Chapter 17 - Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Chapter 17: The Freeman's Defence. Classic Literature VideoBook with synchronized text, interactive transcript, and closed captions in multiple languages. Audio courtesy of Librivox. Read by John Greenman.

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CHAPTER XVII
The Freeman's Defence

There was a gentle bustle at the Quaker
house, as the afternoon drew to a close.

Rachel Halliday moved quietly to and fro,
collecting from her household stores such

needments as could be arranged in the
smallest compass, for the wanderers who

were to go forth that night.

The afternoon shadows stretched eastward,
and the round red sun stood thoughtfully on

the horizon, and his beams shone yellow and
calm into the little bed-room where George

and his wife were sitting.

He was sitting with his child on his knee,
and his wife's hand in his.

Both looked thoughtful and serious and
traces of tears were on their cheeks.

"Yes, Eliza," said George, "I know all you
say is true.

You are a good child,--a great deal better
than I am; and I will try to do as you say.

I'll try to act worthy of a free man.

I'll try to feel like a Christian.

God Almighty knows that I've meant to do
well,--tried hard to do well,--when

everything has been against me; and now
I'll forget all the past, and put away

every hard and bitter feeling, and read my
Bible, and learn to be a good man."

"And when we get to Canada," said Eliza, "I
can help you.

I can do dress-making very well; and I
understand fine washing and ironing; and

between us we can find something to live
on."

"Yes, Eliza, so long as we have each other
and our boy.

O! Eliza, if these people only knew what a
blessing it is for a man to feel that his

wife and child belong to him!

I've often wondered to see men that could
call their wives and children their own

fretting and worrying about anything else.
Why, I feel rich and strong, though we have

nothing but our bare hands.

I feel as if I could scarcely ask God for
any more.

Yes, though I've worked hard every day,
till I am twenty-five years old, and have

not a cent of money, nor a roof to cover
me, nor a spot of land to call my own, yet,

if they will only let me alone now, I will

be satisfied,--thankful; I will work, and
send back the money for you and my boy.

As to my old master, he has been paid five
times over for all he ever spent for me.

I don't owe him anything."

"But yet we are not quite out of danger,"
said Eliza; "we are not yet in Canada."

"True," said George, "but it seems as if I
smelt the free air, and it makes me

strong."

At this moment, voices were heard in the
outer apartment, in earnest conversation,

and very soon a rap was heard on the door.
Eliza started and opened it.

Simeon Halliday was there, and with him a
Quaker brother, whom he introduced as

Phineas Fletcher.

Phineas was tall and lathy, red-haired,
with an expression of great acuteness and

shrewdness in his face.

He had not the placid, quiet, unworldly air
of Simeon Halliday; on the contrary, a

particularly wide-awake and au fait
appearance, like a man who rather prides

himself on knowing what he is about, and

keeping a bright lookout ahead;
peculiarities which sorted rather oddly

with his broad brim and formal phraseology.

"Our friend Phineas hath discovered
something of importance to the interests of

thee and thy party, George," said Simeon;
"it were well for thee to hear it."

"That I have," said Phineas, "and it shows
the use of a man's always sleeping with one

ear open, in certain places, as I've always
said.

Last night I stopped at a little lone
tavern, back on the road.

Thee remembers the place, Simeon, where we
sold some apples, last year, to that fat

woman, with the great ear-rings.

Well, I was tired with hard driving; and,
after my supper I stretched myself down on

a pile of bags in the corner, and pulled a
buffalo over me, to wait till my bed was

ready; and what does I do, but get fast
asleep."

"With one ear open, Phineas?" said Simeon,
quietly.

"No; I slept, ears and all, for an hour or
two, for I was pretty well tired; but when

I came to myself a little, I found that
there were some men in the room, sitting

round a table, drinking and talking; and I

thought, before I made much muster, I'd
just see what they were up to, especially

as I heard them say something about the
Quakers.

'So,' says one, 'they are up in the Quaker
settlement, no doubt,' says he.

Then I listened with both ears, and I found
that they were talking about this very

party.

So I lay and heard them lay off all their
plans.

This young man, they said, was to be sent
back to Kentucky, to his master, who was

going to make an example of him, to keep
all niggers from running away; and his wife

two of them were going to run down to New

Orleans to sell, on their own account, and
they calculated to get sixteen or eighteen

hundred dollars for her; and the child,
they said, was going to a trader, who had

bought him; and then there was the boy,

Jim, and his mother, they were to go back
to their masters in Kentucky.

