With the assurance that they should now find their mother, they trusted implicitly, in their new-made friend; who strengthened their confidence in himself by gentle words and timely gifts. Cakes of marvellous sweetness were ever ready for them, if they grew impatient of the length of the journey; and their childish hearts could know no distrust of one whose words and acts were kind.

How long they were on the boat they did not know; nor by what other means they travelled could they afterwards remember, until they reached Versailles, Kentucky. Here their self-constituted guardian, whom they now heard addressed as Kincaid, placed them in a wagon with a colored woman and her child, and conveyed them to Lexington.

This was the first town they had ever seen, and as they were conducted up Main street, they were filled with wonder and admiration.

Kincaid took them to a plain brick house where dwelt one John Fisher, a mason by trade, and proprietor of a large brick yard.

After some conversation between the gentlemen, which of course the children did not understand, they were taken out to the kitchen, and presented to Aunt Betty, the cook.

“There, my, boys,” said Kincaid, “there is your mother—we've found her at last.”

“No! no!” they shrieked, “that's not our mother! O, please, sir! take us back!” With tears and cries they clung to him who had abused their guileless trust, and begged him not to leave them there.

This scene was soon ended by John Fisher himself, who, with a hearty blow on each cheek, bade them “hush!” “you belong to me now, you little rascals, and I'll have no more of this. There's Aunt Betty, she's your mammy now; and if you behave yourselves, she'll be good to you.”

Kincaid soon departed, and they never saw him again. They learned, however, from a white apprentice, who lived in the house, that he received from. Mr. Fisher one hundred and fifty-five dollars for Levin, and one hundred and fifty for Peter.

Poor children! what a heavy cloud now shadowed their young lives!

For the first few weeks they talked constantly of going back to their mother—except when their master was near. They soon learned that they must not mention the subject in his presence.

He was, in the main, a kind, indulgent man—but were they not his money? Why should he allow them to prate about being stolen, when he had bought them, and paid a right good price?

“Father,” said John Fisher, junior, “isn't Philadelphia in a free State?”

“Certainly—it is in Pennsylvania.”

“Well, then, I reckon those two boys you bought were stolen, for they lived with their mother near the Delaware river; and Aunt Betty says that is at Philadelphia. It was too bad, father, for that man to steal them and sell them here, where they can never hear from their mother!”

“Pooh, boy! don't talk like a fool! Most likely they were sold to Kincaid, and he told them he would take them to their mother, in order to get them away without any fuss. And even if he did steal them—so were all the negroes stolen at first. I bought these boys, and paid for them, and I'll stop their talk about being free, or I'll break their black necks. A pretty tale that, to go about the country—just to spoil the sale if I should happen to wish to get shut of them! Free, indeed! And what is a free nigger? They're better off here than if they were free, growing up in idleness, and with nobody to take care of them.”

Before night the young offenders were thoroughly kicked and beaten, and received the assurance that they should be killed outright if they dared to tell such a tale again. So they grew cautious; and spoke those sweet memories of home and mother only in whispers to each other, or to some follow-slave that knew how to sympathize with their sorrows.

THE long, hard lesson of slavery was now fairly open before our young students. In vain they shrank from its dreadful details. In vain they appealed for pity to their hard-handed master. Page after page of dark experiences shadowed their boyish eyes, and their young hearts, so merry hitherto, grew sad and anxious.

The necessity of concealing the true feelings is among the rudiments of slavery's lore. A servant should be merry. A gloomy face is a perpetual complaint, and why should it be tolerated?

To this necessity the temperament of the African is most happily suited. Cheerful and warm-hearted, with an innate love of light and harmony, the slightest sympathy awakens his affection, and the faintest dawn of happiness provokes a smile.

Levin and Peter were not long in divining, with the tact of childhood, their exact position, domestic and social.

Their master was a large, fine looking man, with a free, hearty manner, and much real kindliness of disposition. He never allowed this latter quality, however, to interfere in business matters; and as, in addition to the business of brickmaking, he rented a large plantation about a mile out of town, he had no time to waste in unprofitable sentimentalities. How to get the most work done with the least expense he regarded as a problem worthy of his attention, and his success in business proved that he considered it well.

Mrs. Fisher was a stout, freckle-faced lady, plain and unpretending in her dress and manner, and perfectly devoted to her husband and children. She had, at the time of which we speak, two boys, John and Sydney; and for the first three years that he lived with them, Peter was their constant playmate. Levin was sent to the brick-yard the second year after Fisher purchased them, he being at that time only nine years old.

At night the little slave boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and slept on the floor in their mistress' room. They often waked in the morning under the bed, or the bureau, where Mrs. Fisher had shoved them with her foot, the night previous—that they might be out of the way. They were comfortably clothed, well fed, and—if they said nothing of their mother's house on the Delaware river—kindly treated. But if a word on that forbidden subject reached their master's ear, he became a monster. By stripes and kicks he taught them that they had no right to that blessed memory, that they were his property, and that he possessed the power to quiet their restless tongues.

The plantation which was rented by Mr. Fisher belonged to Mrs. Russell, a widow lady, and lay about a mile from the city, across the road from the residence of Henry Clay. Here, while Peter was too young to work in the brick-yard, he was sent daily for the cows, and for vegetables from the garden; and as he had plenty of leisure, he spent many happy hours in playing with the little colored children at Mr. Clay's. Frequently the merry group was joined by young Masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, and then the sport was liveliest.

The heart of the little new-made slave glowed with love for these noble boys, and he soon confided to them his sad history; and one day, when Mrs. Clay, as was her custom, spoke kindly to the dusky playmate of her sons, he simply recited to her the story of his sorrows, and asked her if she did not think some one would send him back to his mother.

She quieted him with cakes and other delicacies, to the palate of the child exceeding grateful, and then gently dismissed the children to their play.

