"Dat's jus what I tinks," added Quin. "You does de tinkin, and we does de wuck."

"I shall do my part of the work. Now listen to me, and I will tell you how I think the work ought to be divided. We'll go to bed at nine o'clock, and turn out at five."

"Dem's um," nodded Cyd.

"I will take the first watch to-night, till one o'clock, and Cyd the second, till five in the morning."

"But whar's my watch?" demanded Quin.

"At five o'clock you shall turn out and get breakfast. To-morrow night it shall be your first watch, and my second, and Cyd shall get breakfast the next morning. Then Cyd shall have the first watch the third night, and Quin the second, and I will get breakfast. That makes a fair division, I think."

"Dat's all right," added Quin.

"Those who sleep but four hours in the night can sleep during the day, if they wish."

"Yes, when de wuck's done," said Quin.

"We shall not have much work to do after we get settled," replied Dan.

"All that's very fine," added Lily, who had been listening to the arrangement; "but I shall not consent to it. I intend to get breakfast myself."

"No, Lily," remonstrated Dan. "If you do all the cooking, you will have to work harder than any of the boys. One of us will do the heavy work on deck, and you shall attend to the table. I am willing you should do your share of the work, if you insist upon it, but not more than your share. We shall have nothing to do but eat and sleep when we get the boat in position."

Lily insisted for some time, but was forced to yield the point at last; for neither Dan nor his companions would consent to her proposition. At nine o'clock Lily went to her cabin, and Quin and Cyd were soon sound asleep in their bunks. At one o'clock Cyd was called, and Dan gave him his watch, that he might know when to call Quin.

It was a difficult task for the sentinel to keep awake; but I believe he was faithful this time in the discharge of his important duty. At five Quin was called, and Cyd immediately proceeded to make up for lost time.



CHAPTER XVII.

CYD HAS A BAD FIT.

Cyd was roused from his slumbers at nine o'clock to assist in working the Isabel farther into the swamp, and in the course of the day she was safely moored in her permanent position. The quick eye of Dan had detected the admirable fitness of this place both for concealment and defence. It was not more than three miles from the lake.

The Isabel was secured between two islets, in the midst of a broad lagoon. The channel between the two portions of land was only wide enough to admit the boat, and the shore was covered with an impenetrable thicket of bushes and trees, so that the fugitives were obliged to "strip" the sail-boat, and take out her masts, before they could move her into the narrow bayou.

The next day, when the morning work on board was done, they commenced the task of concealing the Isabel more effectually from the view of any persons who might possibly penetrate the swamp. A half-decayed log was thrown across the channel, and green branches stuck in the ground, till the boat could not be seen. A coat of green paint was then put over the white one, and the party were satisfied that no one could discover their retreat, unless he happened to blunder upon it.

In these preparations a great deal of hard work was done; but the feeling of security which they procured amply compensated for the labor. When it was done, the fugitives enjoyed a season of rest, and for a week they did nothing but eat and sleep, though a strict watch was kept all the time to guard against a surprise. But this was an idle and stupid life; and even Cyd, who had formerly believed that idleness was bliss, began to grow weary of it. A few days more were employed in building a bridge from the deck of the boat to the island, in establishing a kitchen on shore, and in making such other improvements on board and on the land as their limited experience in the swamp suggested.

After every change and addition which the ingenuity of the fugitives could devise had been completed, the time again began to hang heavily on their hands. It was a happy thought of Lily that Dan should open a school for the instruction of Quin and Cyd, and half the day was very pleasantly occupied in this manner. At the end of a month both of these pupils were able to read a little from Dan's Testament, and they continued to make good progress during the remainder of their residence in the swamp.

At the end of a month Dan saw with dismay the inroad which had been made upon the supply of provisions. The addition of one person to the party had deranged his calculations, for Quin was blessed with a tremendous appetite. It was necessary that a sufficient quantity of the bacon and crackers should be reserved for the voyage that was yet before them, which might be a month in duration, or even longer. This supply had been carefully stowed away in the fore hold, and at the rate they consumed their provisions, the remainder would not last them two months.

Dan communicated his doubts and fears on this subject to Quin and Cyd, who immediately became very wise, and suggested a dozen expedients to meet the difficulty. Cyd proposed to forage on a plantation, which was immediately condemned as involving too much risk. Quin thought they might go to the nearest store and purchase food, as both Dan and Lily had considerable sums of money. This also was too dangerous.

"What's de use stoppin here so long?" asked Quin.

"The search for us has not ended yet," replied Dan.

"But dey won't tink no more ob us in two monfs from dis yere time."

"Very true; but the water will be so low that we can't get out of the lake in less than one month from now. We must stay here till next spring," added Dan, decidedly.

"Wha—wha—what ye gwine to stop here a whole year fur?" demanded Cyd, with his usual impetuosity.

"When would you leave?"

"When de water gets high in de fall."

"If we go to sea in the fall or winter, we shall meet with terrible storms in the Gulf. We should perish with the cold, or founder in a gale. We may have to be at sea a month. We shall have to meet our greatest perils after we leave this place."

"Well, I s'pose you knows best, Dan; and we's gwine to do jus what you say," replied Quin, meekly.

"Dem's um, Dan; you jus tell dis chile wot you wants done, and we's gwine to do notin but do it," said Cyd.

"But we must have something to eat while we remain here," added Dan.

"Dat's so; niggers can't lib widout eatin."

"We can do as the Indians do—we can hunt and fish," suggested Dan.

"Sartin—plenty ob ducks and geese, pigeons and partridges."

"And we have fowling pieces, with plenty of powder and shot; but none of us are hunters, and I'm afraid we shall not have very good luck in shooting game."