They said that there were two constables,
in a town a little piece ahead, who would

go in with 'em to get 'em taken up, and the
young woman was to be taken before a judge;

and one of the fellows, who is small and

smooth-spoken, was to swear to her for his
property, and get her delivered over to him

to take south.

They've got a right notion of the track we
are going tonight; and they'll be down

after us, six or eight strong.
So now, what's to be done?"

The group that stood in various attitudes,
after this communication, were worthy of a

painter.

Rachel Halliday, who had taken her hands
out of a batch of biscuit, to hear the

news, stood with them upraised and floury,
and with a face of the deepest concern.

Simeon looked profoundly thoughtful; Eliza
had thrown her arms around her husband, and

was looking up to him.

George stood with clenched hands and
glowing eyes, and looking as any other man

might look, whose wife was to be sold at
auction, and son sent to a trader, all

under the shelter of a Christian nation's
laws.

"What shall we do, George?" said Eliza
faintly.

"I know what I shall do," said George, as
he stepped into the little room, and began

examining pistols.

"Ay, ay," said Phineas, nodding his head to
Simeon; "thou seest, Simeon, how it will

work."
"I see," said Simeon, sighing; "I pray it

come not to that."

"I don't want to involve any one with or
for me," said George.

"If you will lend me your vehicle and
direct me, I will drive alone to the next

stand.

Jim is a giant in strength, and brave as
death and despair, and so am I."

"Ah, well, friend," said Phineas, "but
thee'll need a driver, for all that.

Thee's quite welcome to do all the
fighting, thee knows; but I know a thing or

two about the road, that thee doesn't."
"But I don't want to involve you," said

George.

"Involve," said Phineas, with a curious and
keen expression of face, "When thee does

involve me, please to let me know."
"Phineas is a wise and skilful man," said

Simeon.

"Thee does well, George, to abide by his
judgment; and," he added, laying his hand

kindly on George's shoulder, and pointing
to the pistols, "be not over hasty with

these,--young blood is hot."

"I will attack no man," said George.

"All I ask of this country is to be let
alone, and I will go out peaceably; but,"--

he paused, and his brow darkened and his
face worked,--"I've had a sister sold in

that New Orleans market.

I know what they are sold for; and am I
going to stand by and see them take my wife

and sell her, when God has given me a pair
of strong arms to defend her?

No; God help me!

I'll fight to the last breath, before they
shall take my wife and son.

Can you blame me?"
"Mortal man cannot blame thee, George.

Flesh and blood could not do otherwise,"
said Simeon.

"Woe unto the world because of offences,
but woe unto them through whom the offence

cometh."

"Would not even you, sir, do the same, in
my place?"

"I pray that I be not tried," said Simeon;
"the flesh is weak."

"I think my flesh would be pretty tolerable
strong, in such a case," said Phineas,

stretching out a pair of arms like the
sails of a windmill.

"I an't sure, friend George, that I
shouldn't hold a fellow for thee, if thee

had any accounts to settle with him."

"If man should ever resist evil," said
Simeon, "then George should feel free to do

it now: but the leaders of our people
taught a more excellent way; for the wrath

of man worketh not the righteousness of

God; but it goes sorely against the corrupt
will of man, and none can receive it save

they to whom it is given.
Let us pray the Lord that we be not

tempted."

"And so I do," said Phineas; "but if we are
tempted too much--why, let them look out,

that's all."
"It's quite plain thee wasn't born a

Friend," said Simeon, smiling.

"The old nature hath its way in thee pretty
strong as yet."

To tell the truth, Phineas had been a
hearty, two-fisted backwoodsman, a vigorous

hunter, and a dead shot at a buck; but,
having wooed a pretty Quakeress, had been

moved by the power of her charms to join

the society in his neighborhood; and though
he was an honest, sober, and efficient

member, and nothing particular could be
alleged against him, yet the more spiritual

among them could not but discern an

exceeding lack of savor in his
developments.

"Friend Phineas will ever have ways of his
own," said Rachel Halliday, smiling; "but

we all think that his heart is in the right
place, after all."

"Well," said George, "isn't it best that we
hasten our flight?"

"I got up at four o'clock, and came on with
all speed, full two or three hours ahead of

them, if they start at the time they
planned.

