Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, |1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 17, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. 20. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
A Contraband Incident 
CHAPTER IV.—Conclusion 
A Story of the Forties Written by Nessmuk 
•“rw^WAS a year ago las’ ’July dat I took seek 
I an awful whippin’, an’ ef I hadn’t bin 
mighty tuff, I shouldn’t be alive now. 
I’se a little lame ’bout dat shoulder yet, but ef 
I can get to Canada I’se good for two men’s 
work any day.” 
“And did your mistress keep her word about 
freeing her share of the slaves?” inquired farmer 
Kelly. 
“No, sah. She tried to, but massa an' de 
lawyers made her a heap ob trouble about it, 
an’ kep’ puttin’ her off. Finally massa got it 
made up to send ten ob us down to Orleans an’ 
sell us dar, an’ we happened to find it out de 
very day afore we was to go. De next mornin’ 
dere was ten niggers missin’ on dat plantation, 
bet on dat! Missus didn’t know nuffin ’tall ’bout 
it. Oh, no! Ob course not! She come round 
arter we was done work an’ shook han’s wid 
us kind a sly an’ quiet like, an’ sed she knowed 
we wouldn’t ’ neber think ob runnin’ away, 
“’specially you, Jim,’ she said. ‘You’ve bin used 
so nice an’ neber flogged, you know, an’ your 
wife has bin treated like a lady on dis planta¬ 
tion; you’ll neber turn your face to de norf 
star.’ And den she looked so knowin’ an’ railly 
handed me ten dollars. Lord! She might jes’ 
as well tole me to run in plain words. She said 
five hun’red dollars was safe in de bank at Rich¬ 
mond, an’ ef I ever got in a place whar I needed 
it, to let some frien’ dat I could trust send to 
her for it, an’ she would see dat I got it all 
safe, but Lord! I reckon de ole colonel ’ll take 
care ob dat money. You see, it will help pay for 
some niggers dat he lost one night. Arter dark 
missus come roun’ ag’in wid her yaller gal 
Nance, an’ dey had as much cake an’ bread an’ 
sech stuff as dey could carry in a big basket. 
She alius trusted Nance wid ebery t’ing, ’cause 
she said, mebbe we hadn’t had any dinner an’ 
might get hungry ’fore mornin’. When she was 
goin’ away she jes’ jumpt up an’ cotched hole 
ob my wool an’ pulled my head down an’ whis¬ 
pered dat I’d find a team an’ wagin up de road 
’bout 10 o’clock, ef I should happen to feel like 
takin’ a ride. Lord! But she was cute, massa, 
an’ de lawyers didn’t fool her so bad arter all. 
We found de team jes’ as she said, an’ a man 
wid his head all bundled up was dar a-waitin’ 
for us an’ tole us to jump in quick. I knowed 
who de man was, but I didn’t let on to know 
dat ’twas missuses brudder, so we got in an’ 
de man druv all night. He druv de bosses right 
smart, an’ ’bout an hour ’fore daybreak he stop- 
WitJi illustrations from “Woodcraft.” 
ped dost to a big piece of woods an’ tole us he 
couldn’t go no furder; we mus’ take our chance 
alone de rest ob de way. De Lord knows how 
we eber got so fur as dis wid dat poor little 
chile to tote, but He led us on an’ we’se got 
’mong frien’s at las’.” 
As the man told of his adventures in a sim¬ 
ple, childlike manner that carried conviction with 
every word, one felt not only that it was true, 
but that much had been passed over which was 
well worth listening to. 
“Well, boys, it’s nearly 4 o’clock, and some 
of this crowd may have a good piece to go 
afore another night. You, Jim, if that’s your 
name—” 
“Yes, massa, dat's my name.” 
“Well, you’d better lay down with your little 
girl and sleep till we call you; you needn't be 
uneasy; you shan’t be hurt or taken; I’ll give 
you my word for that.” 
The great hulking black fellow lay down by 
his child and drew the coarse blanket about her 
shoulders, oh, how tenderly, and patted the 
crisp damp hair on the little suffering head, gent¬ 
ly as you, oh mother, in Israel, member of a 
most respectable church, patted the head of your 
own darling when you watched her calmly 
sleeping after hovering for days on the confines 
of the grave, and the humble, heartfelt words 
of gratitude which you offered at His shrine 
then were no more sincere, no more heartfelt 
than the low-murmured, broken, prayerful words 
with which that poor fugitive thanked his Maker, 
as with his great black hand resting lightly on 
his child he fell asleep. We all slept. The three 
white men leaning against the crotched posts or 
log sides of the shanty, the contrabands on the 
more luxurious bed of dried marsh grass and 
spruce boughs. 
We—the whites—hardly thought to do more 
than to get partially rested and catch a light 
cat-nap or two, but we were roused from rather 
sound sleep by a rough voice which startled us 
with “Hurrah, there! turn out and gaze round.” 
In an instant we were on our feet, and in¬ 
stinctively grasping for our weapons before our 
eyes were fairly open, but a glance convinced 
us it was all right. Slave hunters do not usually 
travel on horseback with bundles of clothing tied 
up in home-made counterpanes at their saddle 
hows and baskets of ready cooked provisions on 
their arms. The newcomers were four in num- 
ber^—all mounted—and the rough speaker, whom 
farmer Kelly addressed as Bell, stirred himself 
with a handy readiness which left a suspicion 
on the mind that he was an “auld used hand” 
at this sort of thing. 
“There,” throwing a huge bundle into the 
shanty. “That’s woman’s gearin’ and some duds 
for the little gal. And here’s shirts, trousers 
and an old overcoat for the man; reckon they’re 
too small for him, but they'll do till he can get 
some bigger and better ones, and—got some hot 
water on that fire ? Good! Make ’em a strong- 
cup of tea and put a drop of something in it, 
while they’re dressin’; there’s no time to lo'se.” 
“And what about my Ben? You’ve seen 
him, of course, and that other chap?” said Kelly. 
“Your Ben’s all right, and the other chap’s 
in jail by this time,” answered Bell. 
“‘Well, that is neat; how did it happen?” 
