—Room in Tavern by the river side. A large window in flat, through which the river is seen, filled with floating ice. Moon light. Table and chairs brought on.

Enter PHINEAS, L. H.

  Chaw me up into tobaccy ends! how in the name of all that's onpossible am I to get across that yer pesky river? It's a reg'lar blockade of ice! I promised Ruth to meet her to-night, and she'll be into my har if I don't come. [Goes to window.] Thar's a conglomerated prospect for a loveyer! What in creation's to be done? That thar river looks like a permiscuous ice-cream shop come to an awful state of friz. If I war on the adjacent bank, I wouldn't care a teetotal atom. Rile up, you old varmit, and shake the ice off your back!

  Courage, my boy—we have reached the river. Let it but roll between us and our pursuers, and we are safe! [Goes to window.] Gracious powers! the river is choked with cakes of ice!

  Holloa, gal!—what's the matter? You look kind of streaked.

  Is there any ferry or boat that takes people over now?

  Well, I guess not; the boats have stopped running.

  [In dismay.] Stopped running?

  Maybe you're wanting to get over—anybody sick? Ye seem mighty anxious.

  I—I—I've got a child that's very dangerous. I never heard of it till last night, and I've walked quite a distance to-day, in hopes to get to the ferry.

  Well, now, that's onlucky; I'm re'lly consarned for ye. Thar's a man, a piece down here, that's going over with some truck this evening, if he duss to; he'll be in here to supper to-night, so you'd better set down and wait. That's a smart little chap. Say, young'un, have a chaw tobaccy? [Takes out a large plug and a bowie-knife .]

  No, no! not any for him.

  Oh! he don't use it, eh? Hain't come to it yet? Well, I have. [Cuts off a large piece, and returns the plug and knife to pocket.] What's the matter with the young 'un? He looks kind of white in the gills!

  Poor fellow! he is not used to walking, and I've hurried him on so.

  Tuckered, eh? Well, there's a little room there, with a fire in it. Take the baby in there, make yourself comfortable till that thar ferryman shows his countenance—I'll stand the damage.

  How shall I thank you for such kindness to a stranger?

  Well, if you don't know how, why, don't try; that's the teetotal. Come, vamose! [Exit, ELIZA and HARRY R. H. D..] Chaw me into sassage meat, if that ain't a perpendicular fine gal! she's a reg'lar A No. 1 sort of female! How'n thunder am I to get across this refrigerated stream of water? I can't wait for that ferryman.

  You are excessively kind: I don't care if I do.

  Ah! he's a human. Holloa, thar! bring us a jug of whisky instantaneously, or expect to be teetotally chawed up! Squat yourself, stranger, and go in for enjoyment. [They sit at table.] Who are you, and what's your name?

  I am a lawyer, and my name is Marks.

  A land shark, eh? Well, I dont' think no worse on you for that. The law is a kind of necessary evil; and it breeds lawyers just as an old stump does fungus. Ah! here's the whisky.

  Want to cross the river, eh?

  Well, I do, stranger. Fact is, I'm in love with the teetotalist pretty girl, over on the Ohio side, that ever wore a Quaker bonnet. Take another swig, neighbor.

  A Quaker, eh?

  Yes—kind of strange, ain't it? The way of it was this:—I used to own a grist of niggers—had 'em to work on my plantation, just below here. Well, stranger, do you know I fell in with that gal—of course I was considerably smashed—knocked into a pretty conglomerated heap—and I told her so. She said she wouldn't hear a word from me so long as I owned a nigger!

  You sold them, I suppose?

  You're teetotally wrong, neighbor. I gave them all their freedom, and told 'em to vamose!

  Ah! yes—very noble, I dare say, but rather expensive. This act won you your lady-love, eh?

  You're off the track again, neighbor. She felt kind of pleased about it, and smiled, and all that; but she said she could never be mine unless I turned Quaker! Thunder and earth! what do you think of that? You're a lawyer—come, now, what's your opinion? Don't you call it a knotty point?

  Most decidedly. Of course you refused.

  Teetotally; but she told me to think better of it, and come to-night and give her my final conclusion. Chaw me into mince meat, if I haven't made up my mind to do it!

  You astonish me!

  Well, you see, I can't get along without that gal;—she's sort of fixed my flint, and I'm sure to hang fire without her. I know I shall make a queer sort of Quaker, because you see, neighbor, I ain't precisely the kind of material to make a Quaker out of.

  No, not exactly.

  Well, I can't stop no longer. I must try to get across that candaverous river some way. It's getting late—take care of yourself, neighbor lawyer. I'm a teetotal victim to a pair of black eyes. Chaw me up to feed hogs, if I'm not in a ruinatious state! [Exit L. H.]

  Queer genius, that, very!

  Yes. [Looks into jug.] Empty! Waiter! more whisky!

  By the land! if this yer ain't the nearest, now, to what I've heard people call Providence! Why, Loker, how are ye?

  The devil! What brought you here, Haley?

  [Sitting at table .] I say, Tom, this yer's the luckiest thing in the world. I'm in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out!

  Ugh! aw! like enough. A body may be pretty sure of that when you're glad to see 'em, or can make something off of 'em. What's the blow now?

  You've got a friend here—partner, perhaps?

  Yes, I have. Here, Marks—here's that ar fellow that I was with in Natchez.

  [Grasping HALEY'S hand.] Shall be pleased with his acquaintance. Mr. Haley, I believe?

  The same, sir. The fact is, gentlemen, this morning I bought a young 'un of Shelby up above here. His mother got wind of it, and what does she do but cut her lucky with him; and I'm afraid by this time that she has crossed the river, for I tracked her to this very place.

  So, then, ye're fairly sewed up, ain't ye? He! he! he! it's neatly done, too.

  This young 'un business makes lots of trouble in the trade.

  Now, Mr. Haley, what is it? Do you want us to undertake to catch this gal?

  The gal's no matter of mine—she's Shelby's—it's only the boy. I was a fool for buying the monkey.

  You're generally a fool!

  Come now, Loker, none of your huffs; you see, Mr. Haley's a-puttin' us in a way of a good job. I reckon: just hold still—these

  Well, white and handsome—well brought up. I'd have given Shelby eight hundred or a thousand, and then made well on her.

  White and handsome—well brought up! Look here now, Loker, a beautiful opening. We'll do a business here on our own account. We does the catchin'; the boy, of course, goes to Mr. Haley—we takes the gal to Orleans to speculate on. Ain't it beautiful?

  Powers of mercy, protect me! How shall I escape these human blood-hounds? Ah! the window—the river of ice! That dark stream lies between me and liberty! Surely the ice will bear my trifling weight. It is my only chance of escape—better sink beneath the cold waters, with my child locked in my arms, than have him torn from me and sold into bondage. He sleeps upon my breast—Heaven, I put my trust in thee!

  Well, Tom Loker, what do you say?

  It'll do!

[Strikes his hand violently on the table.—ELIZA screams.—They all start to their feet.—ELIZA disappears.—Music, chord .]

  By the land, there she is now!

  She's making for the river!

  Let's after her!