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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Yer a hell sight better lookin' then I thought yer wus, an' a damn sight younger. Whar wus it yer cum frum?" "Frum Saint Louee, on the boat, if thet's what yer drivin' at." "Tain't what I'm drivin' at. Whar else did yer cum frum afore then? Yer ain't got no bum's face." "Oh, I see; well, I can't help that, kin I? I wus raised down in Mississip', an' run away when I wus fourteen.
They either intend threatening her, or else to actually resort to force likely both. No doubt they can rely on this renegade preacher in either case." "Jack didn't name no name?" "No why?" "Only thar uster be a bum hangin' round the river front in Saint Louee who hed preacher's papers, en wore a long-tailed coat. Thar wan't no low-down game he wudn't take a hand in fer a drink.
I did not glance around, yet knew that Tim spat over the rail, and stroked his chin-beard reflectively, after looking hard at me. "They'se both of 'em niggers," he said, evidently persuaded my question was prompted only by curiosity. "They belong ter Joe Kirby, an' we got 'em locked up." "That's whut yer way up yere fur, hey? Goin' ter take 'em back down river ter Saint Louee, I reckon?"
"A cabin, sah; 'tain't so awful big, but Massa Donaldson he uster sleep dar off an' on." "The young lady could rest there then?" "Sure she cud. 'Twas all fixed up fine afore we lef Saint Louee. Ah'll show yer de way, Missus." She rose to her feet rather eagerly, and stood with one hand resting against the trunk of a small tree. Her eyes met mine, and endeavored a smile.
A damned queer combination, if you ask me; two nigger wenches, Joe Kirby, an' a deputy sheriff from down Saint Louee way." "Two women, you say? both negresses?" "Well, thet whut Joe sed they wus, an' I reckon he knew; an' neither ov 'em put up a holler whin he sed it. However one ov 'em looked ez white as enybody I ever saw.
"You know the steamer?" "Yas, sah. Ah's seed her afore dis down et Saint Louee. She uster run down de ribber she's de John B. Glover. She ain't no great shakes ob a boat, sah." His eyes, which had been eagerly following the movements of the craft, turned and glanced at me. "Now dey's goin' fer ter cross over, sah, so's ter keep de channel.
They reckoned the whol' bunch must'r got away tergether, so the sheriff he started fer Saint Louee, an' the others got onto a troop boat what happened ter cum 'long, and started north. Long 'bout the mouth ov the Illinoy they caught up with a nigger-stealer named Shrunk.
Yer never heerd nuthin' like thet 'bout Tim Kennedy, I reckon. Eat, sure yer know Jack Rale?" "Never heerd the name." "What, hell! never heerd o' Jack Rale! Ol' river man, half hoss, half alligator; uster tend bar in Saint Louee. He's up yere now, a sellin' forty-rod ter sojers. Cum up 'long with him frum Beardstown. Got a shack back yere, an' is a gittin' rich frien' o' mine.
All right, then; hand it over. Now put out that light." He did exactly as I told him, moving as though paralyzed by fear, yet unable to resist. "You are a negro a slave?" "Yas, sah; Ah's Massa Donaldson's boy frum Saint Louee." "He is the sheriff?" "Yas, sah yas, sah. Whar is Massa Donaldson? Yer ain't done bin sent yere by him, I reckon. 'Pears like I never see yer afore."
De las' time he wus yere he tol' me thet he wint down ter Saint Louee hisself, an' done gif bof dem papers ter Gov'ner Clark. So yer don't need worry none 'bout dem no mor'." I sank back onto the hard pillow, greatly relieved by this information. The burden of official duty had been taken from me. I was now on furlough, and free to act as I pleased. I suddenly became conscious that I was hungry.
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