It was decided that Dan and Quin should try their luck on the following day; and having taken an early breakfast, they started in the bateau, rowing down the bayou in the direction of the lake. Dan was provided with a fowling piece, while Quin was to try his luck as a fisherman. The former was landed at a convenient place, while the latter pushed off into the deep waters of the lake, each to exercise his craft to the best of his ability.

On the shore of the lake Dan saw an abundance of wild ducks; but they were so very wild that he found a great deal of difficulty in getting near enough to risk the expenditure of any portion of the precious ammunition which was to last a year. He fired twice without injuring the game, and began to think that he was never intended for a sportsman. The third time he wounded a duck, but lost him. This was hopeful, and he determined to persevere. At the next shot he actually bagged a brant, and, what was better, he believed he had "got the hang" of the business, so that he could hunt with some success.

We will not follow him through the trials and disappointments of a six hours' tramp; but the result of his day's shooting was five ducks and one goose, with which he was entirely satisfied. With the game in his bag, he hastened back to the place where Quin had landed him in the morning. The other sportsman had been waiting two hours for him, and had been even more fortunate than his companion, having captured about a dozen good-sized catfish. The result of the expedition was very promising, and the food question appeared to be settled. With light hearts they pulled back to the camp, as Dan had christened their dwelling-place in the swamp.

"Where is Cyd?" asked Dan, as he hauled the boat through the dense thicket which concealed the Isabel from the gaze of any outsiders.

"He is here on deck," replied Lily, with a troubled expression. "Something ails him."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know; he is very sick, and I am so glad you have come!" added the poor girl, who appeared to have suffered an age of agony in the absence of the hunter.

Dan was alarmed, for he had not yet considered even the possibility of the serious illness of any member of the party; and Lily's announcement conjured up in his vivid imagination visions of suffering and death. He was full of sympathy, too, for his companion, to whom he was strongly attached. With a heart full of painful and terrible forebodings, he leaped upon the deck of the Isabel, and rushed to the standing room, where Cyd lay upon the floor. The sufferer had evidently just rolled off the cushioned seat, and was disposed in the most awkward and uncomfortable position into which the human form could be distorted.

Dan and Quin immediately raised him tenderly from the floor, and placed him upon the cushions. This movement seemed to disturb the sufferer, and he opened his eyes, muttering some incoherent words. At the same time he threw his arms and legs about in a frightful manner. Dan was quite as much puzzled and alarmed as Lily had been. He did not know what to do for him. His experience as a nurse had been very limited, and his knowledge of human infirmities was extremely deficient.

"What ails him?" asked Lily, whose anxiety for the patient completely beclouded her beautiful face.

"I don't know," replied Dan, hardly less solicitous for the fate of his friend. "How long has he been sick?"

"After you went away I was busy in the cabin for two or three hours, taking care of the dishes and cleaning up the place. When I came on deck he seemed to act very strangely. I never heard him talk so fast before. He said he felt sick, and thought he should vomit. He was so weak he could not walk; when he tried to do so, he staggered and fell. I helped him upon the seat, and then he seemed to be asleep. I bathed his head with cold water. When he waked up he was stupid, and I was afraid he would die before you got back. I didn't know what to do; so I gave him some brandy."

"How much did you give him?" asked Dan.

"Only about half a tumbler full—as much as you gave Quin when he was sick. Poor fellow! You don't know how much I have suffered in your absence."

During this conversation, Quin, who had more skill as a physician and nurse than his companions, had been carefully examining the patient.

"What do you think of him, Quin?" asked Dan, as he turned from Lily to consult with him.

"I tink dar's hope for Cyd," replied he, a queer smile playing about his mouth as he glanced at the anxious leader of the party.

"Do you? Then you understand the case—do you?"

"Yes, sar; I do, for sartin. My old massa used to hab jus such fits as dat," added Quin, his countenance beaming with intelligence.

"What did you do for him?"

"Notin, but put him to bed and let him sleep it off; I tink cold water good for him. Dat's what missus used to do for old massa when he hab it bery bad."

At the suggestion of Quin, Cyd was placed outside of the washboard, and half a dozen buckets of cold water were dashed upon him by the relentless hand of the negro nurse.

"Wha—wha—wha—" roared Cyd, as the first bucket fell upon him.

"See dar!" exclaimed Quin, triumphantly. "He done git better so quick. Gib him some more;" and he dashed another pailful upon him.

"Go away dar!" cried Cyd, trying to rise; but Dan held him fast.

"Dat do him heaps ob good," added Quin; and he continued to apply the harsh remedy.

"Don't do it any more, Quin," interposed Lily, who seemed to think the remedy was as bad as the disorder.

"Do him power ob good. Drive de fit right away from him," answered Quin, as he remorselessly dashed another bucket of cold water upon the patient. "Dat's wat dey call de water-cure."

"Go away dar!" screamed Cyd. "Luff dis chile lone."

"Don't, Quin; he does not like it," said Lily.

"'Pose he don't; nobody likes de medicine."

"But you may kill him," added Dan.

"Kill him! Don't you see he's growin better all de time? Dar; dat'll do," replied Quin, as he carried the bucket to the forecastle.

"Wha—wha—what's the matter?" demanded Cyd.

"Do you feel better, Cyd?" asked Dan, tenderly, as he permitted the patient to roll over into the standing room.

"Yes, sar!

'I's born way down 'pon de Mississip; I's crossed de riber on a cotton-wood chip,'"

roared Cyd, trying to sing a familiar song.

"Why, he is crazy!" exclaimed Lily.

"Yes, missy, he's crazy; but he soon git ober it," answered Quin, laughing.

"Why do you laugh, Quin? You don't seem to be at all concerned about him," added Lily.

"Bad fit, missy!"

"What ails him?"

"Bad fit, missy; my ole massa use to hab lots ob dem fits," chuckled Quin.