It isn't safe to start till dark, at any
rate; for there are some evil persons in

the villages ahead, that might be disposed
to meddle with us, if they saw our wagon,

and that would delay us more than the

waiting; but in two hours I think we may
venture.

I will go over to Michael Cross, and engage
him to come behind on his swift nag, and

keep a bright lookout on the road, and warn
us if any company of men come on.

Michael keeps a horse that can soon get
ahead of most other horses; and he could

shoot ahead and let us know, if there were
any danger.

I am going out now to warn Jim and the old
woman to be in readiness, and to see about

the horse.

We have a pretty fair start, and stand a
good chance to get to the stand before they

can come up with us.

So, have good courage, friend George; this
isn't the first ugly scrape that I've been

in with thy people," said Phineas, as he
closed the door.

"Phineas is pretty shrewd," said Simeon.

"He will do the best that can be done for
thee, George."

"All I am sorry for," said George, "is the
risk to you."

"Thee'll much oblige us, friend George, to
say no more about that.

What we do we are conscience bound to do;
we can do no other way.

And now, mother," said he, turning to
Rachel, "hurry thy preparations for these

friends, for we must not send them away
fasting."

And while Rachel and her children were busy
making corn-cake, and cooking ham and

chicken, and hurrying on the et ceteras of
the evening meal, George and his wife sat

in their little room, with their arms

folded about each other, in such talk as
husband and wife have when they know that a

few hours may part them forever.

"Eliza," said George, "people that have
friends, and houses, and lands, and money,

and all those things can't love as we do,
who have nothing but each other.

Till I knew you, Eliza, no creature had
loved me, but my poor, heart-broken mother

and sister.
I saw poor Emily that morning the trader

carried her off.

She came to the corner where I was lying
asleep, and said, 'Poor George, your last

friend is going.
What will become of you, poor boy?'

And I got up and threw my arms round her,
and cried and sobbed, and she cried too;

and those were the last kind words I got
for ten long years; and my heart all

withered up, and felt as dry as ashes, till
I met you.

And your loving me,--why, it was almost
like raising one from the dead!

I've been a new man ever since!

And now, Eliza, I'll give my last drop of
blood, but they shall not take you from me.

Whoever gets you must walk over my dead
body."

"O, Lord, have mercy!" said Eliza, sobbing.

"If he will only let us get out of this
country together, that is all we ask."

"Is God on their side?" said George,
speaking less to his wife than pouring out

his own bitter thoughts.

"Does he see all they do?
Why does he let such things happen?

And they tell us that the Bible is on their
side; certainly all the power is.

They are rich, and healthy, and happy; they
are members of churches, expecting to go to

heaven; and they get along so easy in the
world, and have it all their own way; and

poor, honest, faithful Christians,--

Christians as good or better than they,--
are lying in the very dust under their

feet.

They buy 'em and sell 'em, and make trade
of their heart's blood, and groans and

tears,--and God lets them."

"Friend George," said Simeon, from the
kitchen, "listen to this Psalm; it may do

thee good."

George drew his seat near the door, and
Eliza, wiping her tears, came forward also

to listen, while Simeon read as follows:
"But as for me, my feet were almost gone;

my steps had well-nigh slipped.

For I was envious of the foolish, when I
saw the prosperity of the wicked.

They are not in trouble like other men,
neither are they plagued like other men.

Therefore, pride compasseth them as a
chain; violence covereth them as a garment.

Their eyes stand out with fatness; they
have more than heart could wish.

They are corrupt, and speak wickedly
concerning oppression; they speak loftily.

Therefore his people return, and the waters
of a full cup are wrung out to them, and

they say, How doth God know? and is there
knowledge in the Most High?"

"Is not that the way thee feels, George?"

"It is so indeed," said George,--"as well
as I could have written it myself."

"Then, hear," said Simeon: "When I thought
to know this, it was too painful for me

until I went unto the sanctuary of God.

Then understood I their end.
Surely thou didst set them in slippery

places, thou castedst them down to
destruction.

As a dream when one awaketh, so, oh Lord,
when thou awakest, thou shalt despise their

image.
Nevertheless I am continually with thee;

thou hast holden me by my right hand.

Thou shalt guide me by thy counsel, and
afterwards receive me to glory.

It is good for me to draw near unto God.
I have put my trust in the Lord God."