But the brave-hearted boys were young enough to long to do something for their little favorite, and bade him tell his story to their father, who, they assured him, would send him back. There was true Kentucky generosity in their breasts, and they felt sure their honored father could not fail to do his utmost to redress such a cruel wrong.

“O Levin!” whispered Peter, the first time he was alone with his brother. “I reckon we'll go back to-reckly!”

“Go back! whar?”

“Why home, to see mother! Mass' Theodore Clay say, his father so good to everybody, he know he'll send us back if we tell him how we got stole—says his father allers hope folks whar gits in trouble.”

“Mass' Theodore say so? Reckon then we will, kase Mr. Clay mighty good to all his people. Hi! Mars John Fisher! you's gwine lose these chillerns!”

And with comical grimaces, Levin cut a series of shuffles, indicating the confusion that awaited “Mars John.”

Not long after this conversation, Peter saw Mr. Clay standing near the court-house with a letter in his hand. His little heart bounded with hope as he ran towards him.

“O Mr. Clay!” he exclaimed, “I'm stole!”

“Stole? Who stole you, and where were you stolen from?”

“I's stolen from my father and mother on Delaware river—folks say that's Philadelphia—but I don' know. Please, sir, won't you send me back to my mother?”

“To whom do you belong?”

“I 'long to Mars John Fisher, on Main street, and I wants to go back to my mother.”

“Well, my boy, I have no time to talk to you now; you carry this letter to Major Pope—you know were he lives—and then come back and I'll attend to you.”

Away ran the child dancing with delight, and crying, “I's free! I's free! I's gwine to my mother!”

“What is that you say?” asked a gentleman who met him. “I's gwine to be free! Mr. Clay gwine to send me back to my mother, kase I was stole away from her!”

“Now look here, you little negro,” said the man, who knew the child, and understood the temper of his master, “you'd better not talk about that to Mr. Clay, for he will tell your master, and then old John Fisher will be sure to skin you.”

The bright vision that Hope had held before the trusting boy faded away. With drooping bead and tearful eye he returned to tell his brother of their disappointment, and after that they both avoided Mr. Clay.

Yet Hope did not desert them; but whispered often in their eager ears—“You shall return; your friends will come to seek you. You were born free, and slaves you shall not die!”

When Peter was about nine years old, he too was employed in the brick-yard, as “off-bearer.” Three thousand brick a day was the task for two boys; and if one of them chanced to be by any means disabled, his companion must “off-bear” the whole. The moulder must not be hindered.

These moulders—slaves themselves—were cruel tyrants. The boys, though seldom abused by the master himself, were subject to all their caprices and passions. If one of inferior station failed to perform his task, they know no mercy; and their master permitted any punishment they chose to inflict.

Their favorite mode of chastisement was called “standing in the wheelbarrow.” The offender was placed with a foot on each side of the wheel, and compelled to reach over and grasp a handle in each hand; and then the youngest boys—the “off-bearers”—were compelled to whip him with cowhides. If he would lie still, and take twenty-four lashes without attempting to rise, that was deemed sufficient proof of his humility. But if he made an effort to change his position before that number was inflicted, the moulder who presided over the ceremony, and who counted off the strokes, commenced again at “one,” and caused the twenty-four to be repeated.

One day a large man, named Charles, was put into the wheelbarrow, and received over three hundred blows before he was sufficiently subdued to lie still, and take twenty-four without moving. The boys that were selected to inflict this horrible punishment (of whom Peter was one) were all trembling with terror; but if one of them, through pity, failed to strike with his utmost strength, the moulder, who stood aside with a cowhide, punished his merciful folly by a violent blow upon his own back.

Amid such scenes passed the childhood of these hapless boys. Their natural cheerfulness and mildness of temper made them universal favorites. In their own person, therefore, they endured few such sufferings as they were forced to witness. A “Boston clergyman,” carefully observing their every-day life, would have pronounced them happy, careless boys; so ardently attached to their young masters and their follow servants, that it would be really unkind to set them free. They were well fed—their clothes were comfortable—all they needed was supplied without their thought or care.

WHEN Peter was about thirteen years old, Mr. Fisher planned a removal to Cincinnati, where his brother had recently gone. He disposed of his brick-yard, and intended to sell all his servants, except Aunt Betty, the cook, with her daughter and grandchild. These he could not spare, as they were indispensable to the comfort of the family.

Levin and Peter were overwhelmed with grief at the news of the intended sale. There was degradation in the thought of being trafficked for like horses; for, with all their apparent humility, and their submissive, gentle manners, there was a principle deep in their hearts that claimed the birthright of humanity.

Besides, they had, through all these years, cherished the hope that they should yet be sought by their parents; and they knew that if they changed owners, the chances of their being discovered would be lessened.

But their destiny was fixed. Mr. Fisher found some difficulty in disposing of them, for their old story of being stolen was remembered, and men hesitated to buy where there was a shadow of uncertainty in the title. Their master, however, so confidently asserted that he had conquered them, and it was so many years since they had been heard to say anything on the subject, that a sale was at last effected.

The purchaser was Mr. Nat. Gist, of Lexington, and he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for each of the brothers.

Mr. Fisher did not, as he had anticipated, go to Cincinnati, but remained in Lexington for several years, and then he removed with his family to Louisville, Ky.

The change of owners was far from being an agreeable one to Levin and Peter. Nat. Gist, their new master, lived in a small brick house on Dutch street, or, as it was sometimes called, Hill street. He was a short, stout, gray-headed man, about fifty-six years of age, a Virginian by birth, and had been a revolutionary soldier. He swore hard, and drank to intoxication every day; therefore, as he was a bachelor, his home was seldom visited by any humanizing influence.