"But what kind of a fit is it, Quin?"

"Notin, missy, only Cyd done drink too much whiskey, and get drunk—dat's all."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE AFFRAY ON THE LAKE

Even Lily laughed when she realized that her friend Cyd was in no danger of dying in the bad fit which had attacked him; she laughed at his strange actions and his silly expressions; they all laughed for a time, but there was something very serious in the occasion. The patient was taken down into the cabin, and put to bed in his bunk.

When he was asleep again, and the rest of the party had returned to the deck, the serious part of the affair came up for consideration; and the meeting was so solemn and momentous that even the good luck of the two sportsmen was forgotten, and the game and fish were allowed to remain unnoticed in the bateau. To Dan and Lily it was a terrible thing for a boy like Cyd to get drunk. It was very funny, but it was awfully serious in view of future consequences.

Several bottles of wine and liquor had been deposited in the lockers under the seats in the standing room, and Cyd had helped himself as he sat there alone. This was the key to his mysterious sickness; and while his companions congratulated themselves upon Cyd's expected recovery, it was deemed prudent to place all the intoxicating beverages on board in a secure place. A locker in Lily's cabin was selected for this purpose, and it was soon out of Cyd's reach.

Dan wanted to throw all the liquor overboard, except a couple of bottles to be used as medicine; but Quin thought that some use might be made of it at a future time. There was no one on board, except Cyd, who would drink it; and he had imbibed rather as a frolic than because he had any taste for the fiery article.

The patient slept all the rest of the day and all the following night. The next morning he was afflicted with a terrible headache, and was so stupid that he was good for nothing. He was severely reprimanded for his folly, and made a solemn promise never to partake again; and as the dangerous fluid was all locked up, and the key in Lily's possession, it was believed that he would not violate his obligation.

Roast ducks and geese, and fried fish, were the food of the party for several days to come; and the change from salt provision was very agreeable. About once a week Dan and Quin repeated the excursion to the lake, and almost always returned with a plentiful supply of fish and game. The fugitives lived well, especially as pigeons, partridges, and an occasional wild turkey graced their table. A roast coon was not an unusual luxury; for by extending their hunting-grounds in various directions, they added very much to the variety of their larder.

The small stores, such as butter, salt, sugar, coffee, and tea, were exhausted in the fall, though they had been very carefully expended. They had been so long accustomed to their luxurious living, that the want of these articles was felt as a very great hardship. Their nice ducks and geese were absolutely loathsome without salt, and Dan came to the conclusion that salt was a necessity, and that it must be procured at any risk. About twenty miles from the camp there was a village where groceries could be obtained; and after a great deal of consideration it was decided to undertake a journey for this purpose. They had been five months in the swamp without seeing any human being, though Dan and Quin, in one of their hunting trips, had heard voices on the lake. They felt entirely secure in the camp, and Lily was not afraid to remain with Cyd while Dan and Quin went after the needed supplies.

It was resolved that Dan should pass himself off as a white boy, who, with a party of hunters, had encamped in the woods. He therefore dressed himself for the part he was to play, and embarked in the bateau with Quin, who was to act as his servant. With the utmost care they pursued their journey, and, without any incident or accident, came in sight of the village where they were to purchase the stores. But Dan did not think it prudent to visit the place in broad daylight; so they concealed themselves in the swamp, and slept by turns till nearly daylight the next morning.

This seemed to be the most favorable time to visit the store; and they entered the village, which was called so by courtesy, for it had only six houses. Putting on the bold, swaggering air of a young southerner, Dan entered the place, followed by his servant. With all the bluster necessary to keep up his character, he roused the shopkeeper, and ordered, rather than requested, him to open his store. Fortunately trade was not so lively in the place as to render the merchant independent of his business, and he gladly opened his establishment even at that unseemly hour. He asked a great many questions, which Dan answered very readily. The purchases were all made, and Dan's funds, though they amounted to nearly thirty dollars, were almost exhausted. When the stores had been gathered together, a new and appalling difficulty presented itself. Dan had not intended to purchase a quarter part of the supplies which were now piled in the middle of the store. It was five miles to the lake, and no two men in the universe could have carried them that distance.

The matter was one of so much importance, and the articles obtained with so much greater facility than he expected, that he had been tempted to procure this large stock. But the pile was so large that he began to repent of the act, and to wish that half his money was in his pocket again. To remedy the difficulty he began to bluster, and told the storekeeper that he must get a team and tote the goods down to the lake for him.

The man objected; but he at last consented to procure his neighbor's mule team and help them out. For this service Dan paid him two dollars more, which entirely collapsed his exchequer. The stores were safely deposited in the bateau, and the man drove off, apparently as well satisfied with his morning's work as the other party to the transaction.

As soon as he was out of sight and hearing, Quin could contain himself no longer, and vented his satisfaction at the success of the enterprise in the most violent and extraordinary manner. He laughed till his eyes were filled with tears, and had nearly upset the overloaded boat by his extravagant demonstrations.

"What's the matter, Quin?" demanded Dan, astonished at the conduct of his usually prudent and sedate companion.

"Bress de Lo'd, we's got all de tings," exclaimed Quin.

"Don't crow till you get out of the woods."

"Dar's de hard bread, and de salt, and de butter—golly, Massa Dan, you done do dat ting bery fine."

"Wait till we get back to the camp before you say any thing. We are not out of danger yet."

"But we's got de tings, Dan—de coffee, de sugar, and de salt."

"Take your oar now, and when we get back we'll have a jolly time."

"Bress de Lo'd, yes, Dan," said the delighted Quin, as he grasped the oar.

