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.
"Cassy!" I snapped. "Can you use a gun?"
She nodded. "Take this, then," says I. "Cover them — and if one of them stirs a finger shoot the swine in the stomach! There — catch hold. Good girl, good girl — I'll be back in an instant!"
"What is it?" Her eyes were wild. "Where are you —"
"Don't ask questions! Trust me!" And with that I slipped out of the door, pulled it to, and was off like a stung whippet. I'd make quarter of a mile, maybe more, before she would twig, or they overpowered her, and that quarter mile could be the difference between life and death — but even as I was away with my first frenzied spring a dun-coloured, white-fanged horror came surging up at my side, teeth dragged at the tail of my coat, and I came down in a sprawling tangle of limbs with one of those damned hounds snarling and tearing at me.
By the grace of God I fell just beyond reach of its leash; I suppose the brute had gone for me because it knew a guilty fugitive when it saw one, and now it tore and frothed against its chain to be at me. I jumped up to resume my flight, and then I heard Cassy scream in the tavern, the Colt banged, somebody howled, and the door flew open. Cassy came out at a blind run, making for the thicket that bordered the river; I spared not a glance for the tavern door but went high-stepping after her for all I was worth, expecting a bullet between the shoulders at every stride.
As luck had it the thicket was only a dozen yards away, but by the time I had burst through it Cassy was well ahead of me. I suppose it was blind instinct that made me follow her, now that my own chance of a clear getaway had been scuppered by whatever had gone amiss in the tavern — the stupid bitch could have held them longer than two seconds, you'd have thought — and there was nothing to do but shift like blazes. It was growing dusk, but not near dark enough for concealment, and she was running for dear life along the bank eastwards. I pounded down the slope, yelling to her, at my wits' end over where we were going to run to. Could we hide — no, my God, the dogs! We couldn't outstrip them along the bank — where then? The same thoughts must have been in Cassy's mind, for as I closed on her, and heard the din of shouting rise a hundred yards behind me, she suddenly checked, and with a despairing cry leaped down the bank to the water's edge.
"No! No!" I bawled. "Not on the ice — we'll drown for certain!" But she never heeded. There was a narrow strip of brown water between her and the nearest floe, and she cleared it like a hunter, slipping and falling, but scrambling up again and clambering over the hummocks beyond. Oh, Christ, thinks I, she's mad, but then I looked behind, and there they were, running down from the tavern, with the dogs yelping in the background. I took a race down the bank and jumped, my feet flew from under me on the ice, and I came down with a sickening crash. I staggered up, plunging over the mass of frozen cakes locked like a great raft ahead of me, and saw Cassy steadying herself for a leap on to a level floe beyond. She made it, and I tumbled down the hummocks and leaped after her. Somehow I kept my footing, and slithered and slipped across the floe, which must have been thirty yards from side to side.
Beyond it there were great rough cakes bucking about in the current, but so close together that we were able to scramble across them. Once my leg went in, and I just avoided plunging headlong; Cassy was twenty yards ahead, and I remember roaring to her to wait for me — God knows why, but one does these things. And then behind me came the crack of a shot, and glancing over my shoulder I saw that our pursuers were leaving the bank and taking the ice in our wake.
God! It was a nightmare. If I'd had a moment to think I'd have given up the ghost, but fear sent me skipping and stumbling over the pack, babbling prayers and curses, sprawling on the ice, cutting my hands and knees to shreds, and staggering up to follow her dark figure over the floes. All round the ice was grinding and groaning fearfully; it surged beneath our feet, cracking and tilting, and then I saw her stumble and kneel clinging to a floe; she was sobbing and shrieking, and two more shots came banging behind and whistled above us in the dusk.
As I overtook her she managed to regain her feet, glaring wildly back beyond me. Her dress was in shreds, her hands were dark with blood, her hair was trailing loose like a witch's. But she went reeling on, jumping another channel and staggering across the rugged floe beyond. I set myself for the jump, slipped, and fell full length into the icy water.
It was so bitter that I screamed, and she turned back and came slithering on all fours to the edge. I grabbed her hand, and somehow I managed to scramble out. The yelping of the dogs was sounding closer, a gun banged, a frightful pain tore through my buttock, and I pitched forward on to the ice. Cassy screamed, a man
's voice sounded in a distant roar of triumph, and I felt blood coursing warm down my leg.
"My God, are you hurt?" she cried, and for some idiot reason I bad a vision of a tombstone bearing the legend: "Here lies Harry Flashman, late 11th Hussars, shot in the arse while crossing the Ohio River". The pain was sickening, but I managed to lurch to my feet, clutching my backside, and Cassy seized my hand, dragging me on.