He owned a brick-yard of about five acres, and had, in all, twenty slaves. These he fed sparingly, clothed scantily, and worked hard. In the winter, when they could not make brick, he was accustomed to hire them out wherever he could get the highest price for their services.

Mr. Gist had now among his people four boys— Levin and Peter, with Alfred and Allison, who were also brothers. They had been brought from Virginia, where their parents still remained.*

AFTER Levin and Peter had worked for four summers in the brickyard, their master hired them, with Alfred and Allison, to Mr. George Norton, a tobacconist, who at that time carried on an extensive business in Lexington.

They had been hired out before to different persons during the winter. Peter had, one winter, served as waiter, a cousin of his master, Mr. Sandford Keene. This was his first introduction to house service, as well as his first experience, since he became a slave, of genuine kindness. Mrs. Keene was a noble-hearted lady, who delighted to promote the happiness of all around her, and Peter loved to serve her acceptably.

But to this Mr. Norton they were hired for the whole year; and violent as Master Nattie in his phrensied hours, and carefully as he avoided every indulgence towards them which might seem to recognize their humanity, they dreaded to exchange him for this new master, for of him report spake never kindly.

Mr. George Norton—ah! how grand he looked as he stood near the shop door conversing with his overseer! His broad-brimmed hat seemed conscious of its elevated position, and his hair descending in a cue behind was stiff and stately. The very smoke from his cigar ascended with a consequential puff, and his cane thumped on the sidewalk in exact accordance with the great man's varying moods. It had a gentle tap to answer words of compliment, or salutations from the rich or beautiful. But when a breath of contradiction came, or any sable menial hesitated to obey his slightest wish, the expressive staff beat furiously upon the pavement, in token of the vengeance that should fall upon the offender's head.

A fit foil to his pompous superior was the overseer, Mr. Kisich. Small and pale, awkward in his manners, and “slightly lame,” he seemed totally indifferent to his personal appearance, and gloried only in the force and accuracy with which he could execute his employer's plans.

He was a native of the Emerald Isle, as his “rich brogue” plainly indicated; and, like some of his more distinguished countrymen in these later days, claimed liberty for Irishmen, and equality with the noblest in every land. But when “He found his fellow guilty of a skinNot colored like his own,” he could see him bought and sold, and tasked, and beaten, without a single impulse of pity.

About thirty men and boys were employed in Mr. Norton's establishment. Of these, three were white men, who were hired to do that part of the work which required more experience and skill than the negroes were supposed to possess. These acted as spies and informers; making the privilege of tyrannizing over their dark-skinned fellows, a sort of compensation for the degradation which is inseparable, in slave-land, from the necessity of labor.

Peter and Allison succeeded admirably in pleasing Mr. Norton. He liked their ready obedience, and their sprightly, nimble movements. When he gave an order, he could not wait with patience its dilatory execution, and they loved to surprise him by returning from an errand, or by finishing a task earlier than he expected. Yet by this they won no praise. It was but their duty, and they had reason to rejoice if, by performing it, they escaped the cow-hide.

For several months they thus succeeded in avoiding any outbreak of his wrath. They had been accustomed to no mild exercise of authority, and the angry strife they often witnessed, seemed to them, if not quite necessary, unavoidable at times. Force was their law, and force their motive to obedience; and but for their brother-love, and the warm memory of their mother, their hearts must have grown callous and incapable of affectionate response.

For Levin and Peter there was ever a bright morning in remembrance, and they were young—could they live without the hope of returning once more to that mother-home? Humble was the cabin which they delighted to remember, but the sunshine came freely in at the open door, and no harsh word was ever heard within the lowly walls.

How sweet, how soothing, was the influence of these cherished retrospects! How often, when their tasks were finished, the two brothers strolled away from the noisy mirth with which their companions were beguiling the twilight hour, and in low tones discussed the possibilities of an escape from slavery—a return to the dear home where they had known no care nor fear.

A hundred plans they at different times suggested to each other, but the execution of any one of them required more knowledge than they possessed, or could acquire. And then there were so many that failed in such attempts. The jail was always tenanted by captured fugitives. No—they could not run away.

But perhaps, some day, they might buy their freedom. They could work nights and Sundays, and earn the money, and then they would be safe. This was their favorite aerial abode, and here they enjoyed many bright anticipations. But alas! they soon learned by the sad experience of others, that such a plan was all uncertain. The history of one man of their acquaintance in Lexington, taught them a lesson of caution on that point, that chilled their ardent hopes, and deepened their distrust of seeming friends.

Spencer, a fine-looking intelligent mulatto, belonged to a Mr. Williams, who kept a lottery office in Lexington. His master, having no need of his services, hired him out; usually to the keepers of hotels or livery stables, and sometimes to Spencer himself. He was a great favorite with the white people, and had excellent opportunities of making money; not only by extra services about the hotels or stables, but also by doctoring horses, in which he had much skill.

He sometimes speculated in lottery tickets, but here his success availed him little. He drew at one time a house and lot in Lexington, valued at $30,000, and although many white people declared that it would be a shame to deprive him of the benefit of his good fortune, yet it was on the whole deemed an unsafe precedent to allow a negro to acquire so much property. So the prize was finally awarded to a gentleman in Philadelphia, who stood second in the list of successful competitors.

Soon after this, Spencer conceived the idea of buying his freedom, and proposed the subject to his master. Mr. Williams received it favorably, and fixed the price at one thousand dollars.

Spencer, habitually industrious, had now a new animation in his labors; and so untiring was his diligence, that in a few years he had paid his master within twenty-five dollars of the whole sum. The goal of all his hopes was just in sight, when lo! the perfidious tyrant denied ever having promised him his liberty, and bade him never mention the subject more.

Spencer was sorely disappointed, but not discouraged, and when not long after a gentleman who had heard the history of this deception offered to purchase him, and to give him his freedom as soon as he could earn the price which he must pay to Williams, the hopeful slave eagerly accepted the offer.