Prosperity makes men careless and reckless. The bateau was so crowded with stores that the rowers had but little space to use the oars. Their progress was necessarily very slow. They wanted to get back to the camp before night, and instead of keeping under the lee of the land, where the boat would not be likely to attract attention, they proceeded by the shortest route. When they reached the upper end of the lake, and were within five miles of the camp, they were startled to see a boat put out from one of the small islands, and pull towards them.

"De Lo'd sabe us!" exclaimed Quin, as he discovered the boat, which contained two white men.

"Take no notice of them, and don't speak a word," said Dan, in a low tone.

"De Lo'd hab us in his holy keeping!" ejaculated Quin, reverently, as he raised his eyes towards heaven.

"Do you know them?" asked Dan.

"One of dem's Massa Longworth; don't know de oder," replied Quin, his teeth chattering as though he had been suddenly seized with the ague.

"Who is he?"

"De oberseer on de plantation next to ole massa's."

The overloaded bateau rendered an escape by fast rowing impossible, and the fugitives continued to pull steadily, as before. Dan had his gun in a position where he could use it when occasion required. The two men pulled up to within a short distance of the bateau, and rested on their oars.

"Where ye gwine with all that stuff?" demanded Longworth.

"We belong to a party of gunners up here," replied Dan, boldly; for he was determined to make the most of the circumstances.

"Where be they?"

"Up to Chicot—about ten miles from here."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Longworth, glancing at his companion. "That's a good story, but it won't go down."

"You open your mouth wide enough to take any thing down," answered Dan, smartly.

"Can't swallow that story, no how," said the overseer. "But who's that boy with you?"

"None of your business. I don't make stories for you to laugh at."

"Yes, you do, my boy. But you needn't row any furder. We want ye both."

"You can't have us."

"We'll see about that," added the man, as he raised his fowling piece.

"No use,—'tain't loaded," snarled the other man in the boat.

"Mine is," replied Dan, elevating the piece.

Longworth cursed his companion for the revelation he had made, and proceeded to load the gun. In the mean time Dan dropped his piece, and began to pull again.

"Stop, now. I don't want to destroy val'able property with this yere iron, but I must if you don't stop," continued the overseer, as he finished loading his gun.

"Perhaps I can destroy as much valuable property as you can," said Dan, as he took his fowling piece again.

"You must come with me. I know that nigger in the boat with you, and I reckon you belong to Colonel Raybone."

"I, you villain! How dare you insult me? I am a free white man."

"Perhaps you be, but you've been advertised enough to let any man in these yere parts know you. That nigger belongs to my neighbor. If you've a mind to come in quietly, I'll see you let off without any whippin."

"I have no mind to come in, either quietly or otherwise," replied Dan.

"Then the wust's your own;" and Longworth fired.

The ball whistled within a few feet of Dan's head; but, unterrified by the peril, he raised his gun and fired.

"I'm hit!" groaned Longworth, as he sank down into the boat.

The other man in the boat with Longworth took the gun, loaded it, and fired. At that moment Dan had stooped down to pick up his shot-pouch, and Quin being the more prominent party in the bateau, the other man fired at him.

"De Lo'd sabe me!" groaned Quin, as he placed both hands on his chest.

Dan was ready to fire again; but, to his astonishment, he saw the man who had shot his companion seize the oars and pull away from the spot as fast as he could.

It was evident that the fate of his companion had appalled him; and seeing Dan nearly ready to discharge his gun again, he hastened to widen the distance between them. He rowed with the desperation of a doomed man. As the boat receded, Longworth raised himself up, as if to assure the fugitives that he was not dead.

Dan pointed the gun at the retreating boat for some time, and then fired, but not with the intention of hitting his savage foes. They were slave-drivers, but he did not wish to kill them.

The boat shortly disappeared, and Dan turned his attention to his wounded companion. The ball had passed through his lungs, and had penetrated a vital organ. Deeply affected by the event, he did what he could to stanch the blood; but poor Quin was past the aid of any surgery, and breathed his last a few minutes later.

Fearful that other pursuers might soon appear, Dan worked the boat up the bayou as rapidly as he could alone; but it was late at night when he reached the camp. Then he wept; then the tears of Lily mingled with his own over the corpse of the honest and faithful Quin, whose spirit had soared aloft, where the black man is as free as his white oppressor.



CHAPTER XIX.

LILY ON THE WATCH.

The death of poor Quin filled his companions with sorrow and dismay. There was weeping all night long on board of the Isabel. He had been a true and faithful friend to each individual of the party, and they were all sincerely and devotedly attached to him. With this sad bereavement came the sense of personal peril, for those who had slain their associate would not be content till they had driven his companions from their covert, and shed their blood or again reduced them to slavery.

Lily was disposed to abandon all her hopes in despair, and Cyd trembled with fear as he thought of what the next day or the next week might bring forth. But the energy and firmness of Dan soon quieted their fears, and restored, in some measure, the confidence which had before prevailed in the camp.

"We have defeated the slave-hunters twice, and we can do it again," said he, as he rose from his seat at the cabin table, around which, as Dan ate his supper, the party had considered their sad and perilous condition.

"It's terrible to think of poor Quin," said Lily. "He was so good and kind."

"And we have one arm less to assist in our defence. Don't cry any more, Lily. I'm afraid we haven't seen the worst of it yet."

"Can't we do something? Can't we get away from this place?" asked Lily.

"That is impossible. The water is too low to float the Isabel down to the lake, even if she were ready to go. It will take several days to rig her, and put her in order for our voyage."

"What will become of us?"

"I don't know. I hope for the best. Don't cry, Lily. I am not afraid of any thing. If we are resolute, we can defend ourselves if the slave-hunters should find us, which I don't think they can."

"It's awful to think of fighting and being shot," murmured Lily, as she cast a tender glance at Dan.

"I thought of all these things before we started, and I will not shrink from them now. But come, Cyd; we must go to work and unload the bateau."

