SCENE IN THE PEN—STARTING "DOWN THE RIVER"—UNCLE PETER'S TRIAL—MY RESCUE.

On the next day, after breakfast, Mr. Atkins came in, saying,

"Well, niggers, git yourselves ready. You must all start down the river to-day, at ten o'clock. A good boat is going out. Huddle up your clothes as quick as possible—no fuss, now."

When he left, there was lamentation among some; silent mourning with others; joy for a few.

Shall I ever forget the despairing look of Charley? How passionately he compressed his lips! I went up to him, and, laying my hand on his arm, said,

"Let us be strong to meet the trouble that is sent us!"

He looked at me, but made no reply. I thought there was the wildness of insanity in his glance, and turned away.

It was now eight o'clock, and I had not heard from Henry or Louise. Alas! my heart misgave me. I had been buoyed up for some time by the flatteries and delusions of Hope! but now I felt that I had nothing to sustain me; the last plank had sunk!

I did not pretend to "get myself ready," as Mr. Atkins had directed; the fact is, I was ready. The few articles of wearing apparel that I called mine were all in my trunk, with some little presents that Henry had made me, such as a brooch, earrings, &c. These were safely locked, and the key hung round my neck. But the others were busy "getting ready." I was standing near the door, anxiously hoping to see either Henry or Louise, when an old negro woman, thinly clad, without any bonnet on her head, and with a basket in her hand, came up to me, saying,

"Please mam, is my ole man in here? De massa out here say I may speak 'long wid him, and say farwell;" and she wiped her eyes with the corner of an old torn check apron.

I was much touched, and asked her the name of her old man.

"Pete, mam."

"Oh, yes, he is within," and I stepped aside to let her pass through the door.

She went hobbling along, making her passage through the crowd, and I followed after. In a few moments Pete saw her.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" he cried out, "Judy is come;" and running up to her, he embraced her most affectionately.

"Yes," she said, "I begged Masser to let me come and see you. It was long time before he told me dat you was sole to a trader and gwine down de ribber. Oh, Lord! it 'pears like I ken never git usin to it! Dars no way for me ever to hear from you. You kan't write, neither ken I. Oh, what shill we do?"

"I doesn't know, Judy, we's in de hands ob de Lord. We mus' trus' to Him. Maybe He'll save us. Keep on prayin', Judy."

The old man's voice grew very feeble, as he asked,

"An de chillen, de boys, how is dey?"

"Oh, dey is well. Sammy wanted to come long 'wid me; but it was too fur for him to walk. Joe gib me dis, and say, take it to daddy from me."

She looked in her basket, and drew out a little painted cedar whistle. The tears rolled down the old man's cheeks as he took it, and, looking at it, he shook his head mournfully,

"Poor boy, dis is what I give him fur a Christmas gift, an' he sot a great store to it. Only played wid it of Sundays and holidays. No, take it back to him, an' tell him to play wid it, and never forget his poor ole daddy dat's sole 'way down de ribber!"

Here he fairly broke down, and, bursting into tears, wept aloud.

"Oh, God hab bin marciful to me in lettin' me see you, Judy, once agin! an' I am an ongrateful sinner not to bar up better."

Judy was weeping violently.

"Oh, if dey would but buy me! I wants to go long wid you."

"No, no, Judy, you must stay long wid de chillen, an' take kere ob 'em. Besides, you is not strong enough to do de work dey would want you to do. No, I had better go by myself," and he wiped his eyes with his old coat sleeve.

"I wish," he added, "dat I had some little present to send de boys," and, fumbling away in his pocket, he at length drew out two shining brass buttons that he had picked up in the yard.

"Give dis to 'em; say it was all thar ole daddy had to send 'em; but, maybe, some time I'll have some money; and if I meet any friends down de ribber, I'll send it to 'em, and git a letter writ back to let you and 'em know whar I is sold."

Judy opened her basket, and handed him a small bundle.

"Here, Pete, is a couple of shirts and a par of trowsers I fetched you, and here's a good par of woollen socks to keep you warm in de winter; and dis is one of Masser's ole woollen undershirts dat Missis sent you. You know how you allers suffers in cold wedder wid de rheumatiz."

"Tell Missis thankee," and his voice was choking in his throat.

There was many a tearful eye among the company, looking at this little scene. But, suddenly it was broken up by the appearance of Mr. Atkins.

"Well, ole woman," he began, addressing Uncle Pete's wife, "it is time you was agoin'. You has staid long enough. Thar's no use in makin' a fuss. Pete belongs to me, an' I am agoin' to sell him to the highest bidder I can find down the river."

"Oh, Masser, won't you please buy me?" asked Judy.

"No, you old fool."