(NOTE: Ps. 73, "The End of the Wicked
contrasted with that of the Righteous.")

The words of holy trust, breathed by the
friendly old man, stole like sacred music

over the harassed and chafed spirit of
George; and after he ceased, he sat with a

gentle and subdued expression on his fine
features.

"If this world were all, George," said
Simeon, "thee might, indeed, ask where is

the Lord?

But it is often those who have least of all
in this life whom he chooseth for the

kingdom.

Put thy trust in him and, no matter what
befalls thee here, he will make all right

hereafter."

If these words had been spoken by some
easy, self-indulgent exhorter, from whose

mouth they might have come merely as pious
and rhetorical flourish, proper to be used

to people in distress, perhaps they might

not have had much effect; but coming from
one who daily and calmly risked fine and

imprisonment for the cause of God and man,
they had a weight that could not but be

felt, and both the poor, desolate fugitives

found calmness and strength breathing into
them from it.

And now Rachel took Eliza's hand kindly,
and led the way to the supper-table.

As they were sitting down, a light tap
sounded at the door, and Ruth entered.

"I just ran in," she said, "with these
little stockings for the boy,--three pair,

nice, warm woollen ones.

It will be so cold, thee knows, in Canada.

Does thee keep up good courage, Eliza?" she
added, tripping round to Eliza's side of

the table, and shaking her warmly by the
hand, and slipping a seed-cake into Harry's

hand.

"I brought a little parcel of these for
him," she said, tugging at her pocket to

get out the package.
"Children, thee knows, will always be

eating."

"O, thank you; you are too kind," said
Eliza.

"Come, Ruth, sit down to supper," said
Rachel.

"I couldn't, any way.

I left John with the baby, and some
biscuits in the oven; and I can't stay a

moment, else John will burn up all the
biscuits, and give the baby all the sugar

in the bowl.

That's the way he does," said the little
Quakeress, laughing.

"So, good-by, Eliza; good-by, George; the
Lord grant thee a safe journey;" and, with

a few tripping steps, Ruth was out of the
apartment.

A little while after supper, a large
covered-wagon drew up before the door; the

night was clear starlight; and Phineas
jumped briskly down from his seat to

arrange his passengers.

George walked out of the door, with his
child on one arm and his wife on the other.

His step was firm, his face settled and
resolute.

Rachel and Simeon came out after them.

"You get out, a moment," said Phineas to
those inside, "and let me fix the back of

the wagon, there, for the women-folks and
the boy."

"Here are the two buffaloes," said Rachel.

"Make the seats as comfortable as may be;
it's hard riding all night."

Jim came out first, and carefully assisted
out his old mother, who clung to his arm,

and looked anxiously about, as if she
expected the pursuer every moment.

"Jim, are your pistols all in order?" said
George, in a low, firm voice.

"Yes, indeed," said Jim.
"And you've no doubt what you shall do, if

they come?"

"I rather think I haven't," said Jim,
throwing open his broad chest, and taking a

deep breath.
"Do you think I'll let them get mother

again?"

During this brief colloquy, Eliza had been
taking her leave of her kind friend,

Rachel, and was handed into the carriage by
Simeon, and, creeping into the back part

with her boy, sat down among the buffalo-
skins.

The old woman was next handed in and seated
and George and Jim placed on a rough board

seat front of them, and Phineas mounted in
front.

"Farewell, my friends," said Simeon, from
without.

"God bless you!" answered all from within.
And the wagon drove off, rattling and

jolting over the frozen road.

There was no opportunity for conversation,
on account of the roughness of the way and

the noise of the wheels.

The vehicle, therefore, rumbled on, through
long, dark stretches of woodland,--over

wide dreary plains,--up hills, and down
valleys,--and on, on, on they jogged, hour

after hour.

The child soon fell asleep, and lay heavily
in his mother's lap.

The poor, frightened old woman at last
forgot her fears; and, even Eliza, as the

night waned, found all her anxieties
insufficient to keep her eyes from closing.

Phineas seemed, on the whole, the briskest
of the company, and beguiled his long drive

with whistling certain very unquaker-like
songs, as he went on.

But about three o'clock George's ear caught
the hasty and decided click of a horse's

hoof coming behind them at some distance
and jogged Phineas by the elbow.

Phineas pulled up his horses, and listened.

"That must be Michael," he said; "I think I
know the sound of his gallop;" and he rose

up and stretched his head anxiously back
over the road.