The stores, which had been procured at such a terrible sacrifice, were taken on board the Isabel, while the body of poor Quin was laid upon the trunk cabin, and covered up with a blanket. As they lifted the lifeless form from the bateau, Dan could not but recall the extravagant joy of the deceased when the stores were safely embarked. The scene which followed was a sad commentary on the hopes which the honest fellow had cherished only a few hours before.

It was necessary that the corpse should be buried that night, for the weather was warm, and none knew what were to be the events of the coming day. A suitable spot was selected on one of the adjacent islands, where Cyd and Dan dug a shallow grave. The remains of poor Quin, wrapped in the blanket, were then conveyed in the bateau to the spot, and deposited in their final resting-place. By the dim light of the lantern, Dan read a chapter from his Testament, and then all of them knelt around the grave. No audible prayers were repeated, but the hearts of these sincere mourners were filled with the spirit of prayer; and He who wants no vain words to praise Him, accepted the solemn but silent service.

The grave was filled, and the fugitives used all their ingenuity to conceal the broken ground, that it might not betray them to the ruthless slave-hunters, who might soon visit the spot. With sad hearts they returned to the camp. Dan was nearly exhausted by the fatigue and anxiety of the last two days; but he could not sleep while there was any thing to be done to prepare for the expected visit of the slave-hunters. His first care was to put all the arms and ammunition in readiness. He then showed Lily how to load a gun, that she might assist them in the defence.

On the islands they had collected a great quantity of logs, to serve them for fuel during the winter. These were carried upon the deck of the Isabel, and so arranged as to form a kind of breastwork, to shield the boys from the bullets of the enemy. By noon on the following day, every thing that could be thought of to conceal or defend the camp had been done. They were ready for the slave-hunters then, and if Quin had only been with them, they would have felt confident of the result of an attack.

In the afternoon Dan was so worn out that he could endure no more, and at Lily's urgent request he went below, and was soon asleep. Cyd was fully alive to the necessities of the occasion. He kept his eyes and ears wide open, but he neither saw nor heard any thing that indicated the approach of an enemy. Lily, though very much alarmed, was as resolute as her companions; for she knew and felt what slavery would be if its shackles were again fastened upon her. She was a gentle, timid, shrinking girl; but she was determined to die rather than be restored to the tyranny of her capricious mistress, and the more terrible fate which would eventually overtake her.

The long, gloomy night that followed passed away, the anxious watchers still keeping vigil by turns upon the deck of the Isabel. The next day, while Lily was keeping watch, both Dan and Cyd being asleep in the cabin, she heard the dip of oars in the bayou. Her heart beat a furious tattoo against her ribs, and she almost sank with horror, as she listened to the sounds which indicated the approach of the dreaded enemy. It was her duty to call Dan; but she seemed to be riveted to her seat. The sounds came nearer and nearer, and soon she could hear the voices of the slave-hunters. She could distinguish the curses that fell from their lips as they advanced, and she was faint and sick with apprehension.

The Isabel was moored at some distance from the bayou, which led to the lake; but through the dense foliage which shrouded the boat, she could discover the slave-hunters. They were now not forty rods distant, and the slightest sound might betray their hiding-place. With quivering lips and trembling limbs, she peered through the bushes to ascertain whether the boat turned up the channel which led to the camp. It was a moment of terrible suspense; a moment fraught with the issues of freedom or slavery—life or death.

Why did she not call her companions, who were sleeping peacefully in the cabin, while she was torn and distracted by these agonizing fears? She dared not do so, lest one of them should speak and betray them all. Cyd was impetuous, and a word from him might render futile the labors and the perils of months.

Hardly daring to breathe lest it should undo them, she watched the progress of the boat. The slave-hunters paused at the mouth of the channel, consulted for a few moments, and then the bow of the boat was turned towards the camp. With a gasp of horror, Lily crouched down upon the floor of the standing room, and crept towards the cabin door. A torrent of despair seemed to be turned loose upon her soul. She grasped the side of the cabin door, when suddenly all her strength forsook her, and she sank senseless upon the floor. The terrible agony of that tremendous moment was more than she could endure, and she fainted.

The frail and delicate watcher had failed in the important duty she had assumed at the very instant when her warning notes were most needed, and the fugitives were then apparently at the mercy of the slave-hunters. Dan slept, Cyd slept; both wearied out with watching and hard work, all unconscious that their gentle, willing sentinel had failed them, and that the fiends they dreaded were within pistol shot of their retreat. They slept, and were silent. Lily, senseless upon the floor of the standing room, pale and motionless as a marble statue chiselled in the form of angelic beauty, was silent as the grave. Not a breath of air stirred the forest leaves, not a ripple agitated the waters. It was perfect stillness in the camp. There was no sound to disturb the solemn quiet of that temple of nature, save the ribald speech of the slave-hunters, mingled with fiendish curses.

There was none to keep watch and ward in the camp of the fugitives—none but He who watches over the innocent when they sleep and when they wake. He was there keeping ceaseless vigil by the senseless maiden, and over the sleeping boys. "He doeth all things well;" and the very silence that reigned in the camp saved the fugitives from the keen scrutiny of the enemy.

The hunters remained in the vicinity for a few moments, and finding no clew to the fugitives, turned their boat, and went back to the bayou. They proceeded up the stream a few miles farther, and then, abandoning the search in this direction, returned to the lake.

Still Dan slept, and Cyd slept, and Lily still lay silent in marble stillness upon the floor at the door of the cabin.



CHAPTER XX.

PREPARING FOR THE VOYAGE.

