Chained together， it was not long before we becameacquainted with each other’s history. His name wasRobert. Like myself， he had been born free， and had awife and two children in Cincinnati. He said he had comesouth with two men， who had hired him in the city of hisresidence. Without free papers， he had been seized atFredericksburgh， placed in confinement， and beaten untilhe had learned， as I had， the necessity and the policyof silence. He had been in Goodin’s pen about threeweeks. To this man I became much attached. We couldsympathize with， and understand each other. It was withtears and a heavy heart， not many days subsequently，that I saw him die， and looked for the last time upon hislifeless form！
Robert and myself， with Clem， Eliza and her children，slept that night upon our blankets， in one of the smallhouses in the yard. There were four others， all from thesame plantation， who had been sold， and were now ontheir way south， who also occupied it with us. Davidand his wife， Caroline， both mulattos， were exceedinglyaffected. They dreaded the thought of being put into thecane and cotton fields； but their greatest source of anxietywas the apprehension of being separated. Mary， a tall，lithe girl， of a most jetty black， was listless and apparentlyindifferent. Like many of the class， she scarcely knewthere was such a word as freedom. Brought up in theignorance of a brute， she possessed but little more thana brute’s intelligence. She was one of those， and thereare very many， who fear nothing but their master’slash， and know no further duty than to obey his voice.
The other was Lethe. She was of an entirely differentcharacter. She had long， straight hair， and bore more theappearance of an Indian than a negro woman. She hadsharp and spiteful eyes， and continually gave utteranceto the language of hatred and revenge. Her husband hadbeen sold. She knew not where she was. An exchange ofmasters， she was sure， could not be for the worse. Shecared not whither they might carry her. Pointing to thescars upon her face， the desperate creature wished thatshe might see the day when she could wipe them off insome man’s blood！
While we were thus learning the history of each other’swretchedness， Eliza was seated in a corner by herself，singing hymns and praying for her children. Weariedfrom the loss of so much sleep， I could no longer bear upagainst the advances of that “sweet restorer，” and layingdown by the side of Robert， on the floor， soon forgot mytroubles， and slept until the dawn of day.
In the morning， having swept the yard， and washedourselves， under Goodin’s superintendence， we wereordered to roll up our blankets， and make ready for the continuance of our journey. Clem Ray was informed thathe would go no further， Burch， for some cause， havingconcluded to carry him back to Washington. He wasmuch rejoiced. Shaking hands， we parted in the slave penat Richmond， and I have not seen him since. But， muchto my surprise， since my return， I learned that he hadescaped from bondage， and on his way to the free soil ofCanada， lodged one night at the house of my brother-inlawin Saratoga， informing my family of the place and thecondition in which he left me.
In the afternoon we were drawn up， two abreast，Robert and myself in advance， and in this order， drivenby Burch and Goodin from the yard， through the streetsof Richmond to the brig Orleans. She was a vessel ofrespectable size， full rigged， and freighted principallywith tobacco. We were all on board by five o’clock. Burchbrought us each a tin cup and a spoon. There were fortyof us in the brig， being all， except Clem， that were in thepen.
With a small pocket knife that had not been takenfrom me， I began cutting the initials of my name uponthe tin cup. The others immediately flocked round me，requesting me to mark theirs in a similar manner. Intime， I gratified them all， of which they did not appear tobe forgetful.
We were all stowed away in the hold at night， and thehatch barred down. We laid on boxes， or where ever therewas room enough to stretch our blankets on the floor.
Burch accompanied us no farther than Richmond，returning from that point to the capital with Clem. Notuntil the lapse of almost twelve years， to wit， in Januarylast， in the Washington police office， did I set my eyesupon his face again.
James H. Burch was a slave-trader—buying men，women and children at low prices， and selling them atan advance. He was a speculator in human flesh —adisreputable calling—and so considered at the South. Forthe present he disappears from the scenes recorded inthis narrative， but he will appear again before its close，not in the character of a man-whipping tyrant， but as anarrested， cringing criminal in a court of law， that failed todo him justice.
