I then took leave
of her and the family and went away.
The next day, at the appointed time, I was at the ferry--Sarah, as I
learned afterwards, left the house at a much earlier hour to "take a
walk" and while she was, foolishly I think, making a circuitous
route to reach the ferry, her father, who suspected that she
intended to run away, went to the ferryman and told him his
suspicions, directing him if Sarah came there by no means to permit
her to cross the river. Consequently when Sarah met me at the ferry,
the ferryman flatly refused to let either of us go over. He knew all
about it, he said, and it was "no go." I had two hundred dollars in
my pocket and I offered him any reasonable sum, if he would only let
us cross; but no, he knew the Scheimers better than he knew me, and
their goodwill was worth more than mine. Here was a block to the
game, indeed. I had sent my baggage forward in the morning to
Belvidere; Sarah had nothing but the clothes she wore, for she was
so carefully watched that she could carry or send nothing away; but
she was ready to go if the obstinate ferryman had not prevented us.
While we were pressing the ferryman to favor us, down came one of
Sarah's brothers with a dozen neighbors, and told her she must
return home or he would carry her back by force. I interfered and
said she should not go. Whereupon one fellow took hold of me and I
promptly knocked him down, and notified the crowd that the first who
laid hands on me, or who attempted to take her home violently, would
get a dose from my pistol which I then exhibited:
"Sarah must go willingly or not at all," said I.
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