The deep silence which pervaded the camp was first broken by Dan. He woke slowly from his profound slumbers, looked about him for a moment, then glanced at Cyd, who, contrary to his usual custom, did not snore. Every thing was still; his ear was not saluted with the sharp crack of a slave-hunter's rifle, and no curses disturbed the solemn silence of the place. Every thing seemed to be secure, and he wondered that the enemy had not yet appeared.

He was tempted to turn over and go to sleep, for he still felt very weary, and his repose had not restored his wonted vigor. But he concluded to go on deck, as every prudent skipper should, before he finished his nap. Rising leisurely from his bunk, he made his way to the standing room where he was almost paralyzed at the discovery of Lily lying apparently dead upon the floor.

Dan was prompt and decided in action; and taking the insensible girl in his arms, he placed her upon the cushioned seat. Tremulous with emotion, he bent over her to ascertain whether his worst fears were to be realized. Her heart beat; there was life, and there was hope.

"Cyd! Cyd!" shouted he, in tones which would have roused a sleepier boy than his fellow-fugitive, and which, had it been heard a quarter of an hour sooner, would have brought the slave-hunters upon them.

Cyd leaped from his couch as the imperative tones of Dan reached his ears, fully believing that the enemy, for whom they had been so patiently preparing, was upon them. Seizing a gun which lay upon the table, he rushed aft, ready to do his share in the impending battle.

"Wha—wha—whar's de nigger-hunters?" demanded he, furiously.

"They are not here; there is no danger," replied Dan, calmly, as he continued to rub the temples of Lily.

"Possifus! Wha—wha—what's de matter wid Missy Lily?" cried he, as soon as he saw the insensible form of the maiden.

"Bring me a pitcher of water, Cyd."

"Is she dead?" gasped the poor fellow, as he obtained a better view of the pale face of Lily.

"No, no; bring me the water—quick."

Cyd obeyed the order, and Dan sprinkled her face with the contents of the pitcher. He then left her for a moment to procure some lavender in her cabin. Though not a very skilful nurse, he had seen a lady faint, and knew what to do upon such an emergency. He applied the lavender and the cold water so vigorously, and yet so tenderly, that Lily soon began to show signs of returning consciousness.

"What's de matter wid her?" demanded Cyd for the tenth time, for Dan was too busy to waste time in answering idle questions.

"She is better," mused Dan, as he pushed back the curls that had strayed forward upon the patient's face.

"Hossifus! Dis chile knows what ails Missy Lily," continued Cyd, opening his mouth to the utmost of its tension, and exhibiting all its wealth of ivory.

"What's the matter with you, Cyd? Shut your mouth, and behave like a decent man," added Dan, rebuking the levity of his companion.

"Gossifus! Dis chile knows all about dat; been dar hisself," chuckled Cyd. "Dis chile neber tink Missy Lily drink too much whiskey."

"Silence! you rascal! How dare you think such a thing!" replied Dan, sternly; for he was vexed enough to pitch Cyd overboard for indulging in such a suspicion.

"Mossifus! Dat's jus de way dis chile was."

"Silence! She has fainted. She is better now. See! She is opening her eyes."

Dan continued to bathe the temples of Lily with lavender till her consciousness returned, and the terrible incident which had preceded her fainting was present to her mind. Suddenly, as Dan left her for a moment, she sprang upon her feet, and rushed to the place where she had stood gazing at the approaching boat.

"Where are they?" gasped she.

"Lie down again, Lily. You are too weak to stand," interposed Dan, as he put his arms around her waist to support her.

"Where are they? O, we are all lost!" exclaimed she.

"What do you mean by lost?"

"Where are they?"

"Who, Lily? What is the matter with you?"

"Haven't you seen them, Dan?"

"Seen whom?"

"The slave-hunters!" gasped Lily.

"I haven't seen any one," replied Dan, calmly; for he began to fear that the mind of his fair charge was affected.

"They are here—close by us, Dan. We shall all be taken."

"There is no danger, Lily. We are perfectly safe. Be calm, my dear. You have been dreaming."

"No, I have not been dreaming. I haven't even been asleep. It was all real; but I have been a faithless sentinel."

"Now you are better, Lily, tell me all about it," continued Dan, seating her upon the cushions.

Lily related the incident which had transpired while her companions were asleep below; but Dan could hardly believe so strange a story, and insisted that she must have dropped asleep and dreamed it.

"I know I was not asleep."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I was afraid that some noise might attract the attention of the slave-hunters, and I deferred it till I was sure they would discover us. Then I was creeping on the floor, so that they should not see me, to the cabin, when I fainted."

"Hossifus!" gasped Cyd, appalled at the narrow escape of the party.

"Don't you believe me, Dan? I am very sure I was not asleep," added Lily, earnestly.

Dan was compelled to believe the story, and he shuddered as he thought of the peril that had menaced them while they were all so helpless. Though he concluded that it was not safe to trust Lily on the watch, he did not utter a word of reproof to her for not calling him sooner.

"You think I did wrong, Dan, not to call you. I know you do, though you will not blame me."

"I can't help thinking what might have happened if the slave-hunters had found us while we were all asleep," replied Dan, seriously. "But I will not blame you, Lily."

"The slave-hunters did not find us. I think it was all for the best, Dan, that I fainted."

"Indeed?"

"If I had waked you and Cyd, you might have made a noise that would have exposed us," answered Lily, very solemnly. "I think it was the good God that took my strength away in order to preserve us all."

"It may be; but I had rather be awake when there is any danger."

"If you had been awake, you might have been shot; and then what would have become of us?"

Lily was fully satisfied that her fainting was a special providence, which had saved them all from capture or death. Dan was not so clear upon this point, and resolved never to sleep again when there was a possibility of an attack.