"Oh, hush Judy, pray hush," put in Pete; "humor her a little Masser Atkins, she will go in a minnit. Now do go, honey," he added, addressing Judy, who stood a moment, irresolutely, regarding her old husband; then screaming out, "Oh no, no, I can't leave you!" fell down at his feet half insensible.

"Oh, Lord Jesus, hab marcy!" groaned Pete, as he bent over his partner's body.

"Take her out, instantly," exclaimed Atkins, as one of the men dragged the body out.

"Please be kereful, don't hurt her," implored Pete.

"Behave yourself, and don't go near her," said Atkins to him, "or I'll have both you an' her flogged. I am not goin' to have these fusses in my pen."

All this time Charley's face was frightful. As Atkins passed along he looked toward Charley, and I thought he quailed before him. That regal face of the mulatto man was well calculated to awe such a sinister and small soul as Atkins.

"Yes, yes, Charles, that proud spirit of yourn will git pretty well broken down in the cotton fields," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard. Charles made no answer, though I observed that his cheek fairly blazed.

* * * * * *

When we were all bonneted, trunks corded down, and bundles tied up, waiting, in the shed-room, for the order to get in the omnibus, Uncle Pete suddenly spied the basket which Judy, in her insensibility, had left. Picking it up, I saw the tears glitter in his eyes when the two bright buttons rolled out on the floor.

"These puttys," he muttered to himself, "was fur de boys. Poor fellows! Now dey won't have any keepsake from dar daddy; and den here's de little cedar whistle; oh, I wish I could send it out to 'em." Looking round the room he saw Kitty, the mulatto woman, of whom I have before spoken as the mistress of Atkins.

"Oh, please, Kitty, will you have dis basket, dis whistle, and dese putty buttons, sent out to Mr. John Jones', to my ole 'ooman Judy?'

"Yes," answered the woman, "I will."

"Thankee mam, and you'll very much oblige me."

"Come 'long with you all. The omnibus is ready," cried out Atkins, and we all took up the line of march for the door, each pausing to say good-bye to Kitty, and yet none caring much for her, as she had not been agreeable to us.

"Going down the river, really," I said to myself.

"Wait a minnit," said Atkins, and calling to a sort of foreman, who did his roughest work, he bade him handcuff us.

How fiercely-proud looked the face of Charles, as they fastened the manacles on his wrists.

I made no complaint, nor offered resistance. My heart was maddened. I almost blamed Louise, and chided Henry for not forcing my deliverance. I could have broken the handcuffs, so strongly was I possessed by an unnatural power.

"Git in the 'bus," said the foreman, as he riveted on the last handcuff.

Just as I had taken my seat in the omnibus, Henry came frantically rushing up. The great beads of perspiration stood upon his brow; and his thick, hard breathing, was frightful. Sinking down upon the ground, all he could say was,

"Ann! Ann!"

I rose and stood erect in the omnibus, looking at him, but dared not move one step toward him.

"What is the matter with that nigger?" inquired Atkins, pointing toward Henry. Then addressing the driver, he bade him drive down to the wharf.

"Stop! stop!" exclaimed Henry; "in Heaven's name stop, Mr. Atkins, here's a gentleman coming to buy Ann. Wait a moment."

Just then a tall, grave-looking man, apparently past forty, walked up.

"Who the d——l is that?" gruffly asked Mr. Atkins.

"It is Mr. Moodwell," Henry replied. "He has come to buy Ann."

"Who said that I wanted to sell her?"

"You would let her go for a fair price, wouldn't you?"

"No, but I would part with her for a first-rate one."

Just then, as hope began to relume my soul, Mr. Moodwell approached Atkins, saying,

"I wish to buy a yellow girl of you."

"Which one?"

"A girl by the name of Ann. Where is she?"

"Don't you know her by sight?"

"Certainly not, for I have never seen her."

"You don't want to buy without first seeing her?"

"I take her upon strong recommendation."

With a dogged, and I fancied disappointed air, Atkins bade me stand forth. Right willingly I obeyed; and appearing before Mr. Moodwell, with a smiling, hopeful face, I am not surprised that he was pleased with me, and readily paid down the price of a thousand dollars that was demanded by Atkins. When I saw the writings drawn up, and became aware that I had passed out of the trader's possession, and could remain near Henry, I lifted my eyes to Heaven, breathing out an ardent act of adoration and gratitude.

Quickly Henry stood beside me, and clasping my yielding hand within his own, whispered,

"You are safe, dear Ann."

I had no words wherewith to express my thankfulness; but the happy tears that glistened in my eyes, and the warm pressure of the hand that I gave, assured him of the sincerity of my gratitude.

My trunk was very soon taken down from the top of the omnibus and shouldered by Henry.

Looking up at my companions, I beheld the savagely-stern face of Charles; and thinking of his troubles, I blamed myself for having given up to selfish joy, when such agony was within my sight. I rushed up to the side of the omnibus and extended my hand to him.

