Fully assured by the style of the singing, Sam, the only name he now recognized, made his presence known and was cordially received by the colored brethren present, among them the _distinguished_ tonsorial artist, Prof. A. L. C. Day, and Benjamin F. Scott, familiarly known as “Old Ben,” a darkey whose cupidity and avarice knew no bounds. Recognizing in Sam, as he believed, the Edward Howard of the hand-bill, he began planning for the reward. Ascertaining what was up, Dr. D. B. Woods and Postmaster Webb, two sterling Democrats, got possession of Sam and took him to a by-road about two miles out of town, where they enjoined him to keep away from the more public highways and proceed about twenty miles north where he would find a colored man named Jenkins, in whom he could rely. Whilst the doctor and his friend were thus humanely engaged, the colored brethren of Warren took Old Ebony out of town and so severely flogged him that his back presented the appearance of a genuine plantation administration. Determined to realize something for his time and pains, the old sinner proceeded to the northern part of the county and palmed himself off as a genuine fugitive, and so adroitly did he play the role as to secure twelve or fifteen dollars before the counterfeit was detected. As for Sam, he took the advice of his Democratic deliverers, and in due time found himself under the hospitable roof of “Nigger” Jenkins, as he was more commonly called, residing in the township of Mesopotamia, and by him was forwarded to the home of Joseph Tinan, near the centre of Rome. “Uncle Joe” was a famous agent in his day. Tall and imposing in appearance, and of more than ordinary intelligence, he commanded universal respect, and so pronounced were his opinions on the curse of slavery that his home had long been recognized as “Old Reliable Station.” By him Sam was cordially received, and his _arm_ carefully inspected. Then the old gentleman would have Sam make an exhibition of his skill as a marksman. So well did the efforts of his temporary ward please him, that Uncle Joe was constrained to show him the armory of the “Black String Band,” an organization that had then but recently sprung into existence and having for its more immediate object the protection of John Brown, should his arrest be attempted. The distinctive badge of this band was a small black cord, used instead of a button in fastening the shirt collar. Hence the name. The sight of the glittering barrels made Sam’s eyes fairly dance with delight, and he exclaimed, “Massa Coppoc say thay’s gwine to be wah an’ de cullud pussons will all be free.” “O no, Sam, there’s going to be no war. These guns are for another purpose.” Little did Uncle Joe, well as he was posted, know of the ultimate plans of Old Osawatomie. His dusky visitor was even a little in advance of him with regard to what was already fomenting in Dixie.