The Kidnapped And The Ransomed Part 27

The wonder of his auditor was intense. He could not comprehend how, during all these years, so cruel a wrong had been suffered to go unredressed.

"I do not like to have you go away alone," said he to Peter. "The cholera is raging on the river, and you might be sick and die among strangers."

But his fears could not detain the enthusiastic freeman. "Never mind," said he, "if I die, n.o.body don't lose nuthin by me. I'm my own man, any how, but I reckon I won't die. 'Pears like, now I've got so fur, my work ain't gwine to be lost."

After spending a day and a half at a colored boarding house in Cincinnati, where he had his clothes all put in order, he started for Pittsburg. A cousin of Mr. Friedman accompanied him to the wharf and saw him on board the boat.

How anxious was his heart as the steamer dashed away. He was all alone, and utterly ignorant of the perils he might meet. But he trusted in the Lord, and kept a cheerful countenance.

His characteristic caution prompted him to observe closely the movements of his fellow-pa.s.sengers, and one of them soon absorbed his attention. This was a short dark man, with a disagreeable expression of countenance. Peter remembered seeing the same man on the boat from Louisville to Cincinnati, where he had made several attempts to draw him into conversation, without, however, learning anything further in answer to his questions than that Peter was going to Cincinnati. Now he renewed his advances, striving to draw him into conversation, and at last asked him if his owner were on board.

"I, don't need any," said Peter, as he walked away.

Soon an elderly gentleman, very genteelly dressed, approached him, and asked if his master were on board.

"I have no master," replied he, "who said I had a master?"

"But you are a slave," persisted the gentleman, "or at least have been one. I knew it as soon as I saw you. Where are you going?"

"I am gwine to Pittsburg, and then to Philadelphia; and I am a free man. Who said I had a master?"

"Where did you come from?"

"From Cincinnati."

His interrogator left him in no pleasant mood. Two colored barbers on the boat had told him that the short dark man was watching all his movements. He was whispering, too, they said, among the other pa.s.sengers, that he knew that fellow was a runaway; and he would take him up, if he had not other business to attend to. He was hunting, he said, for a rascal who had escaped from prison; and he could not undertake another job.

When the boat approached Wheeling, several individuals came to Peter, and offered their advice. The short dark man kept his eye upon him, but said nothing. One young gentleman with a pleasant countenance stooped down and said in a low voice, "Now, my friend, there are a great many watching you; and if you are free, stand to it. Don't leave the boat;--just say that you are free." Seeing some one approaching, the young man rose up, and walked to another part of the boat. "I thought," said Peter, as he narrated this incident, "that the Lord sent that young man, and that he was a true friend; so I determined to take his advice."

Soon came another. "See here, my friend," said he, "the people tell me that you are running away. Now, I am a friend to colored people. Here is five dollars--you'd better not stop in Wheeling, for they talk of taking you up. You take this five dollars, and walk across the bridge--and you'll be in a Free State, where they can't hurt you."

"No, sir, I thank you," said Peter, "I have paid my pa.s.sage to Pittsburg, and I shall not leave the boat. Let 'em take me up if they like; I can telegraph to my friends in Cincinnati, and I reckon they can make 'em pay for the time I'm hindered. Yes; let 'em take me up, if they think best."

Notwithstanding the bravery of his bearing, he felt extremely uneasy; and as Mr. Friedman had given him no instruction respecting the proper method of procedure in such cases, he was forced to rely alone upon his own judgment. He readily suspected the hypocrisy of the very kind friend who offered him five dollars, and advised him to hasten across the bridge. Had he accepted the gift and counsel, he would tacitly have acknowledged himself a runaway, and so he might have become an easy prey to the vultures that pursued him.

But he was not arrested. He saw groups of men whispering together in different directions--and he knew they watched him constantly; but he seemed to regard them with such cool indifference, that they did not venture to attempt the execution of their plots.

The boat arrived at Pittsburg early in the morning; and Peter was conducted by a colored fellow-pa.s.senger to the house of a friend of his, where they took breakfast. After remaining about five hours in the city, he took the stage to cross the mountains. He was anxious to reach Philadelphia as soon as possible, for he was told in Pittsburgh that there would be a great turn-out of the colored people there on the first day of August; and that, he thought, would be a favorable time to seek his kindred.

He paid for a seat inside the stage; but it being crowded with pa.s.sengers, he was requested to ride outside. He accordingly seated himself beside the driver, where he rode all day. The grand scenery of the mountains was new to him, and wonderful. Wife and children were behind. He could hear their voices, now sad, now trustful, as they talked of "father," while their mother cooked their scanty supper. Subdued were the tones of their dear voices, for on no strange ear must fall the cherished secret that he was free. They little dreamed that he was riding now over these wild rough mountains. How strange the scene! The tall hemlocks which sheltered the highest peaks, seemed stern and unloving--but the warm sun looked down upon them all. The same sun even then was s.h.i.+ning upon his toiling loved ones; and oh! perhaps it also shone upon the graves of all those whom he had come so far to seek.