"God has taken care of you," he said, with a groan, "but I am forgotten!"

"Don't despair of His mercy, Charley." More I could not say; for the order was given them to start, and the heavy vehicle rolled away.

As I turned toward Henry he remarked the shadow upon my brow, and tenderly inquired the cause.

"I am distressed for Charley."

"Poor fellow! I would that I had the power to relieve him."

"Come on, come on," said Mr. Moodwell, and we followed him to the G—— House, where I found Louise, anxiously waiting for me.

"You are safe, thank Heaven!" she exclaimed, and joyful tears were rolling down her smooth cheeks.

The reaction of feeling was too powerful for me, and my health sank under it. I was very ill for several weeks, with fever. Louise and Henry nursed me faithfully. Mr. Moodwell had purchased me for a maiden sister of his, who was then travelling in the Southern States, and I was left at the G—— House until I should get well, at which time, if she should not have returned, I was to be hired out until she came. I recollect well when I first opened my eyes, after an illness of weeks. I was lying on a nice bed in Louise's room. As it was a cool evening in the early October, there was a small comfort-diffusing fire burning in the grate; and on a little stand, beside my bed, was a very pretty and fragrant bouquet. Seated near me, with my hand in his, was the one being on earth whom I best loved. He was singing in a low, musical tone, the touching Ethiopian melody of "Old Folks at Home." Slowly my eyes opened upon the pleasant scene! Looking into his deep, witching eyes, I murmured low, whilst my hand returned the pressure of his,

"Is it you, dear Henry?"

"It is I, my love; I have just got through with my work, and I came to see you. Finding you asleep, I sat down beside you to hum a favorite air; but I fear, that instead of calming, I have broken your slumber, sweet."

"No, dearest, I am glad to be aroused. I feel so much better than I have felt for weeks. My head is free from fever, and except for the absence of strength, am as well as I ever was."

"Oh, it makes me really happy to hear you say so. I have been so uneasy about you. The doctor was afraid of congestion of the brain. You cannot know how I suffered in mind about you; but now your flesh feels cool and pleasant, and your strength will, I trust, soon return."

Just then Louise entered, bearing a cup of tea and a nice brown slice of toast, and a delicate piece of chicken, on a neat little salver. At sight of this dainty repast, my long-forgotten appetite returned, with a most healthful vigor. But my kind nurse, who was glad to find me so well, determined to keep me so, and would not allow me a hearty indulgence of appetite.

In a few days I was able to sit up in an easy chair, and, at every opportunity, Louise would amuse me with some piece of pleasant gossip, in relation to the boarders, &c. And Henry, my good, kind, noble Henry, spent all his spare change in buying oranges and pine-apples for me, and in sending rare bouquets, luxuries in which I took especial delight. Then, during the long, cheerful autumnal evenings, when a fire sparkled in the grate, he would, after his work was done, bring his banjo and play for me; whilst his rich, gushing voice warbled some old familiar song. Its touching plaintiveness often brought the tears to my eyes.

Thus passed a few weeks pleasantly enough for me; but like all the other rose-winged hours, they soon had a close.

My strength had been increasing rapidly, and Mr. Moodwell, the brother and agent of my mistress, concluded that I was strong enough to be hired out. Accordingly, he apprized me of his intention, saying,

"Ann, sister Nancy has written me word to hire you out until spring, when she will return and take you home. I have selected a place for you, in the capacity of house-servant. You must behave yourself well."

I assured him that I would do my best; then asked the name of the family to whom I was hired.

"To Josiah Smith, on Chestnut street, I have hired you. He has two daughters and a young niece living with him, and wishes you to wait on them."

After apprizing Henry and Louise of my new home, pro tem., I requested the former to bring my trunk out that night, which he readily promised. Bidding them a kind and cheerful adieu, I followed Mr. Moodwell out to Chestnut street.

This is one of the most retired and beautiful streets in the city of L——, and Mr. Josiah Smith's residence the very handsomest among a number of exceedingly elegant mansions.

Opening a bronze gate, we passed up a broad tesselated stone walk that led to the house, which was built of pure white stone, and three stories in height, with an observatory on the top, and the front ornamented with a richly-wrought iron verandah. Reposing in front upon the sward, were two couchant tigers of dark gray stone.

Passing through the verandah, we stopped at the mahogany door until Mr. Moodwell pulled the silver bell-knob, which was speedily answered by a neatly-dressed man-servant, who bade Mr. Moodwell walk in the parlor, and requested me to wait without the door until he could find leisure to attend to me.

I obeyed this direction, and amused myself examining what remained of a very handsome flower-garden, until he returned, when conducting me around, by a private entrance, he ushered me into the kitchen.