—The Tavern by the River.—Table and chairs.—Jug and glasses on table.—On flat is a printed placard, headed:—“Four Hundred Dollars Reward—Runaway—George Harris!”

PHINEAS is discovered, seated at table.

  So yer I am; and a pretty business I've undertook to do. Find the husband of the gal that crossed the river on the ice two or three days ago. Ruth said I must do it, and I'll be teetotally chawed up if I don't do it. I see they've offered a reward for him, dead or alive. How in creation am I to find the varmint? He isn't likely to go round looking natural, with a full description of his hide and figure staring him in the face.

  I say, stranger, how are ye?

[Rises and comes forward R.]

  Well, I reckon.

  Any news? [Takes out plug and knife.

  Not that I know of.

  [Cutting a piece of tobacco and offering it.] Chaw?

  No, thank ye—it don't agree with me.

  Don't, eh?

  [Sees placard.] What's that?

  Nigger advertised. [Advances towards it and spits on it.] There's my mind upon that.

  Why, now, stranger, what's that for?

  I'd do it all the same to the writer of that ar paper, if he was here. Any man that owns a boy like that, and can't find any better way of treating him, than branding him on the hand with the letter H, as that paper states, deserves to lose him. Such papers as this ar' a shame to old Kaintuck! that's my mind right out, if anybody wants to know.

  Well, now, that's a fact.

  I used to have a gang of boys, sir—that was before I fell in love— and I just told em:—“Boys,” says I, “run now! Dig! put! jest when you want to. I never shall come to look after you!” That's the way I kept mine. Let 'em know they are free to run any time, and it jest stops their wanting to. It stands to reason it should. Treat 'em like men, and you'll have men's work.

  I think you are altogether right, friend, and this man described here is a fine fellow—no mistake about that. He worked for me some half dozen years in my bagging factory, and he was my best hand, sir. He is an ingenious fellow, too; he invented a machine for the cleaning of hemp—a really valuable affair; it's gone into use in several factories. His master holds the patent of it.

  I'll warrant ye; holds it, and makes money out of it, and then turns round and brands the boy in his right hand! If I had a fair chance, I'd mark him, I reckon, so that he'd carry it one while!

  [Speaking as he enters.] Jim, see to the trunks. [Sees Wilson.] Ah! Mr. Wilson here?

  Bless my soul, can it be?

  [Advances and grasps his hand.] Mr. Wilson, I see you remember me—Mr. Butler, of Oaklands. Shelby county.

  Ye—yes—yes—sir.

  Holloa! there's a screw loose here somewhere. That old gentlemen seems to be struck into a pretty considerable heap of astonishment. May I be teetotally chawed up! if I don't believe that's the identical man I'm arter. [Crosses to GEORGE.] How are ye, George Harris?

  [Starting back and thrusting his hands into his breast.] You know me?

  Ha, ha, ha! I rather conclude I do; but don't get riled, I an't a bloodhound in disguise.

  How did you discover me?

  By a teetotal smart guess. You're the very man I want to see. Do you know I was sent after you?

  Ah! by my master?

  No; by your wife.

  My wife! Where is she?

  She's stopping with a Quaker family over on the Ohio side.

  Then she is safe?

  Teetotally!

  Conduct me to her.

  Just wait a brace of shakes and I'll do it. I've got to go and get the boat ready. 'Twon't take me but a minute—make yourself comfortable till I get back. Chaw me up! but this is what I call doing things in short order. [Exit L. 1 E.]

  George!

  Yes, George!

  I couldn't have thought it!

  I am pretty well disguised, I fancy; you see I don't answer to the advertisment at all.

  George, this is a dangerous game you are playing; I could not have advised you to it.

  I can do it on my own responsibility.

  Well, George, I suppose you're running away—leaving your lawful master, George, (I don't wonder at it) at the same time, I'm sorry, George, yes, decidedly. I think I must say that it's my duty to tell you so.

  Why are you sorry, sir?

  Why to see you, as it were, setting yourself in opposition to the laws of your country.

  My country! What country have I, but the grave? And I would to heaven that I was laid there!

  George, you've got a hard master, in fact he is—well, he conducts himself reprehensibly—I can't pretend to defend him. I'm

  I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should come and take you a prisoner away from your wife and children, and want to keep you all your life hoeing corn for them, if you'd think it your duty to abide in the condition in which you were called? I rather imagine that you'd think the first stray horse you could find an indication of providence, shouldn't you?