The bargain was soon concluded, and with new zeal, the bondman commenced his labors. He took the precaution this time, to ask for a receipt whenever he made a payment. This was readily given, and Spencer deemed himself safe. But behold! when he had paid all but seventy dollars, his new master suddenly left town; and before the poor slave was aware of any approaching change, an agent to whose care he had been consigned, had sold him to another master. He was indignant at this outrageous fraud, and produced his receipts, which he had carefully preserved. But these availed nothing. They did not show to whom the money had been paid. And even if they had been properly written they would have profited nothing— for does not a slave's money as well as his person and his labor, belong to his master?

Still hope died not in Spencer's breast. Again he tried a man who had been lavish of his sympathy, and loud in his denunciations of the baseness by which he had suffered. Into his hands—for the third time—he paid the hard-earned price of his redemption; and when he should have received his free papers, and a pass out of the State, he was chained in a gang, and sent to the cotton and sugar fields of the south.

To the ears of Peter and his brother came many tales like this, and in their inmost hearts were treasured the lessons of caution which they imparted. Surely there was none they could trust. It were far better, by apparent contentment, and by cheerful manners, to win the confidence of those in whose power they were placed, than to become objects of suspicion and dislike, by ill-timed efforts to be free. So they toiled on, their genial sunny natures, and the warm heart-love ever fresh within their breasts, preserving them from despair.

Half the year at Mr. Norton's had passed away, and neither of the boys belonging to old Nattie Gist had fallen into any serious difficulty. They had witnessed many exhibitions of their employer's cruelty, and one which occurred about this time, filled their hearts with horror.

Mr. Norton's body-servant, a large black man, chanced one day to offend his haughty master. He was immediately put in a buck, and in the presence of all the men and boys, Norton inflicted on his naked back three hundred lashes with a cowhide. The blood gushed out, and ran in streams upon the brick floor of the shop.

When the stick was removed from under his knees, the poor victim was unable to rise. At this his tormentor was enraged. He seized a board that lay near, full of shingle nails, and with it struck him several violent blows, every one of which brought the blood in streams, as though he had been pierced with lancets.

The slaves who witnessed this horrid deed were paralyzed with fear, but the white men swore it was just right. The cursed niggers—they must be conquered, or they would not be worth a d—n.

Here young Peter's caution for a moment failed. His eyes, usually so mild, flashed fiercely, and he declared in a low voice to his brother that George Norton should never strip him and put him in a buck to whip him—he would die first.

Poor boy! his rash speech was overheard, and reported to the tyrant, who from that day waited only an excuse to punish his presumption.

The next Saturday evening, as the boys were sweeping the shop, an old woman came in and asked for some tobacco. Peter, being nearest the door, gathered up a handful of the sweepings, and gave them to her.

On the following morning, it was Peter's turn to make a fire in the sweat-room; and when he had performed this duty, he locked the door of the shop and went to his old master's where he usually spent his Sundays. Here he played marbles, and enjoyed such other sports as are proper for the Sabbath-rest of slave-boys, while their young masters are at the Sunday-school or in the billiard-room—according to their tastes.

Peter had been absent from the shop but a short time when Mr. Norton himself took a fancy to go in and look at the tobacco. He tried the door, but it was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. His anger rose. Ah! Peter, a heavy cloud is gathering, and there is no shelter for thy defenceless head!

Early Monday morning, Mr. Norton came into the shop. His eyes looked darker and brighter than usual, and the smoke from his cigar came in quick passionate puffs. His cane, too, beat an ominous march upon the floor. Something was wrong.

The great man spoke. “Whose business was it to make a fire in the sweat-room yesterday?”

“Mine, sir,” said Peter.

“Did you attend to it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did! where were you when I came here?”

“Don't know, sir,—reckon I was up home.”

“Where is your home, your rascal?”

“Up to Mars Nattie's, sir.”

“I'll let you know, nigger, that this is your home, and that I am your master!” and with a furious thumping of his cane, the mighty man strode out of the shop. He was in a rage. It always made him angry for one of his hired servants to call his owner, “Master;”—it was his law that in his shop no one should receive that ennobling title except himself.

Before sunrise the next morning, just as the work of the day was commenced, Mr. Norton appeared at the door. He stood a few minutes perfectly still, and then taking out his knife, he commenced trimming a switch—whistling meantime a beautiful march.

The sweet notes woke no answering melody in the hearts of those within, for well they knew the spirit of their master. Only when about to inflict some cruel punishment did George Norton utter sounds like these.

His march ended, he spoke—

“Peter!”

“Sir.”

“Where were you, yesterday?”

“Here, sir, strippin' tobacco.”

“Well, Sunday, where were you?”

“Home, to Mars Nattie's, sir.”

The hot blood mounted to Mr. Norton's face. “I am your master, rascal, and I'll let you know you are to go to no other home than this! Who swept the shop on Saturday?”

“We boys, sir, all of us.”

“Who gave tobacco to an old woman?”

“I gave her a handful of sweepings, sir,—no 'count, no how, sir.”

“Well, you'll find I am your master, and you are to obey me. Come here, and lie down across this box.”

Peter obeyed, wondering at the same time that he had not been ordered to strip. It was not Mr. Norton's custom to whip his servants over their clothes, and the boy had on a new suit of blue linsey. But he had heard of the expression he had made a few days before, and perhaps thought best to avoid an unnecessary contest.

No sooner was the boy extended across the designated box, than Norton struck him a violent blow. Peter raised up. “Lie down you nigger!” and he renewed the blows with greater force. Peter raised up again. “Lie down!” cried the fury, with a curse. Peter obeyed the third tie, and them blows fell hard and fast.

