Scene 4 Dining-Room — Table Spread
Mrs. Neal and Charlotte.
Mrs. Neal. Thee may put the tea to draw, Charlotte. Thy father will be in soon, and we must have breakfast.
Enter Mr. Neal, L.
I think, Simeon, it is time those people were called. Thee knows that they may be pursued, and we ought not to detain them long here.
Mr. Neal. Yes, Ruth, thou art right. Go, Charlotte, and knock on their chamber door, and tell them that breakfast is ready.
[Exit Charlotte, R.
Mrs. N. Poor creatures! I hope they’ll reach Canada in safety. They seem to be worthy persons.
Enter Charlotte, R.
Charlotte. I’ve called them, mother, and they’ll soon be down. I’ll put the breakfast on the table.
Enter Neighbor Jones, L.
Mr. N. Good morning, James. Thee has heard, I presume, that we have two very interesting persons in the house?
Jones. Yes, I heard that you had two fugitives by the Underground road, last night; and I’ve come over to fight for them, if any persons come to take them back.
Enter Thomas, R.
Mr. N. Go, Thomas, and harness up the horses and put them to the covered wagon, and be ready to take these people on, as soon as they get their breakfast. Go, Thomas, and hurry thyself.
[Exit Thomas, R.
And so thee wants to fight, this morning, James?
Jones. Yes; as you belongs to a society that don’t believe in fighting, and I does believe in that sort of thing, I thought I’d come and relieve you of that work, if there is any to be done.
Enter Glen and Melinda, R.
Mr. N. Good morning, friends. I hope thee rested well, last night.
Mrs. N. Yes, I hope thee had a good night’s rest.
Glen. I thank you, madam, we did.
Mr. N. I’ll introduce thee to our neighbor, James Jones. He’s a staunch friend of thy people.
Jones. I am glad to see you. I’ve come over to render assistance, if any is needed.
Mrs. N. Come, friends, take seats at the table. Thee’ll take seats there. [To Glen and Melinda.] [All take seats at the table.] Does thee take sugar and milk in thy tea?
Melinda. I thank you, we do.
Jones. I’ll look at your Tribune, Uncle Simeon, while you’re eating.
Mr. N. Thee’ll find it on the table.
Mrs. N. I presume thee’s anxious to get to thy journey’s end?
Glen. Yes, madam, we are. I am told that we are not safe in any of the free States.
Mr. N. I am sorry to tell thee, that that is too true. Thee will not be safe until thee gets on British soil. I wonder what keeps Thomas; he should have been here with the team.
Enter Thomas, L.
Thomas. All’s ready; and I’ve written the prettiest song that was ever sung. I call it “The Underground Railroad.”
Mr. N. Thomas, thee can eat thy breakfast far better than thee can write a song, as thee calls it. Thee must hurry thyself, when I send thee for the horses, Thomas. Here lately, thee takes thy time.
Thomas. Well, you see I’ve been writing poetry; that’s the reason I’ve been so long. If you wish it, I’ll sing it to you.
Jones. Do let us hear the song.
Mrs. Neal. Yes, if Thomas has written a ditty, do let us hear it.
Mr. Neal. Well, Thomas, if thee has a ditty, thee may recite it to us.
Thomas. Well, I’ll give it to you. Remember that I call it, “The Underground Railroad.”
Air—“Wait for the Wagon.”
Oh, where is the invention
Of this growing age,
Claiming the attention
Of statesman, priest, or sage,
In the many railways
Through the nation found,
Equal to the Yankees’
Railway under-ground?
Chorus.—No one hears the whistle,
Or rolling of the cars,
While negroes ride to freedom
Beyond the stripes and stars.
On the Southern borders
Are the Railway stations,
Negroes get free orders
While on the plantations;
For all, of ev’ry color,
First-class cars are found,
While they ride to freedom
By Railway under-ground.
Chorus.—No one hears the whistle, &c.
Masters in the morning
Furiously rage,
Cursing the inventions
Of this knowing age;
Order out the bloodhounds,
Swear they’ll bring them back,
Dogs return exhausted,
Cannot find the track.
Chorus.—No one hears the whistle, &c.
Travel is increasing,
Build a double track,
Cars and engines wanted,
They’ll come, we have no lack.
Clear the track of loafers,
See that crowded car!
Thousands passing yearly,
Stock is more than par.
Chorus.—No one hears the whistle, &c.
Jones. Well done! That’s a good song. I’d like to have a copy of them verses.
[Knock at the door. Charlotte goes to the door, and returns.
Enter Cato, L., still in disguise.
Mr. Neal. Who is this we have? Another of the outcasts, I presume?
Cato. Yes, seer; I is gwine to Canada, an’ I met a man, an’ he tole me dat you would give me some wittuls an’ help me on de way. By golly! ef dar ain’t Glen an’ Melinda. Dey don’t know me in dese fine clothes. [Goes up to them.] Ah, chillen! I is one wid you. I golly, I is here too! [They shake hands.]
Glen. Why, it is Cato, as I live!
Melinda. Oh, Cato, I am so glad to see you! But how did you get here?
Cato. Ah, chile, I come wid ole massa to hunt you; an’ you see I get tired huntin’ you, an’ I am now huntin’ for Canada. I leff de ole boss in de bed at de hotel; an’ you see I thought, afore I left massa, I’d jess change clothes wid him; so, you see, I is fixed up,—ha, ha, ha. Ah, chillen! I is gwine wid you.
Mrs. Neal. Come, sit thee down, and have some breakfast.
Cato. Tank you, madam, I’ll do dat.
[Sits down and eats.
Mr. Neal. This is pleasant for thee to meet one of thy friends.
Glen. Yes, sir, it is; I would be glad if we could meet more of them. I have a mother and sister still in slavery, and I would give worlds, if I possessed them, if by so doing I could release them from their bondage.
Thomas. We are all ready, sir, and the wagon is waiting.
Mrs. Neal. Yes, thee had better start.
Cato. Ef any body tries to take me back to ole massa, I’ll pull ebry toof out of dar heads, dat I will! As soon as I get to Canada, I’ll set up a doctor shop, an’ won’t I be poplar? Den I rec’on I will. I’ll pull teef fer all de people in Canada. Oh, how I wish I had Hannah wid me! It makes me feel bad when I tink I ain’t a-gwine to see my wife no more. But, come, chillen, let’s be makin’ tracks. Dey say we is most to de British side.
Mr. Neal. Yes, a few miles further, and you’ll be safe beyond the reach of the Fugitive-Slave Law.
Cato. Ah, dat’s de talk fer dis chile.
[Exit, M. D.