stripped
this house and threatened to burn it to the ground. Luckily I was not at
home, having gone away to spend the night with a neighbor. His band have
committed murders all over the country, hanging up defenseless people on
pretense that they were Secessionists. They will show you no mercy if
they catch you."
"No. I should not expect any great mercy if I fell into their hands,
Miss Lucy. I don't know your other name."
"My name is Kingston. I ought to have introduced myself to you at once."
"Now you understand, Miss Kingston, how anxious I am to get across the
river, and that brings me to the question of the information I want you
to give me. How far is it from the next bridge on the south, and are
there any Federal troops there?"
"It is about seven miles to the bridge at Williamsport, we are just
halfway between that and the railway bridge at Columbus. Yes, there are
certainly troops there--"
"Then I see no way for it but to make a small raft to carry us across,
Miss Kingston. I am a good swimmer, but the river is full and of
considerable width; still, I think I can get across. But my boy cannot
swim a stroke."
"I know where there is a boat hid in the wood near the river," the girl
said. "It belongs to a neighbor of ours, and when the Yankees seized the
boats he had his hauled up and hidden in the woods. He was a Southerner,
heart and soul, and thought that he might be able sometimes to take
useful information across the river to our people; but a few weeks
afterward his house was attacked by one of these bands--it was always
said it was that of Mullens--and he was killed defending it to the last.
He killed several of the band before he fell, and they were so enraged
that after plundering it they set it on fire and fastened the door, and
his wife and two maid-servants were burned to death."
"I wish instead of throwing his pistol out of the window I had blown his
brains out with it," Vincent said; "and I would have done so if I had
known what sort of fellow he was. However, as to the boat, can you give
me instructions where to find it, and is it light enough for two men to
carry?"
"Not to carry, perhaps, but to push along. It is a light boat he had for
pleasure. He had a large one, but that was carried away with the others.
I cannot give you directions, but I can lead you to the place."
"I should not like you to do that," Vincent said. "We might be caught,
and your share in the affair might be suspected."
"Oh! there is no fear of that," the girl said; "besides, I am not afraid
of danger."
"I don't think it is right, Miss Kingston, for a young lady like you to
be living here alone with an old servant in such times as these. You
ought to go into a town until it's all over."
"I have no one to go to," the girl said simply. "My father bought this
place and moved here from Georgia only six years ago, and all my friends
are in that State. Except our neighbors round here I do not know a soul
in Tennessee. Besides, what can I do in a town? We can manage here,
because we have a few fowls, and some of our neighbors last spring
plowed an acre or two of ground and planted corn for us, and I have a
little money left for buying other things; but it would not last us a
month if we went into a town. No, I have nothing to do but to stay here
until you drive the Yankees back. I will willingly take you down to the
boat to-night. Chloe can come with us and keep me company on the way
back. Of course it would not be safe to cross in the daytime."
"I thank you greatly, Miss Kingston, and shall always remember your
kindness. Now, when I finish my meal I will go out and join my boy, and
will come for you at eight o'clock; it will be quite dark then."
"Why should you not stay here till then, Mr. Wingfield? It is very
unlikely that any one will come along."
"It is unlikely, but it is quite possible," Vincent replied, "and were I
caught here by Mullens, the consequence would be very serious to you as
well as to myself. No, I could not think of doing that. I will go out,
and come back at eight o'clock. I shall not be far away; but if any one
should come and inquire, you can honestly say that you do not know where
I am."
"I have two revolvers here, sir; in fact I have three. I always keep one
loaded, for there is never any saying whether it may not be wanted; the
other two I picked up last spring. There was a fight about a quarter of
a mile from here and after it was over and they had moved away, for the
Confederates won that time and chased them back toward Nashville, I went
out with Chloe with some water and bandages to see if we could do
anything for the wounded. We were at work there till evening, and I
think we did some good. As we were coming back I saw something in a low
bush, and going there found a Yankee officer and his horse both lying
dead; they had been killed by a shell, I should think. Stooping over to
see if he was quite dead I saw a revolver in his belt and another in the
holster of his saddle, so I took them out and brought them home,
thinking I might give them to some of our men, for we were then, as we
have always been, very short of arms; but I never had an opportunity of
giving them away, and I am very glad now that I have not. Here they are,
sir, and two packets of cartridges, for they are of the same size as
those of the pistol my father gave me when he went away. You are
heartily welcome to them."
"Thank you extremely," Vincent said, as he took the pistols and placed
the packets of ammunition in his pocket. "We cut two heavy sticks the
night we left Nashville so as to be able to make something of a fight;
but with these weapons we shall feel a match for any small parties we
may meet. Then at eight o'clock I will come back again."
"I shall be ready," the girl said; "but I wish you would have stopped,
there are so many things I want to ask you about, and these Yankee
papers, which are all we see now, are full of lies."
"They exaggerate their successes and to some extent conceal their
defeats," Vincent said; "but I do not think it is the fault of the
newspapers, whose correspondents do seem to me to try and tell the truth
to their readers, but of the official despatches of the generals. The
newspapers tone matters down, no doubt, because they consider it
necessary to keep up the public spirit; but at times they speak out
pretty strongly too. I am quite as sorry to leave as you can be that I
should go, Miss Kingston, but I am quite sure that it is very much the
wisest thing for me to do. By the way, if I should not be here by
half-past eight I shall not come at all, and you will know that
something has occurred to alter our plans. I trust there is no chance of
anything doing so, but it is as well to arrange so that you should not
sit up expecting me. Should I not come back you will know that I shall
be always grateful to you for your kindness, and that when this war is
over, if I am alive, I will come back and thank you personally."
"Good-by till this evening!" the girl said. "I will not even let myself
think that anything can occur to prevent your return."
"Golly, Massa Vincent, what a time you hab been!" Dan said when Vincent
rejoined him. "Dis child began to tink dat somefing had gone wrong, and
was going in anoder five minutes to knock at do door to ask what dey had
done to you."
"It is all right, Dan, I have had breakfast, and have brought some for
you; here is some bread and bacon and a bottle of coffee."
"Dat good, massa; my teeth go chatter chatter wid sleeping in dese damp
woods; dat coffee do me good, sah. After dat I shall feel fit for
anyting."