A man riding in hot haste was now dimly
descried at the top of a distant hill.

"There he is, I do believe!" said Phineas.
George and Jim both sprang out of the wagon

before they knew what they were doing.

All stood intensely silent, with their
faces turned towards the expected

messenger.
On he came.

Now he went down into a valley, where they
could not see him; but they heard the

sharp, hasty tramp, rising nearer and
nearer; at last they saw him emerge on the

top of an eminence, within hail.

"Yes, that's Michael!" said Phineas; and,
raising his voice, "Halloa, there,

Michael!"
"Phineas! is that thee?"

"Yes; what news--they coming?"

"Right on behind, eight or ten of them, hot
with brandy, swearing and foaming like so

many wolves."

And, just as he spoke, a breeze brought the
faint sound of galloping horsemen towards

them.
"In with you,--quick, boys, in!" said

Phineas.

"If you must fight, wait till I get you a
piece ahead."

And, with the word, both jumped in, and
Phineas lashed the horses to a run, the

horseman keeping close beside them.

The wagon rattled, jumped, almost flew,
over the frozen ground; but plainer, and

still plainer, came the noise of pursuing
horsemen behind.

The women heard it, and, looking anxiously
out, saw, far in the rear, on the brow of a

distant hill, a party of men looming up
against the red-streaked sky of early dawn.

Another hill, and their pursuers had
evidently caught sight of their wagon,

whose white cloth-covered top made it
conspicuous at some distance, and a loud

yell of brutal triumph came forward on the
wind.

Eliza sickened, and strained her child
closer to her bosom; the old woman prayed

and groaned, and George and Jim clenched
their pistols with the grasp of despair.

The pursuers gained on them fast; the
carriage made a sudden turn, and brought

them near a ledge of a steep overhanging
rock, that rose in an isolated ridge or

clump in a large lot, which was, all around
it, quite clear and smooth.

This isolated pile, or range of rocks, rose
up black and heavy against the brightening

sky, and seemed to promise shelter and
concealment.

It was a place well known to Phineas, who
had been familiar with the spot in his

hunting days; and it was to gain this point
he had been racing his horses.

"Now for it!" said he, suddenly checking
his horses, and springing from his seat to

the ground.
"Out with you, in a twinkling, every one,

and up into these rocks with me.

Michael, thee tie thy horse to the wagon,
and drive ahead to Amariah's and get him

and his boys to come back and talk to these
fellows."

In a twinkling they were all out of the
carriage.

"There," said Phineas, catching up Harry,
"you, each of you, see to the women; and

run, now if you ever did run!"

They needed no exhortation.

Quicker than we can say it, the whole party
were over the fence, making with all speed

for the rocks, while Michael, throwing
himself from his horse, and fastening the

bridle to the wagon, began driving it
rapidly away.

"Come ahead," said Phineas, as they reached
the rocks, and saw in the mingled starlight

and dawn, the traces of a rude but plainly
marked foot-path leading up among them;

"this is one of our old hunting-dens.

Come up!"
Phineas went before, springing up the rocks

like a goat, with the boy in his arms.

Jim came second, bearing his trembling old
mother over his shoulder, and George and

Eliza brought up the rear.

The party of horsemen came up to the fence,
and, with mingled shouts and oaths, were

dismounting, to prepare to follow them.

A few moments' scrambling brought them to
the top of the ledge; the path then passed

between a narrow defile, where only one
could walk at a time, till suddenly they

came to a rift or chasm more than a yard in

breadth, and beyond which lay a pile of
rocks, separate from the rest of the ledge,

standing full thirty feet high, with its
sides steep and perpendicular as those of a

castle.

Phineas easily leaped the chasm, and sat
down the boy on a smooth, flat platform of

crisp white moss, that covered the top of
the rock.

"Over with you!" he called; "spring, now,
once, for your lives!" said he, as one

after another sprang across.

Several fragments of loose stone formed a
kind of breast-work, which sheltered their

position from the observation of those
below.

"Well, here we all are," said Phineas,
peeping over the stone breast-work to watch

the assailants, who were coming
tumultuously up under the rocks.

"Let 'em get us, if they can.

Whoever comes here has to walk single file
between those two rocks, in fair range of

your pistols, boys, d'ye see?"
"I do see," said George!