Once more he raised up. “Lie down! I say, you cursed nigger—if you move again till I bid you, I will beat you till you cannot rise.”

The boy stood upright, and looked his tormentor steadily in the face. “I have laid down three times for you to beat me, when I have done nothing wrong; I will not lie down again!”

Instantly Norton seized him, and attempted to force him across the box—but was unable. “Here, Mr. Kisich! Tadlock! all of you! help me conquer this nigger!

Quick to his aid came the overseer, and the three other white men that worked in the shop, and all fell upon him at once, while Peter screamed “Murder!” and fought with his utmost strength.

People in the street heard the tumult, and gathered about the doors of the shop; when Norton ordered them closed and fastened. Among those thus excluded was Sandford Keene, the nephew of old Nattie Gist. He listened to the uproar with anxious ears, but could not determine from which of the boys the cries proceeded. Had he known that it was Peter, his special favorite, to whom also his wife was much attached, he could hardly have refrained from rushing in to his rescue.

The ruffians tried to bind his hands, but he struggled so fiercely that they were in danger of breaking his bones. That would have been too costly an amusement. But they succeeded in throwing him upon the floor, and there he struggled, and screamed, and bit their legs and ankles, till they despaired of holding him in any position, unless they could succeed in tying him.

One of them, accordingly, prepared a slip noose, and threw it over his head when he rose up—with intent to choke him. He perceived their purpose, and quickly raising both hands, thrust them through the noose and slipped it down below his arms.

Thus baffled in one scheme, they resorted to another. Dragging him along by the rope now fastened around his waist, they proceeded to the back part of the shop where stood five or six presses, each about eight feet high. If they could hang him up on one of these he would be entirely at their mercy. But he foiled them here. As they raised the rope to fasten it to the top of the press, he sprang one side, and crept into the narrow space between it and the wall.

Here he remained for some time. Bleeding and panting—his bloodshot eyes glared at his persecutors, who, on both sides, were engaged in beating him over the head with cow-hides and hoop-poles, and thrusting sticks and pieces of iron against his bruised flesh.

At last they dragged him from his partial hiding place; and now he made no resistance—he had not strength to struggle. Norton threw him across a keg, and with fiendish curses, whipped his bleeding back with a cowhide; swearing he was the first nigger that ever tried to fight him, and that he should be humbled if it took his life.

When this correction was finished it was nearly ten o'clock; and, commanding the other slaves, who stood agape with horror, to go to work, Mr. Norton, followed by his aids, went to the house for breakfast. They had exercised sufficiently to eat with good appetites; and while they were enjoying a plentiful repast, and discussing in their own peculiar style, the “obstinacy of the nigger,” their poor victim, bruised and torn, with only a few shreds left of his new suit of linsey, crept out of the shop, and with his little remaining strength, succeeded in gaining the residence of his master, on the hill.

Old Nattie Gist had, according to his morning custom, gone down town. Aunt Mary, the cook, however, received him kindly, pitied him, and dressed his wounds. She had a human mother's heart, and her two boys were slaves.

Peter guessed rightly, that his old master, cruel as he was himself, would not like to see his property thus damaged by others. Yet he spoke no gentle word to the sufferer. He would not intimate to a “nigger” that a white man could do him wrong. But he sought Norton, and cursed him roundly for inflicting such abuse upon a boy of his.

For a week he allowed Peter to stay at home, and then he sent him back to the shop. Here he remained till the end of the year. Norton was evidently either ashamed of his previous violence, or afraid to repeat its exercise, for never after that, did Peter receive an unkind word from him or either of his satellites.

Just before Christmas, Mr. Norton went to old Master Nattie, and, assuring him that the boys were all perfectly satisfied with the past, and anxious to remain with him, hired them for another year. But when their time expired, they all ran off together to their master, and he did not force them to go back.

This was a merry Christmas-time to these four boys. They had been accustomed to severity before, and had lived on poor and scanty fare. Yet even their old master, heartless as he seemed, was not systematic in his cruelty. When he went down town in the morning, there was none to watch them till he returned. They could talk, and laugh, and sing; if they but finished their tasks, they had little to fear.

But, at Norton's shop, there was scarcely a minute of the day that evil eyes were not upon them. Not a laugh, a gesture, or grimace, but was remembered and quoted as a token of disrespect to the lofty master, who could ill brook a jest reflecting on his dignity.

IN the fall of this year (1817), the community of which old Nattie Gist was the centre and the head became greatly agitated.

The old man had two nephews, Levi and Andrew Gist, of whom he was very fond. They were both sons of his brother William, who resided on a farm few miles out of town.

These young men, after much discussion, and not withstanding some opposition from their friends, determined to seek their fortunes in Alabama. They had heard tempting reports of the fertility of the valley of the Tennessee, and of the ease with which a fortune could be made by raising cotton; and besides, they were Kentuckians, and loved adventure.

Their uncle liked the spirit of enterprize that impelled them; he liked money too, and he foresaw that they would have fine opportunities in that new country, of amassing wealth.

Levi Gist, the elder of the two brothers, had always been a special favorite with his uncle, and to him he intrusted six of his negroes. These he was to take with him to Alabama, to assist him in putting up his first crop. The old man promised to go himself the next year, if they should like the country, and decide to settle there.

The command to prepare to go with Master Levi, fell with crushing weight upon the hearts of the doomed slaves. Old Frank and his wife Peggy were the first to learn their sentence. They were indignant at the word. Long and weary had they toiled in their master's service. Patiently had they endured hunger. Stripes and cursings had been their frequent portion, And these they had learned to receive without complaint. Now they were growing aged and to be torn from the old place, and from all the friends in whose society the Sundays passed so pleasantly, seemed too hard a trial.