  Really, George, putting the case in that somewhat peculiar light—I don't know—under those circumstances—but what I might. But it seems to me you are running an awful risk. You can't hope to carry it out. If you're taken it will be worse with you than ever; they'll only abuse you, and half kill you, and sell you down river.

  Mr. Wilson, I know all this. I do run a risk, but—[Throws open coat and shows pistols and knife in his belt.] There! I'm ready for them. Down South I never will go! no, if it comes to that, I can earn myself at least six feet of free soil—the first and last I shall ever own in Kentucky!

  Why, George, this state of mind is awful—it's getting really desperate. I'm concerned. Going to break the laws of your country?

  My country again! Sir, I haven't any country any more than I have any father. I don't want anything of your country, except to be left alone—to go peaceably out of it; but if any man tries to stop me, let him take care, for I am desperate. I'll fight for my liberty, to the last breath I breathe! You say your fathers did it, if it was right for them, it is right for me!

  [Walking up and down and fanning his face with a large yellow silk handkerchief.] Blast 'em all! Haven't I always said so—the infernal old cusses! Bless me! I hope I an't swearing now! Well, go ahead, George, go ahead. But be careful, my boy; don't shoot anybody, unless—well, you'd better not shoot—at least I wouldn't hit anybody, you know.

  Only in self-defense.

  Well, well. [Fumbling in his pocket.] I suppose, perhaps, I an't following my judgment—hang it, I won't follow my judgment. So here, George.

  No, my kind, good sir, you've done a great deal for me, and this might get you into trouble. I have money enough, I hope, to take me as far as I need it.

  No but you must, George. Money is a great help everywhere, can't have too much, if you get it honestly. Take it, do take it, now do, my boy!

  [Taking the money.] On condition, sir, that I may repay it at some future time, I will.

  And now, George, how long are you going to travel in this way? Not long or far I hope? It's well carried on, but too bold.

  Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, that they

  But the mark on your hand?

  [Draws off his glove and shows scar.] That is a parting mark of Mr. Harris' regard. Looks interesting, doesn't it?

  I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it—your condition and your risks!

  Mine has run cold a good many years; at present, it's about up to the boiling point.

  George, something has brought you out wonderfully. You hold up your head, and move and speak like another man.

  [Proudly.] Because I'm a freeman! Yes, sir; I've said “master” for the last time to any man. I'm free!

  Take care! You are not sure; you may be taken.

  All men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes to that, Mr. Wilson.

  Them's my sentiment, to a teetotal atom, and I don't care who knows it! Neighbor, the boat is ready, and the sooner we make tracks the better. I've seen some mysterious strangers lurking about these diggings, so we'd better put.

  Farewell, Mr. Wilson, and heaven reward you for the many kindnesses you have shown the poor fugitive!

  [Grasping his hand.] You're a brave fellow, George. I wish in my heart you were safe through, though—that's what I do.

  And ain't I the man of all creation to put him through, stranger? Chaw me up if I don't take him to his dear little wife, in the smallest possible quantity of time. Come, neighbor, let's vamose.

  Farewell, Mr. Wilson.[Crosses to L. H.

  My best wishes go with you, George. [Exit R. 1 E.]

  You're a trump, old Slow-and-Easy.

  [Looking off, R. H.] Look! look!

  Consarn their picters, here they come! We can't get out of the house without their seeing us. We're teetotally treed!

  Let us fight our way through them!

  No, that won't do; there are too many of them for a fair fight—we should be chawed up in no time. [Looks round and sees trap door, C.] Holloa! here's a cellar door. Just you step down here a few minutes, while I parley with them.

  I am resolved to perish sooner than surrender!

  That's your sort! [Closes trap and stands on it.] Here they are!

  Say, stranger, you haven't seen a runaway darkey about these parts, eh?

  What kind of a darkey?

  A mulatto chap, almost as light-complexioned as a white man.

  Was he a pretty good-looking chap?

  Yes.

  Kind of tall?

  Yes.

  With brown hair?

  Yes.

  And dark eyes?

  Yes.

  Pretty well dressed?

  Yes.

  Scar on his right hand?

  Yes, yes.

  Well, I ain't seen him.

  Oh, bother! Come, boys, let's search the house. [Exeunt, R. 1 E.

  [Raises trap.] Now, then, neighbor George.

  Follow me, Phineas. [Exit, L. 1 E.]

  In a brace of shakes.

  Ah! he's down in the cellar. Follow me, boys!

  Chaw me up! but I've got 'em all in a trap. [Knocking below.] Be quiet, you pesky varmints! [Knocking.] They're getting mighty oneasy. [Knocking.] Will you be quiet, you savagerous critters!