Bradshaw has the carriage at the door, piled
with sundry boxes and portmanteaus, giving it the appearance of a
gentleman's travelling equipage. He has orders to drive to the
steam-boat landing, where the young invalid planter will embark for
New York via Wilmington and the land route. Soon they have taken
their seats, and with Rosebrook's good-natured face shining beside
Bradshaw, on the front seat, they say their happy adieu! and bound
over the road for the steamer.
It is now within fifteen minutes of the starting time. The wharf
presents a bustling scene: carriages and coaches are arriving with
eager-looking passengers, who, fearing they are a little behind
time, stare about as if bewildered, scold heedless drivers, point
out heir baggage to awkward porters who run to and fro with trunks
and boxes on their heads, and then nervously seek the ticket-office,
where they procure the piece of paper that insures them through to
New York. Albeit, finding they have quite time enough on their
hands, they escort their female voyagers on board, and loiter about
in the way of every one else, enjoying that excitement in others
which they have fortunately passed through. Here and there about the
wharf, leaning their head carelessly over black piles, are
sly-looking policemen, who scan every voyager with a searching eye.
They are incog., but the initiated recognise them at a glance. The
restless leer of that lynx eye discovers their object; anything,
from a runaway nigger to a houseless debtor, is to them acceptable
prey.
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