"Not far! Not far!" she was crying, and through a mist of pain I could see the lights on the Ohio bank, not far away on our right. If only we could make the shore, we might hide, or stagger into Portsmouth itself and get assistance, but then my wound betrayed me, my leg wouldn't answer, and I sank down on the ice.
We weren't fifty yards from the shore, with fairly level ice ahead, but the feeling had gone from my limb. I looked round; Buck and his fellows were floundering across the ice a bare hundred yards away. Cassy's voice was crying:
"Up! Up! Only a little farther! Oh, try, try!"
"Rot you!" cries I. "I'm shot! I can't!"
She gave an inarticulate cry, and then by God, she seized my arms, stooped into me, and somehow managed to half-drag, halfcarry me across the ice. There must have been amazing strength in the slim body, for I'm a great hulking fellow, and she was near exhaustion. But she got me along, until we fell in a heap close to the bank, and then we slithered and floundered through the icefilled shallows, and dragged ourselves up the muddy slope of the Ohio bank.39
"Free soil" sobs Cassy. "Free soil!" And a bullet smacked into the bank between us to remind her that we were still a long way from safety. That shot must have done something to my muscular control, for I managed to hobble up the bank, with Cassy hauling at me, and then we stumbled forward towards the lights of Portsmouth. It was only half a mile away, but try running half a mile with a bullet hole in your rump. With Cassy's arm round me I could just stagger; we plunged ahead through the gloaming, and there were figures on the road ahead, people staring at us and calling out. Just before we reached them, we passed a tree, and my eye caught the lettering on a great yellow bill that had been stuck there. It read something about "Great Meeting Tonight, All Welcome", and in large letters the names "Lincoln" and "Smith". I was gasping, all in, but I remembered that the little tabby man on the steamboat had been Smith, and he had said Lincoln was speaking in Portsmouth. And I had sense enough to realise that wherever Lincoln was there would be enemies of slavery and friends to all fugitives like us. Two hours ago I'd been wanting to avoid him like the pox, but now it was life or death, and there was something else stirring in my head. I don't know why it was, but I remembered that big man, and his great hard knuckles and dark smiling eyes, and I thought, by God, get to Lincoln! Get to him; we'll be safe with him. They won't dare touch us if he's there. And as Cassy and I stumbled along the road, and I heard voices calling out in concern: "Who are they? What is it? Great snakes, he's bleeding — look, he's been shot," I managed to find the breath to cry out:
"Mr Lincoln — where can I find Mr Lincoln?"
"Great snakes, man!" A face was peering into mine. "Who are you? What's —"
"Slave-catchers!" cries Cassy. "Behind us — with guns and dogs."
"What's that, girl? Slave-catchers! My stars, get them up — here, Harry, lend a hand! John, you run to your uncle's — quick flow! Tell him slave-catchers come over the river — hurry, boy, there's no time to lose!"
I could have cried out in relief, but as I turned my head I saw in the distance figures clambering the bank, and heard the yelp of those accursed dogs.
"Get me to Lincoln, for God's sake!" I shouted. "Where is he — what house?"
"Lincoln? You mean Mr Abraham Lincoln? Why, he's up to Judge Payne's, ain't he, Harry? C'mon, then, mister, it ain't that far, ifn you can manage along. Harry, help the lady, there. This way, then — best foot forward!"
Somehow I managed to raise a run, and by blessed chance the house proved to be not more than a few furlongs away. I was aware of a hubbub behind us, and gathered that Buck and his friends had run into various Ohio citizens who were disputing their progress, but only verbally, for as we turned into a wide gateway, and our helpers assisted us up a long pathway to a fine white house, I heard the barking again, and what I thought was Buck's voice raised in angry defiance.
We stumbled up the steps, and someone knocked and beat on the panels, and a scared-looking nigger put his head round the door, but I blundered ahead, pushing him back, with a man helping Cassy beside me. We were in a big, well-lit hall, and I remember the carpet was deep red, and there was a fine mural painted on the wall above the stairs. People were hurrying out of the rooms; two or three gentlemen, and a lady who gave a little shriek at the sight of us.
"Good God!" cries one of the men. "What is the meaning — ? who are you — ?"
"Lincoln!" I shouted, and as my leg gave way I sat down heavily. "Where's Lincoln? I want him. I've been shot in the backside — slave-catchers! Lincoln!"