Such were his thoughts as, hour after hour, he gazed upon the ever-varying grandeur of the Alleghanies.

After travelling by stage about twenty four hours, he took a seat in a rail-road car. This was another wonder. His previous ideas of rail-roads had been gained from the only one he had ever seen--that extending the length of the Muscle Shoals, and connecting Decatur and Tusc.u.mbia. On that he had been accustomed to see, once a day, two or three little rickety cars come jolting into town, loaded chiefly with freight, but occasionally bringing also a few tired pa.s.sengers. These cars were drawn by two or three sleepy-looking mules or horses; for the snake's-heads were so numerous upon the road, that the wheezing old locomotive, which sometimes came down with freight alone, rendered the journey too perilous for pa.s.sengers.

What a contrast to all this was now before him! The bright locomotive, the long trains of elegantly furnished cars, and the smooth, level track of Pensylvania road, astonished him; while the frequent villages he pa.s.sed, the highly-cultivated fields, and the substantial farm-houses, with their great stone-based barns, impressed him with still greater wonder.

On the afternoon of the first day of August, the train reached Philadelphia. Peter sprang to the ground; and, getting possession of his trunk, he stepped aside, and stood an amazed spectator of the noisy scene. Porters accosted him with--"Where want to go, sir?"

"I don't want to go no further than yer."

The crowd began to scatter. Friends met friends, and departed in their company; every one seemed in haste; he only was alone and purposeless. Far away on every side stretched the great city--the goal of all his hopes, perhaps their grave.

He stood still by his trunk, till his fellow-pa.s.sengers had all dispersed. He knew not where to go. He had been advised, while in Pittsburg, to go to a certain boarding-house in Philadelphia; but the name he could not now remember. "Suppose," said he to himself, "some Abolitionist should come along now, mighty friendly, and tell me where to go, and so I should be entrapped and sold again. I must be careful."

After he had stood alone for more than half an hour, an elderly colored man came up, and kindly accosted him. "Do you wish to go to some part of the city, friend?"

"Yes," replied Peter, "I was recommended, in Pittsburg, to go to a boardin'-house, kept by a Christian man, a preacher; and I would like to find it."

"What is his name?"

"I can't think. I've been a studyin' all the time since I stood here, and I can't remember it. I only heard it once in Pittsburg; but he is a Christian man, and a minister."

The stranger suggested many names, and at last mentioned "Dr.

Byas."

"Thar--that's the man--I knowed I should remember it, if I heard it spoke."

"Well," said the stranger, "I know where he lives, and I will carry your trunk there for a quarter."

Peter a.s.sented, and followed him. With the trunk upon his shoulder, the stranger led the way through the handsomest part of the city; but the beautiful buildings which they pa.s.sed scarcely won a glance of admiration from Peter. His dear dead brother's features were in his mind's eye; and, in the face of every colored man he met, he looked to find their counterpart. He gazed in vain.

No lineament of that well-remembered face could he discover among the pa.s.sersby, and he was glad when his guide stayed his steps before the modest residence of the good Doctor.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE KIDNAPPED BOY RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER.

MRS. Byas herself answered the bell. She was a bright mulatto woman, with a kind smile and a pleasant voice. Dr. Byas, she said, was not at home--he had gone to Cincinnati. Peter explained to her that he was sent there by some friends in Pittsburg.

"Oh, well, then, come right in," said she, "I can take care of you."

He entered the house, and sat down, while the good woman proceeded to explain to him the cause of her husband's absence.

To this he hearkened not. "Do you know how fur it is to the Delaware river?" said he.

"Why, yes--it is right down here at the wharf."

He sprang to his feet. "That is just the river I'm a huntin' for. I was born on that river; and I want to go down and find the old house where my father and mother lived--right on the side of the hill."

"Oh, stay till I get you some dinner," said Mrs. Byas," and then I will show you the way to the river."

"No, no--I must go now--I believe I can find the house."

But she prevailed on him to sit down and eat a lunch; and then, according to her promise, she directed him to the river; giving him at the same time her street and number, so that he might find his way back.

When he reached the river he walked a long way up the stream looking for the well-remembered woods upon the hill-side. But the city stretched a long way up the river, and as far as he could see, the bank was dotted with the costly dwellings of the rich;--no humble cottage like the one in his memory, met his eye; and when thoroughly wearied in the fruitless search, he returned disappointed to the residence of his kind landlady.

She was much interested in the stranger, and to aid him in his efforts, she sent a man with him into the streets, directing him to inquire of any aged colored people he might meet for a man named Levin, and his wife, Sidney, who lost two children about forty years before.