Their two children were to go with them. That was some comfort, but a deeper sorrow, for they would be forced to work in those great cotton fields, where venemous snakes would hiss at them, and cruel overseers watch their toil.

Yet old Frank and Peggy had not the deepest cause for grief. Levin and Alfred were destined to accompany them, and they must each leave behind his brother, dearer to him than life itself.

The young men intended to take with them every thing that would be needed to stock a new plantation. To collect and arrange in travelling order all their goods, required much time and labor, and every hand, at home, and at their uncle's, was enlisted in their service.

At Master Nattie's, particularly, all was now excitement and confusion. The old man hurried to and fro, administering curses and stripe's to all who failed to execute his plans. The boys who had been hired out, were brought home to aid in these unusual labors, and thus the brothers, that must so soon be separated, were allowed to spend the last few days in each others society.

The thought that his brother must go to the South was agony to Peter. In all their sorrows, thus far, they had been together. They had shared the same little pleasures—their hearts had been as one. And now, to be sundered so wide—could they live apart?

“O Levin, Levin! if they take, you 'way off there, I sha'nt never see you no more, sure!”

“O yes,” sobbed Levin, his heart almost broken, while yet he strove to speak cheeringly to his weeping brother—“O yes, Mars Nattie say he gwine bring ye all next year when he come.”

“Mars Nattie! He never gwine 'way off there! He'll stay here long as he can get breath enough to curse. He's too old to go to a new country, any how.”

“Well, he have to die some day—he can't live a mons's long time, sure.”

“Yes, and if he dies, we'll all be sold—they allers has an auction when folks dies—and then their people's scattered all about. O 'pears like 'taint no use livin' in this yer world. I sha'n't never see you no more!”

The preparations for the journey were at last completed, and one pleasant afternoon in October, the little company of slaves had orders to repair to Master William's, in order to be ready to start with their young masters the next morning.

“Mars Nattie,” said Levin, as they were all assembled in the yard to say good-bye, “please, sir, give me something 'fore I go, to 'member you by.”

“Well,” said the old man, “go in and bring me the cowhide, and I'll give you something you'll never forget. If I should give you a coat or a shirt, you would wear it right out, but if I cut your skin to pieces, you will remember this parting as long as you live. And mind, you rascal, when I come out next fall, I'll bring the cowhide, and if you don't behave yourself, I'll give you enough then—d'ye hear?”

Such, interspersed with numerous curses, was the kind farewell of old Nattie Gist. The servants all shook hands, and strove to speak in cheering tones to their departing friends; but great tears stood in their eyes as they watched the little company slowly marching down the hill.

Sadly they returned to their work, but their thoughts crept on toward the dim future. Which of them should go next? Master Nattie had sold, during the past year, more than half his servants; and none could tell what caprice might seize him before another year should pass. They might all be chained in a gang, and driven away by some barbarous trader. Heavily throbbed their hearts as these gloomy fancies floated before them; and while they tried to repress the tears that would scald their aching eye-balls, they pursued their task in silence.

Peter returned no more to his work at Mr. Hudson Martin's, where he had spent the former part of the year, but was sent by his master to take Levin's place as waiter at Mr. John D. Young's.

Mr. Young was not a rich man—indeed he had failed in business, and now inhabited a small brick house on the plantation of his father-in-law. He was an intelligent gentleman, of pleasant manners, and great kindliness of heart. Had his wife resembled him in amiability and gentleness, their home would have been happy; but she was unfortunately destitute of that true independence and dignity of character, that can meet worldly reverses with composure. She felt humiliated by their comparative poverty, and the comforts with which she was surrounded looked hateful in her eyes, because the splendors wealth might purchase, were beyond her reach. Her servants endured most in consequence of this unfortunate peculiarity. From morning till night they were scolded, till they came to heed the shrill voice of their mistress, no more than they would heed the rain-drops on the roof.

During the few months which Peter spent in the service of Mr. Young, he passed many pleasant hours at Mr.Clay's. His childish fear of the great statesman had changed to deepest reverence; and, though young masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, no longer played, as had been their childish custom, with their colored favorite, they treated him ever with perfect kindness.

But with the servants, every one of whom was privileged beyond the common lot of slaves, he was always at home; and many a pleasant winter evening did he spend at Ashland.

Among the slaves that gathered there at night, one of the merriest was Aaron the coachman. He was the father of Mr. Clay's body servant, Charles, who, during the last years of his master's life, was ever at his side.

Aaron was an excellent servant—quick and energetic, and his. mirthfulness and genuine good feeling rendered him a favorite with all; while his stories, songs and merry jests, made the warm kitchen ring again.

But he had one fault. He loved a dram, and when tempted by the sight or smell of his favorite liquor, he could seldom resist the entreaties of his appetite.

This weakness was peculiarly annoying to Mrs. Clay, as it frequently unfitted him for business at a time when she had most need of his services.

He one day drove her carriage into town, and while she was making a visit, he improved the opportunity to indulge in a glass of his loved beverage; and by the time his mistress was ready to go home, he was wholly incapable of driving her carriage. She was, therefore, obliged to hire a man to take his place, and she then resolved that Aaron should be punished. But it could not be done without Mr. Clay's consent, as the overseer was forbidden to strike one of the house servants, without consulting him.

So to her husband she recited the story of her mortification, and, as he had tired various mild means to cure the slave of this unlucky propensity, he decided that it was best to use more severe measures.

The next morning he sent for the overseer, and directed him to take Aaron into the carriage-house, and give him a slight whipping. “Now do it quietly,” said he, “and be sure not to cut his skin. I don't want to hear any disturbance. Do it as gently as possible.”

The overseer respectfully assented and went out. Instantly one of the maids, who had chanced to overhear this conversation, stole out of the house, and sought Aaron.

“Look yer,” said she, “you know what massa say?”

