We must have walked about an hour, and although it was still early afternoon it seemed to me to be growing darker, when we saw buildings ahead, and came to a tiny village on the river bank. We were nearly opposite Portsmouth by now, and already some lights were twinkling across the water. The river here seemed to be more choked with ice than ever, stirring and heaving but moving only gently downstream.
The keeper of the tavern that served the place laughed to scorn our inquiries about a ferry; however, in his opinion the ice would freeze again overnight, and then we could walk across. He couldn't give us beds, but we were welcome to couch down for the night, and in the meantime he could give us fried ham and coffee.
"We should have stayed at Fisher's Landing," says I, but Cassy just sank down wearily on a bench without replying. I offered her some coffee but she shook her head, and when I reminded her it was only for one night, she whispered:
"It is very near us now — I can feel the dark shadow coming closer. Oh, God! Oh, God! Why did I set foot on this accursed shore again!"
"What bloody shadow?" snaps I, for she had my nerves like fiddle strings. "We're snug enough here, girl, within spitting distance of Ohio! We've come this far, in God's name; who's going to stop us now?"
And as though in answer to my question, from somewhere down the road outside, came the yelping and baying of hounds.
Cassy started, and I own that my heart took a sudden leap, although what's a dog barking, after all? And then came the sound of footsteps, and men's voices, and presently the door was shoved open, and half a dozen or so rough fellows came in and bawled for the landlord to bring them a jug of spirits and some food. I didn't like the look of them by half, big tough-looking men with pistols in their belts and two of them carrying rifles; their leader was a tall, black-bearded villain with a broken nose who gave me a hard stare and a curt good day and then strode to the door to curse the dogs leashed up outside. I felt Cassy sink shuddering against me, and just caught her whisper:
"Slave-catchers! Oh, God help us!"
I fought down my instinctive desire to make a dash for the door; I'd made too many sudden dashes on this trip already. My throat was dry and my hands trembling, but I forced myself to drink my coffee, and even asked Cassy in a loud, steady voice if she required anything more to eat. Plainly we would have to get out of here as soon as possible, but we must not rouse an instant's suspicion, or we were done for.
The newcomers were talking so much by now that our silence went unnoticed, and almost their first words confirmed what Cassy had said.
"That nigger of Thompson's'll be hidin' up in Mason's Bottom," says one. "That's whar they always run afore they try the Portsmouth ferry. Well, he ain't gettin' no ferry tonight, for sure; he can lay out an' freeze an' the dogs kin pick him up in the mornin'."
"Too bad about the ferry, though," says the leader. "Kinda had a notion to go over tonight, to th' abolitionist meetin'."
"Since when you go to abolitionist meetin's, Buck?"
"Since I heerd that son-of-a-bitch of an Illinoy lawyer goin' to be speakin', that's since when. Precious Mr Goddam Congressman Lincoln. That's a bastard I get real discontented with, that is."
"You figurin' on takin' a few bad eggs along?" says the other, laughing.
"Could be. Could be, if things had looked right, I might have taken me a picket rail, a nice big bag o' feathers, an' mustered up some hot tar to boot. I reckon that's th' only way to discourage some o' these nigger-lovin' duff ers."
"Discourage 'em a dam' sight better with a rope, or a good spread of buckshot," says a third, and other suggestions followed, most of them unrepeatable.
All this time I had felt Cassy trembling beside me, but now she suddenly whispered, in a shaking gasp:
"We must leave! I can't bear it any longer! Please, let us go — anywhere away from them!"
I knew she was near breaking — this same wench who'd killed two men on a dark country road — so I helped her to her feet, and with a muttered good day led her towards the door. Naturally they turned to look at us, and the leader, Buck, says:
"Ain't no ferry movin' tonight, mister. Where you figurin' on goin'?"
"Er … Fisher's Landing," says I.
"No ferry there, either," says he. "You be best here tonight."
I hesitated. "I think we'll move on," says I. "Come, my dear."
And we were almost at the door when he said:
"Hold one one moment, mister." He was sitting forward on his stool, and there was a grin on his loose mouth that I didn't care for. "Pardon my askin' — but would your companion be a white lady?"
Sickened, I turned to face him. "And if she is not?" says I.
"Thought she warn't," says he, standing up. "Mighty fancy dressed, though, for a nigger."
"I like my women well dressed." I tried to keep my voice level, but it wasn't easy.
"Sure, sure," says he, hooking his thumbs in his belt. "Jus' that when I see nigger ladies, an' their wearin' veils, an' shiverin' like they had the ague — well, I get curious." He kicked his stool away and walked forward. "What's your name, wench?"
I saw Cassy's eyes flash behind her veil, and suddenly she was no longer trembling, which made up for me. "Ask my master," she said.
He gave a growl, but checked himself. "Right pert, too. All right, Mister — what's her name?"
"Belinda."
"Is it now?" Suddenly he reached forward, before I could stop him, and twitched away her veil, laughing as she started back. "Well, well, now — right pretty, as well as pert. You're a lucky feller, mister. An' what might your name be?"
"J. C. Stubbs," says I, "and I'll be damned if —"
"You'll be damned anyway, unless I'm mistaken," he snapped, his face vicious. "Belinda an' J. C. Stubbs, eh? Jus' you wait right there, then, while I have a little look here." And he pulled a handful of papers from his pocket. "I been keepin' an eye on you, this few minutes, Mr J. C. Stubbs, an' now I get a look at your little black charmer, I got me a feelin' — where is it, now? — yes, here we have it — uh, huh, Mr Stubbs, I got a suspicion you ain't Mr Stubbs at all, but that you're a Mr Fitzroy Howard, who offered a spankin' mustee gal named Cassy at Memphis a few days back, an' —"
He broke off with a shouted oath, because he was looking down the barrel of my Colt. There was nothing else for it; at the hideous realisation that we were caught I had snatched it from the back of my waist, and as he started back and his hand swept away his coat-tail I jammed the gun into his midriff with the violence of panic, and bawled in his face:
"Move, and I'll blow your guts into Ohio! You others, get your hands up — lively now, or I'll spread your friend all over you!"
I was red in the face with terror, and my hand was quivering on the butt, but to them I was probably a fearsome sight. Their hands shot up, a rifle clattered to the floor, and Buck's ugly face turned yellow. He fell back before me, his mouth trembling, and the sight of it gave me a sudden surge of courage.
"Down on the floor, damn you — all of you! Down, I say, or I'll burn your brains!"
Buck dropped to the boards, and the others followed suit. I hadn't the nerve to go among them to remove their weapons, and for the life of me I couldn't think what to do next. I stood there, swearing at them, wondering if I should shoot Buck where he lay, but I hadn't the bate for it. He raised his head to cry hoarsely:
"You ain't gonna run nowhere, mister! We'll get you before you're gone a mile — you an' that yaller slut! We'll make you pay for this —"
I snarled and mowed at them, brandishing my gun, and he cowered down, and then I backed slowly towards the door, still covering them — the Colt was shaking like a jelly. I couldn't think — there wasn't time. If we ran for it now, where would we run to? They'd overhaul us, with their filthy dogs — if only there was some way to delay them! A sudden inspiration struck me, and I glanced at Cassy; she was at my elbow, quivering like a hunted beast, and if she too was terrified at least it wasn't with the terror that is helpless.