At this there was a great hubbub, and women swooning by the sound of it, and I hobbled to the newell post of the stair and hung on — I couldn't sit down, you understand. Cassy, with a man supporting her, tottered past me and sank into a chair, while the nicely-dressed ladies and gentlemen gaped at us in consternation, two horrid, bleeding scarecrows leaving a muddy trail across that excellent carpet. A stout man in a white beard was confronting me, shouting:
"How dare you, sir? Who are you, and what — ?"
"Lincoln," says I, pretty hoarse. "Where's Lincoln?"
"Here I am," says a voice. "What do you want with me?"
And there he was, at my shoulder, frowning in astonishment.
"I'm Fitzhoward," says I. "You remember —"
"Fitzhoward? I don't —"
"No, not Fitzhoward, blast it. Wait, though — Arnold — oh, God, no!" My mind was swimming. "No — Comber! Lieutenant Comber — you must remember me?"
He took a pace back in bewilderment. "Comber? The English officer — how in the world — ?"
"That's a slave girl," I gasped out. "I — I rescued her — from down South — the slave-catchers found us — chased us across river — still coming after us." And praise be to providence I had the sense to hit the right note. "Don't let them take her back! Save her, for God's sake!"
It must have sounded well, at least to the others, for I heard a gasp of dismay and pity, and one of the women, a little ugly battleship of a creature, bustles over to Cassy to take her hands.
"But — but, here, sir!" The stout chap was all agog. "What, a runaway girl? Septy, shut that door this minute — what's that? My God, more scarecrows! What the devil is this? Who are — ?"
I looked to the door, and my heart went down to my boots. The old nigger was clinging to the handle as though to support himself, his eyes rolling, the people of the house were rustling back to the doorways off the hall, the stout man — who I guessed was Judge Payne — had fallen silent. Buck stood in the doorway, panting hard, his clothes sodden and mud-spattered, with his gun cradled in his left arm, and behind him were the bearded faces of his fellows. Buck was grinning, though, with his loose lower lip stuck out, and now he raised his free hand and pointed at Cassy.
"That's a runaway slave there, mister — an' I'm a warranted slave-catcher! That scoundrel at the stair there's the thievin' skunk that stole her!" He took a pace forward into the hall. "I'm gonna take both of 'em back where they belong!"
Payne seemed to swell up. "Good God!" says he. "What — what? This is intolerable! First these two, and now — is my house supposed to be a slave market, or what?"
"I want 'em both," Buck was beginning, and then he must have realised where he was. "Kindly sorry for intrudin' on you, mister, but this is where they run to, an' this is where I gotta follow. So — jus' you roust 'em out here to me, an' we won't be troublin' you or your ladies no further."
For a moment you could have heard a pin drop. Then Buck added defiantly:
"That's the law. I got the law on my side."
&nbs
p; I felt Lincoln stiffen beside me. "For God's sake," I whispered. "Don't let them take us!"
He moved forward a pace, beside Judge Payne, and I heard one of the ladies begin to sob gently — the first sobs before hysterics. Then Lincoln says, very quietly:
"There's a law against forcing an entry into a private house."
"Indeed there is!" cries the judge. "Take yourself off, sir — this instant, and your bandits with you!"
Buck glared at him. "Ain't forcin' nuthin'. I'm recapturin' a slave, like I'm legally entitled to. Anyone gits in my way, is harbourin' runaways, an' that's a crime! I know the law, mister, an' I tell you, either you put them out o' doors for us, or stand aside — because if they ain't comin' out, we're comin' in!"
Judge Payne fell back at that, and the other people shrank away, some of the women bolting back to the drawing room. But not the ugly little woman who bad her arm round Cassy's shoulders.
"Don't you move another step!" she cries out. "Nathan — don't permit him. They don't touch a hair of this poor creature's head in this house. Stand back, you bully!"
"But, my dear!" cries Payne in distress. "If what they say is true, we have no choice, I fear —"
"Who says it's true? There now, child, be still; they shan't harm you."
"Look, missus." Buck swaggered forward, limbering his rifle, and stood four-square, with his pals at his back. "You best 'tend to what your ol' man says. We got the law behind us." He glanced at Lincoln, who hadn't moved and was right in his path. "Step aside."
Lincoln still didn't move. He stood very easy and his drawl was steady as ever.
"On the subject of the law," says he, "you say she's a runaway, and that this man stole her. We don't know the truth about that, though, do we? Perhaps they tell a different tale. I know a little law myself, friend, and I would suggest that if you have a claim on these two persons, you should pursue it in the proper fashion, which is through a court. An Ohio court," he added. "And I'd further advise you, as a legal man, not to prejudice your case by armed house-breaking. Or, for that matter, by dirtying this good lady's carpet. If you have a just claim, go and enter it, in the proper place." He paused. "Good night, sir."
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