For several weeks after these exciting incidents, all the fugitives confined themselves to the Isabel and the islands on either side of her. Indeed, between Dan and Cyd, it was about enough for them to do the necessary work, and keep "watch and watch" during the day and night. As nothing more was seen or heard of the slave-hunters, they concluded that the search had been abandoned, and they soon ceased to dread their approach. Dan ventured to hunt again, and every thing went off as before, though all the party missed Quin very much.

The autumn passed away; the winter came, and then the spring. If our space would permit us to record the daily life of the young fugitives while they remained in the swamp, it would, no doubt, be interesting to our readers; and for their sake, no less than for our own, we regret that our limits do not admit of this lengthened narrative. They had many trials from cold and storms, from high water in the bayous and low water in the casks, from alligators and buzzards; but they lived through it all. Lily was sick a fortnight, and Dan a week; their fuel gave out in the coldest of the weather; and an alligator bit off the heel of Cyd's boots; and a hundred other events occurred which would bear an extended recital; but we turn from them, with regret, to the closing events in the career of the young fugitives.

With the high water in April, Dan and Cyd went to work, in the most vigorous manner, to prepare the Isabel for the uncertain sea voyage which was before her. After a month of hard labor she was rigged, the sails bent, her water casks filled, a supply of fuel put in the fore hold, and the remaining stores conveniently stowed for the cruise.

On the fifteenth of May every thing was in readiness; the obstructions in the channel were removed; and at sunset, with a smashing breeze, the Isabel hauled out of the channel, and commenced her voyage.



CHAPTER XXI.

DOWN THE LAKE.

At the period of which we write, the railroad through the Teche country had not been constructed, and the population was very sparsely scattered over this region. Most of the available land, however, was occupied; but, of course, none of the little villages which spring up around railroad stations, and which, in the course of years, grow into large towns and cities, had yet appeared.

With many doubts and fears in regard to the future, the young fugitives commenced the voyage to the Gulf. It was seventy miles from the camp, and it was absolutely necessary that the trip should be performed by night, for the lake, at the season of high water, was navigable for small steamers, which, with other craft, occasionally passed over its turbid tide. In the passage down, they were liable to meet some of these boats; and though the search for the runaways had long since ceased, the Isabel might be recognized, and the mystery of her singular disappearance explained.

Dan was determined to be very cautious, and to expose his party to no risks which could possibly be avoided. The voyage was perilous enough at best, and he was not disposed to trifle with the good fortune which had thus far attended the expedition. He knew nothing of the navigation of the lake, or of the Atchafalaya River, through which he must pass to the Gulf of Mexico. He was therefore exposed to many perils. The boat might get aground at a perilous point, which might expose them to an examination from some inquisitive slaveholder. He might be stopped by a steamer, or overhauled by a boat, and the fugitives taken into custody because they could not give a good account of themselves.

Then, if he succeeded in reaching the Gulf, he knew that a day's sail at the most would take him out of sight of land; and he had nothing but a small compass and a map of the coast of Texas and Louisiana to guide him. He had no expectation of being able to reach the free North in the Isabel. He depended upon being picked up by some vessel bound to New York or Philadelphia; and he had read the newspapers and listened to the conversation of his master and his guests enough to know that shipmasters were very cautious about carrying slaves to the North. But he had made his plans, and hoped he should be able to overcome even this most formidable difficulty.

To contend against all these adverse circumstances, he had a good boat, though she was not fully adapted to a sea voyage. With her light draught she had but a slight hold on the water; yet Dan was an excellent boatman, and trusted in his skill to overcome the deficiencies of his vessel. The Isabel was well provisioned for at least a month; and if the weather was even tolerably favorable, he felt confident that he should be able to contend successfully against the elements. At any rate he feared the ocean, storm, and distance less than the insatiate slave-hunters of the South.

With these difficulties before them, the young fugitives started upon their uncertain voyage. It was a bright, pleasant evening, with a lively breeze from the westward. The long confinement of the camp in the swamp made the changing prospect exceedingly exhilarating. They had encountered perils before, and the experience of the past prepared them for the trials of the future. They had a head wind down the bayou which led to the lake, and it required two hours of hard work for the two boys to work the Isabel down to the open water; but when this labor was accomplished, the foresail, mainsail, and jib were hoisted, and they had a fair wind down the lake.

"Now, Lily, our voyage is commenced," said Dan, as he seated himself at the helm.

"Yes; and I am so glad to get out of that dismal swamp!" replied she, with a smile which spoke the joy of her heart.

"Perhaps you will wish yourself back again before many days, and perhaps before many hours."

"Do you think there is much danger, Dan?"

"We may not meet with a single difficulty, and we may be in danger all the time. I cannot tell. I hope for the best, but I am ready for the worst."

"Any thing is better than slavery, Dan."

"Even death itself, Lily," replied Dan, solemnly.

"But there will be no people out on the lake in the night—will there?"

"There may be; but we may not find a good place to conceal ourselves during the day. We may be discovered, for there are more people at the lower end of the lake than in the part where we have been."

"We will pray to God, Dan, every day, and He will protect us, as He has before," added Lily, confidingly.

"And while we do that, we must be very careful. There is one thing I have been dreading ever since we began to prepare for this cruise."

"What is that, Dan?"

"You know Mr. Lascelles?"

"Yes; he spends a week at Redlawn every year, and master used to stay a week at his plantation."

"He lives down this way somewhere—I don't exactly know where. The Isabel, I think, came down here one year; if so, I am afraid they will know the boat."

"Possifus!" exclaimed Cyd, who had been silently listening to this conversation. "Dey'll ketch us, for shore."

"I'm not afraid of being caught; but Colonel Raybone almost always visits Mr. Lascelles in the month of May. Suppose he should be there, and we should happen to go near his plantation?"

"Hossifus!" groaned Cyd. "Massa Raybone down dar! Dis chile gubs it all up den."

"Don't give up yet, Cyd," laughed Dan.