“Know what massa say? No! How I know what he say, when he never spoke to me this mornin'?”

IN April, 1818, Mr. Young having no further need of Peter's services, Master Nattie sent him to his brother, William Gist, to be employed on his plantation. Here Allison was his companion once more, and the pleasure of being together was in part, a compensation to each for the absence of his brother.

But this joy was transient. Early in the ensuing summer, young Master Andrew came from Alabama for a short visit. He brought news of the health and prosperity of those who had gone with him the year before, and gave glowing descriptions of the beauty of the country. The rich bottom lands, with their grand old trees, the clustering vines and graceful flowering shrubs, and, above all, the abundance of game in the forests, afforded exhaustless topics of discourse.

When he returned, he took Allison with him.

Peter was left all alone, and his heart was very heavy. There was no one now to whom he could communicate all his little trials; none that would sympathize with his griefs. He had nothing but work to divert his thoughts during the day; and at night his dreams, sleeping or waking, were all of that dear brother, that had for so many years trod by his side the rugged path to which they two were doomed.

Soon after the departure of his nephew, Master Nattie's health was observed to fail; and though for a long time he struggled against disease, and would not own that he was ill, yet he was at last obliged to yield. His constitution was worn out by intemperance and the indulgence of evil passions; and now, no medicine could retard the steady approach of the Death Angel.

Twice a week, during the summer, Peter was accustomed to go to market. Then he never failed to visit his old master; and as he saw his sunken eye and hollow cheek, and noted his vacant wandering stare, his heart sank within him.

He did not regard his master with affection. Who could love old Nattie Gist? But the sale, ah! if he should die, there would, of course, be an auction, and the traders would be there, and then, adieu to the last hope he had cherished, of one day joining his beloved brother.

The unhappy old man continued to fail. Death stays not at the behest of kings or generals how then should the faint prayer of a poor slave-boy impede his progress?

In loneliness and gloom passed the last days of the wretched man. His housekeeper and cook, Aunt Mary, was his constant nurse. She understood all his wants, and she had learned patiently to bear all his caprices. Her will—her very womanhood—had been crushed into submission to his authority; for though a slave called her his wife, she had for years been forced to disregard her marriage ties, as well as her own honor, in order to indulge the base passions of the tyrant.

Now, in the death-hour, the down-trodden woman moistened his parched lips, all heedless of the curses which they uttered. Her hand smoothed his pillow, administered his medicine, and surrounded him with all possible comforts.

Death advanced. On Saturday morning, the thirteenth of September, when, according to his custom, Peter went in to see him, the final struggle had commenced. His brother William and the doctor were standing by the bed. Silently they witnessed his agony as he strove with the King of Terrors. There was no light of Christian hope in his glazing eye, no love in his obdurate heart. He would resist—he would live! Why should he die? This world had been gloomy. No love-light had shone upon his path— no gentle hand had led him through the labyrinths of evil to the Author of all good. And as his lips had loved cursing, why should he look for blessings now? Could he hope for a better life than he had chosen here? Fearful was the frown upon his face as he was forced to yield to the great Conqueror. He struggled —groaned—gasped—he was gone.

Silently they closed his eyes, and horror sat upon every countenance.

They buried him, and raised a stone to his memory. Ah! he chose his own remembrancers! Poor Levin and his fellows need no stone to tell them that a monster lived.

After the funeral Mr. Wm. Gist conveyed the greater part of his brother's property to his place for safe keeping. A will was found conveying to his favorite nephew, Levi Gist, the house and lot in Lexington, as well as all the servants. Whatever money he possessed he left in legacies to his other relatives.

At the time of his death, Master Nattie owned but eleven slaves—the six that went first to Alabama. Aunt Mary, with her two sons, and Allison and Peter. The others he had sold some time before.

Aunt Mary was left in town to take care of the house, till young master Levi should come to take possession of his property. As she went through the familiar rooms, and arranged and re-arranged the furniture, she had time to think. The past rose before her—the dark repulsive past. She bad been young, but it was so long ago—it was hardly worth her while to think of all the hopes that cheered her youth. She was married—and her husband's love shone for a brief time on her pathway; too soon, alas! to be shadowed by the dark passions of her absolute master. Two babes had nestled on her bosom, and they, too, were branded with her humiliation.

Now, he was dead—he would curse her life no longer. Ha! what a pang came with that half-uttered gratulation! Dead—and she who had served him so faithfully—who had meekly borne his wrathful curses, and patiently endured the degradation to which he had reduced her—she to whom he was indebted for all the comfort his home had known for years—who had attended him by day and night till the grave closed above his head—she was coolly given to his nephew, to be transported hundreds of miles away. How her great eyes flashed at the thought, as, with her hand upraised, in the solitary room where her master died, she swore she would not go!

On a cold Sabbath morning, December 20,1818, Peter started with Master John Gist, a younger brother of “Mars Levi,” for his new home in Alabama.

He wore his old master's broad-brimmed hat, and had his shot-gun lashed upon his back. Miss 'Maltha, the youngest daughter of Master William, came out just as they started, and with a kind smile gave him a handful of biscuits. Heaven bless her for the kindly thought! The memory of that simple gift is still warm in the heart of him who was then but a poor slave-boy, going forth to meet his uncertain fortunes amid scenes strange and new.

The farewells were all said, and the young men rode away—silently at first, for there were last words and affectionate charges from his parents, still ringing in the ears of Master John; and Peter's heart was full.

He left Lexington with few regrets. It had never seemed to him like home: though among the many families in which he had served, there were some who had treated him with great kindness. Yet the memory of his mother haunted him, and a sense of injustice and wrong, a consciousness that he had been stolen from home, and that the power to which he had been forced to submit was all usurped, prevented his forming a strong attachment to the place itself.