"and now, as this matter is ours, let us
take all the risk, and do all the

fighting."

"Thee's quite welcome to do the fighting,
George," said Phineas, chewing some

checkerberry-leaves as he spoke; "but I may
have the fun of looking on, I suppose.

But see, these fellows are kinder debating
down there, and looking up, like hens when

they are going to fly up on to the roost.

Hadn't thee better give 'em a word of
advice, before they come up, just to tell

'em handsomely they'll be shot if they do?"

The party beneath, now more apparent in the
light of the dawn, consisted of our old

acquaintances, Tom Loker and Marks, with
two constables, and a posse consisting of

such rowdies at the last tavern as could be

engaged by a little brandy to go and help
the fun of trapping a set of niggers.

"Well, Tom, yer coons are farly treed,"
said one.

"Yes, I see 'em go up right here," said
Tom; "and here's a path.

I'm for going right up.
They can't jump down in a hurry, and it

won't take long to ferret 'em out."

"But, Tom, they might fire at us from
behind the rocks," said Marks.

"That would be ugly, you know."
"Ugh!" said Tom, with a sneer.

"Always for saving your skin, Marks!

No danger! niggers are too plaguy scared!"
"I don't know why I shouldn't save my

skin," said Marks.
"It's the best I've got; and niggers do

fight like the devil, sometimes."

At this moment, George appeared on the top
of a rock above them, and, speaking in a

calm, clear voice, said,
"Gentlemen, who are you, down there, and

what do you want?"

"We want a party of runaway niggers," said
Tom Loker.

"One George Harris, and Eliza Harris, and
their son, and Jim Selden, and an old

woman.

We've got the officers, here, and a warrant
to take 'em; and we're going to have 'em,

too.
D'ye hear?

An't you George Harris, that belongs to Mr.
Harris, of Shelby county, Kentucky?"

"I am George Harris.
A Mr. Harris, of Kentucky, did call me his

property.

But now I'm a free man, standing on God's
free soil; and my wife and my child I claim

as mine.
Jim and his mother are here.

We have arms to defend ourselves, and we
mean to do it.

You can come up, if you like; but the first
one of you that comes within the range of

our bullets is a dead man, and the next,
and the next; and so on till the last."

"O, come! come!" said a short, puffy man,
stepping forward, and blowing his nose as

he did so.
"Young man, this an't no kind of talk at

all for you.

You see, we're officers of justice.
We've got the law on our side, and the

power, and so forth; so you'd better give
up peaceably, you see; for you'll certainly

have to give up, at last."

"I know very well that you've got the law
on your side, and the power," said George,

bitterly.

"You mean to take my wife to sell in New
Orleans, and put my boy like a calf in a

trader's pen, and send Jim's old mother to
the brute that whipped and abused her

before, because he couldn't abuse her son.

You want to send Jim and me back to be
whipped and tortured, and ground down under

the heels of them that you call masters;
and your laws will bear you out in it,--

more shame for you and them!

But you haven't got us.

We don't own your laws; we don't own your
country; we stand here as free, under God's

sky, as you are; and, by the great God that
made us, we'll fight for our liberty till

we die."

George stood out in fair sight, on the top
of the rock, as he made his declaration of

independence; the glow of dawn gave a flush
to his swarthy cheek, and bitter

indignation and despair gave fire to his

dark eye; and, as if appealing from man to
the justice of God, he raised his hand to

heaven as he spoke.

If it had been only a Hungarian youth, now
bravely defending in some mountain fastness

the retreat of fugitives escaping from
Austria into America, this would have been

sublime heroism; but as it was a youth of

African descent, defending the retreat of
fugitives through America into Canada, of

course we are too well instructed and
patriotic to see any heroism in it; and if

any of our readers do, they must do it on
their own private responsibility.

When despairing Hungarian fugitives make
their way, against all the search-warrants

and authorities of their lawful government,
to America, press and political cabinet

ring with applause and welcome.

When despairing African fugitives do the
same thing,--it is--what is it?

Be it as it may, it is certain that the
attitude, eye, voice, manner, of the

speaker for a moment struck the party below
to silence.

There is something in boldness and
determination that for a time hushes even

the rudest nature.
Marks was the only one who remained wholly

untouched.

He was deliberately cocking his pistol,
and, in the momentary silence that followed

George's speech, he fired at him.

"Ye see ye get jist as much for him dead as
alive in Kentucky," he said coolly, as he

wiped his pistol on his coat-sleeve.

George sprang backward,--Eliza uttered a
shriek,--the ball had passed close to his

hair, had nearly grazed the cheek of his
wife, and struck in the tree above.

"It's nothing, Eliza," said George,
quickly.

"Thee'd better keep out of sight, with thy
speechifying," said Phineas; "they're mean

scamps."

"Now, Jim," said George, "look that your
pistols are all right, and watch that pass

with me.
The first man that shows himself I fire at;

you take the second, and so on.

It won't do, you know, to waste two shots
on one."

"But what if you don't hit?"
"I shall hit," said George, coolly.

"Good! now, there's stuff in that fellow,"
muttered Phineas, between his teeth.

The party below, after Marks had fired,
stood, for a moment, rather undecided.

"I think you must have hit some on 'em,"
said one of the men.

"I heard a squeal!"
"I'm going right up for one," said Tom.

"I never was afraid of niggers, and I an't
going to be now.

Who goes after?" he said, springing up the
rocks.

George heard the words distinctly.

He drew up his pistol, examined it, pointed
it towards that point in the defile where

the first man would appear.

One of the most courageous of the party
followed Tom, and, the way being thus made,

the whole party began pushing up the rock,-
-the hindermost pushing the front ones

faster than they would have gone of
themselves.

On they came, and in a moment the burly
form of Tom appeared in sight, almost at

the verge of the chasm.

George fired,--the shot entered his side,--
but, though wounded, he would not retreat,

but, with a yell like that of a mad bull,
he was leaping right across the chasm into

the party.

"Friend," said Phineas, suddenly stepping
to the front, and meeting him with a push

from his long arms, "thee isn't wanted
here."

Down he fell into the chasm, crackling down
among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones,

till he lay bruised and groaning thirty
feet below.

The fall might have killed him, had it not
been broken and moderated by his clothes

catching in the branches of a large tree;
but he came down with some force, however,-

-more than was at all agreeable or
convenient.

"Lord help us, they are perfect devils!"
said Marks, heading the retreat down the

rocks with much more of a will than he had
joined the ascent, while all the party came

tumbling precipitately after him,--the fat

constable, in particular, blowing and
puffing in a very energetic manner.

"I say, fellers," said Marks, "you jist go
round and pick up Tom, there, while I run

and get on to my horse to go back for
help,--that's you;" and, without minding

the hootings and jeers of his company,

Marks was as good as his word, and was soon
seen galloping away.

"Was ever such a sneaking varmint?" said
one of the men; "to come on his business,

and he clear out and leave us this yer
way!"

"Well, we must pick up that feller," said
another.

"Cuss me if I much care whether he is dead
or alive."

The men, led by the groans of Tom,
scrambled and crackled through stumps, logs

and bushes, to where that hero lay groaning
and swearing with alternate vehemence.

"Ye keep it agoing pretty loud, Tom," said
one.

"Ye much hurt?"
"Don't know.

Get me up, can't ye?

Blast that infernal Quaker!
If it hadn't been for him, I'd a pitched

some on 'em down here, to see how they
liked it."

With much labor and groaning, the fallen
hero was assisted to rise; and, with one

holding him up under each shoulder, they
got him as far as the horses.

"If you could only get me a mile back to
that ar tavern.

Give me a handkerchief or something, to
stuff into this place, and stop this

infernal bleeding."

George looked over the rocks, and saw them
trying to lift the burly form of Tom into

the saddle.
After two or three ineffectual attempts, he

reeled, and fell heavily to the ground.

"O, I hope he isn't killed!" said Eliza,
who, with all the party, stood watching the

proceeding.
"Why not?" said Phineas; "serves him

right."

"Because after death comes the judgment,"
said Eliza.

"Yes," said the old woman, who had been
groaning and praying, in her Methodist

fashion, during all the encounter, "it's an
awful case for the poor crittur's soul."

"On my word, they're leaving him, I do
believe," said Phineas.

It was true; for after some appearance of
irresolution and consultation, the whole

party got on their horses and rode away.

When they were quite out of sight, Phineas
began to bestir himself.

"Well, we must go down and walk a piece,"
he said.

"I told Michael to go forward and bring
help, and be along back here with the

wagon; but we shall have to walk a piece
along the road, I reckon, to meet them.

The Lord grant he be along soon!