Now he had little hope of ever seeing any of his kindred except the dear brother that had gone before; and his heart grew lighter, as hour by hour the distance diminished between them. Alfred and Allison, too, he soon should meet, and they were very dear to him—for had they not suffered together?

Then came a heavy sinking of the heart at the thought, that he must thenceforth be exposed to all the reputed hardships of the South. The constant toil in the great cotton fields, the oppressive heat, the danger of fearful sickness, and the deeper dread of cruel overseers —all these fell upon his hopes like snow upon the violets that have peeped out too soon.

And oh! if after all these years his parents should come in search of their children, and they both be gone! No, no! he would not think of that—and giving old master's riding-horse a smart cut with his whip, he galloped on to overtake Master John.

Hour after hour the youths rode side by side; now conversing pleasantly about the country through which they were passing, or reviewing little incidents connected with their departure from home; and again, their thoughts grew busy, and forgot to shape themselves in words. Day after day they still rode on one anticipating a pleasant visit with his brothers, and a speedy return to all the endearments of a happy home—the other, hopeful, and yet half afraid to meet his destiny.

They spent the nights at houses of entertainment, which they found scattered here and there along the roadside. At these, they were received more like family visitors than guests at a hotel. Master John sat in the parlor by the blazing fire, and told the news from Lexington to his kind host, or listened to the history of the last year's crop. Peter, meanwhile, in the kitchen made himself no less agreeable. He had come from town, and could tell wonders to his less privileged auditors, who had seldom been out of sight of home.

The travellers arrived at Hopkinsville on Christmas morning. Here dwelt Dr. William Teagarden, whose wife was a maternal aunt of Master John, and at his house they spent the holidays.

This was a merry time. All the usual Christmas festivities were enjoyed, and Mrs. Teagarden, in addition to these, gave a large evening party in compliment to her nephew.

Here Peter had a fine opportunity to display his skill and grace as a waiter, and so highly pleased was Mrs. Teagarden with his expertness in this vocation, that she made several efforts during the next three years, to purchase him of his young master.

“Look yer, Peter,” said a gossiping old woman, who stood among the other servants just outside the parlor-door, and who had been watching the dancers with intense interest, “your Mars John gwine fall in love wid dat young lady, I reckon. How you like her for missus?”

“What young lady you mean? I reckon Mars John ain't in no hurry to fall in love, no how.”

“Why, Miss Agnes Keats. Dar! he's leadin' her to a cheer by her sister, Miss Frances. He's danced a'most all night wid her, and 'pears like he thinks she's mighty perty.”

HERE a new world opened before the young slave. The brick-yards in which his boyhood was spent, the fields of corn, tobacco, and hemp, around Lexington, presented no picture that could equal this. Far away stretched the brown plain, covered with the frosted cotton shrubs. Here and there stood a girdled forest tree, leafless and grim, yet mighty in its very desolateness. Gloomily its wasted shadow fell across the pathway trod by its destroyers, like the mysterious dread of ill that ever haunts the footsteps of the guilty.

The crop was now about half picked out. The business was all new to Peter, and though it did not look difficult, yet he worked diligently all day, and at night had only twelve pounds and a half. The other boys were greatly amused at his awkwardness, and played many jokes upon him, telling him he must first break off the boll, and then pick out the cotton.

At night, when Master Andrew weighed the cotton, he told them he would give a new pair of shoes to the one who would pick fifty pounds the next day. Allison was nearly barefoot, and he worked hard for the prize, but in vain. Peter, however, had learned wisdom from one day's failure, and, to the surprise of all, he had at night, seventy-five pounds. After this, he was seldom excelled in the cotton field. His fingers were long and nimble, and he could pluck the fleecy treasure from the frost-browed boll almost without effort.

Bainbridge, though mainly settled by poor people, who gained a scanty subsistence by hunting and fishing, was at that time surrounded by the estates of wealthy planters. Some of these were of good Virginia or Carolina families, but more were ignorant and vulgar men; overseers, or even negro traders, formerly, who had gained wealth in these refined pursuits, and were thereby entitled to stand in the ranks of the aristocracy of North Alabama.

The store of the Messrs. Gist was a favorite resort of these neighboring planters. It contained not only the usual assortment of dry goods, groceries, &c., with which country stores are usually supplied, but what was more essential to the social enjoyment of the gentlemen there congregated, excellent liquors of every kind. There too, was the Post Office; and to the patriots of Bainbridge there was never lack of interest in the great subjects of politics, and—the cotton market. Upon these they conversed day after day, as they sat on the porch at the store door, and night after night the discussions warmed, as the brandied flush crept over cheek and brow of the staunch vindicators of their different party chiefs. Sometimes, indeed the arguments ran so high that the disputants went home with visages slightly disfigured by contact with opposing fists; but these wounds soon healed, and over a bottle of good old wine, such trifling episodes were quite forgotten.

IT is a pleasant Sabbath evening in early spring. The air is filled with perfume from hosts of new made flowers, and vocal with the merry notes of birds.

Master Levi rises from his seat on the porch, and walks slowly to and fro in the yard. He is stouter and handsomer than he was two years ago when he came out on the farm to live. Aye, and happier too; for the lovely little Mary, that stretches out her tiny hands towards her papa, and sweetly lisps his name, has unsealed a new fountain of joy in his bosom.

Yes, he is happy and prosperous. His crops all look well, and his negroes are healthy and obedient.

“O mass'r!” says a voice at his side. He turns. It is Levin. He has grown tall and manly since we remarked him last—of course, for he is now about twenty-five years old, and a fine stout follow.

“Well, Levin, what do you want?” responds the master. “What is the matter?”

“O, nuthin's the matter, sir; only I wanted to ax you if you's willin' I should get married, sir.”

“Get married? Why, yes—you're old enough, I suppose—over twenty, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir, I's twenty-five.”