It's early in the day; there won't be much
travel afoot yet a while; we an't much more

than two miles from our stopping-place.
If the road hadn't been so rough last

night, we could have outrun 'em entirely."

As the party neared the fence, they
discovered in the distance, along the road,

their own wagon coming back, accompanied by
some men on horseback.

"Well, now, there's Michael, and Stephen
and Amariah," exclaimed Phineas, joyfully.

"Now we are made--as safe as if we'd got
there."

"Well, do stop, then," said Eliza, "and do
something for that poor man; he's groaning

dreadfully."

"It would be no more than Christian," said
George; "let's take him up and carry him

on."
"And doctor him up among the Quakers!" said

Phineas; "pretty well, that!

Well, I don't care if we do.

Here, let's have a look at him;" and
Phineas, who in the course of his hunting

and backwoods life had acquired some rude
experience of surgery, kneeled down by the

wounded man, and began a careful
examination of his condition.

"Marks," said Tom, feebly, "is that you,
Marks?"

"No; I reckon 'tan't friend," said Phineas.

"Much Marks cares for thee, if his own
skin's safe.

He's off, long ago."
"I believe I'm done for," said Tom.

"The cussed sneaking dog, to leave me to
die alone!

My poor old mother always told me 't would
be so."

"La sakes! jist hear the poor crittur.

He's got a mammy, now," said the old
negress.

"I can't help kinder pityin' on him."

"Softly, softly; don't thee snap and snarl,
friend," said Phineas, as Tom winced and

pushed his hand away.
"Thee has no chance, unless I stop the

bleeding."

And Phineas busied himself with making some
off-hand surgical arrangements with his own

pocket-handkerchief, and such as could be
mustered in the company.

"You pushed me down there," said Tom,
faintly.

"Well if I hadn't thee would have pushed us
down, thee sees," said Phineas, as he

stooped to apply his bandage.

"There, there,--let me fix this bandage.
We mean well to thee; we bear no malice.

Thee shall be taken to a house where
they'll nurse thee first rate, well as thy

own mother could."

Tom groaned, and shut his eyes.

In men of his class, vigor and resolution
are entirely a physical matter, and ooze

out with the flowing of the blood; and the
gigantic fellow really looked piteous in

his helplessness.

The other party now came up.
The seats were taken out of the wagon.

The buffalo-skins, doubled in fours, were
spread all along one side, and four men,

with great difficulty, lifted the heavy
form of Tom into it.

Before he was gotten in, he fainted
entirely.

The old negress, in the abundance of her
compassion, sat down on the bottom, and

took his head in her lap.

Eliza, George and Jim, bestowed themselves,
as well as they could, in the remaining

space and the whole party set forward.
"What do you think of him?" said George,

who sat by Phineas in front.

"Well it's only a pretty deep flesh-wound;
but, then, tumbling and scratching down

that place didn't help him much.

It has bled pretty freely,--pretty much
drained him out, courage and all,--but

he'll get over it, and may be learn a thing
or two by it."

"I'm glad to hear you say so," said George.

"It would always be a heavy thought to me,
if I'd caused his death, even in a just

cause."

"Yes," said Phineas, "killing is an ugly
operation, any way they'll fix it,--man or

beast.

I've seen a buck that was shot down and a
dying, look that way on a feller with his

eye, that it reely most made a feller feel
wicked for killing on him; and human

creatures is a more serious consideration

yet, bein', as thy wife says, that the
judgment comes to 'em after death.

So I don't know as our people's notions on
these matters is too strict; and,

considerin' how I was raised, I fell in
with them pretty considerably."

"What shall you do with this poor fellow?"
said George.

"O, carry him along to Amariah's.

There's old Grandmam Stephens there,--
Dorcas, they call her,--she's most an

amazin' nurse.

She takes to nursing real natural, and an't
never better suited than when she gets a

sick body to tend.
We may reckon on turning him over to her

for a fortnight or so."

A ride of about an hour more brought the
party to a neat farmhouse, where the weary

travellers were received to an abundant
breakfast.

Tom Loker was soon carefully deposited in a
much cleaner and softer bed than he had

ever been in the habit of occupying.

His wound was carefully dressed and
bandaged, and he lay languidly opening and

shutting his eyes on the white window-
curtains and gently-gliding figures of his

sick room, like a weary child.

And here, for the present, we shall take
our leave of one party.