"Mossifus! If dis nigger see ole massa, he done sink into de ground, like a catfish in de mud."

"You haven't seen him yet, Cyd; and what is more, I don't believe you will see him."

"I hope not," added Lily, with a shudder.

"If we do, it will not alter any thing."

"What would you do, Dan?"

"I will never become a slave again. We have guns and powder, bullets and shot."

"Would you kill him?"

"No man shall stand between me and freedom. I would shoot him or any other man, if it were necessary to secure our safety."

"Gossifus! Shoot Massa Raybone!" exclaimed Cyd.

"I hope we shall not be obliged to fire upon any man; but I shall do so, and you must do the same, Cyd, if we are in danger of being captured."

"Do any ting you say, Dan," replied Cyd whose mind readily settled upon any policy adopted by his leader.

"Now, Lily, you had better turn in, as Midshipman Raybone used to say. You must sleep while you can, for you may have no rest again for several days."

"I'm not sleepy; but you are going to have a very hard time. When we get out to sea we shall have to run all the time—shall we not?"

"Yes—night and day."

"Then when will you sleep?"

"Cyd and I must sleep by turns. We shall get along very well if the weather is only good."

About eleven o'clock both Lily and Cyd retired to their berths, leaving Dan alone on deck. The wind held fair till about three o'clock in the morning, at which time the Isabel was within ten miles of the outlet of the lake. It was too dark for the careful skipper to discover the nature of the shore, and he was waiting for a little daylight to enable him to find a suitable place to lie up during the next day. The boat was fully three miles from either shore, when the wind suddenly died out. Directly ahead, there were several small islands, but they were farther off than the main shore.

The first of the skipper's trials seemed to have overtaken him; but he did not permit himself to despair. He hoped, when the sun rose, a breeze would come, and enable him to find some hiding-place for the day. There was nothing to do but watch and wait, and Dan reclined upon the cushioned seat to meditate upon the uncertainties before them.

There was not a breath of air upon the lake, and the sails hung motionless in their places. Lily and Cyd still slept, and Dan did not call them; for he was willing to spare them even an hour's useless anxiety. The moments hung heavily upon the impatient skipper; but at last the daylight came, and he had a chance to study the situation. On the shore at his left there was a sugar plantation, the mansion of which was built within a short distance of the water; for here, as in the vicinity of Redlawn, the highest land was nearest to the streams. But the estate was three miles distant, and he hoped that the Isabel would not attract the attention of the people on the place.

The sun rose, but no wind came to gladden the heart of the impatient and anxious skipper. The active life of the plantation had commenced. He could see the smoke curling up from the chimneys of the cook-house near the mansion; and in different parts of the lake he counted three boats moving about near the shore. These signs produced an intense uneasiness in his mind, which was not lessened by the appearance of Lily, who came upon deck about this time.

While he was explaining to her the nature of their unpleasant position, the smoke of a little steamer was seen beyond the islands. She soon came in sight, and was headed directly towards the spot where the Isabel lay becalmed. Dan and his fair companion were appalled by this new danger; for a suspicion in the mind of any person on board the steamer could hardly fail of being fatal to them. But Dan was soon prepared to make the best of the circumstances.

"Cyd, Cyd!" called he, as he rushed into the cabin.

"Wha—wha—what's de matter?" stammered Cyd, springing to his feet.

"Go on deck at once," replied Dan, as he slung the powder-horn and shot-pouch over his shoulders, and took one of the fowling pieces.

Cyd was on deck before him, and discovered the nature of the danger which menaced them. The bateau, which had been placed upon deck, was launched, and Cyd was directed to get into it with the oars, and pull off a few rods from the Isabel.

"Now, Lily, you must go to your cabin, close the door, and on no account show yourself while the steamer is in sight," said Dan.

"But what are you going to do, Dan?" asked she, with an expression of the deepest concern. "Are you going to shoot any one?"

"No, dear," replied Dan, with a smile at her fears; "I am going to pretend to be a sportsman. As we can't get out of the way of the steamer, I intend to be as bold and impudent as I can. There, go to your cabin now, and we will hope for the best."

Lily retired to the cabin, closed the door after her, and threw herself on her knees to pray for the safety of herself and her friends during the impending peril. In the mean time, Dan walked up and down the deck, with the gun in his hand, apparently looking in all directions for game. Just as the steamboat came within hailing distance of the Isabel, a couple of brant fortunately flew over, and Dan fired. His practice in the swamp had made him a very good marksman, and he was so lucky as to bring down one of the birds. Cyd, as before instructed, pulled with all his might to the spot where the game had fallen.

"Possifus!" shouted he; "massa fotch dat bird down, for shore!"

When he uttered this exclamation the bateau was within a few yards of the steamer, and the few passengers on board of her, anxious to see the sport, hastened to the boiler deck, and thus obtained a full view of the Isabel, as she rounded in under her stern, on her way to the plantation, where she evidently intended to make a landing.

"Any news below?" shouted Dan, hailing the steamer as she approached.

"By Heaven! that's my boat and my boy!" exclaimed a gentleman on the boiler deck, as the steamer glanced by the Isabel. "Stop the boat! Stop her!"

It was Colonel Raybone!



CHAPTER XXII.

THE ISABEL RUNS THE GANTLET.

Dan heard the words of the gentleman on the boiler deck of the Terre Bonne,—for that was the name of the steamer,—and at once recognized his master. The worst fear that he had entertained was fully realized. That unfortunate calm had betrayed him into the hands of his enemy. But he was fully determined to carry out his resolution, and fight for life and liberty, even if he had to contend against the whole force of the steamer.

It appeared that the request, or rather the command, of Colonel Raybone to stop the boat was not immediately complied with; for she continued on her course for several minutes before her wheels ceased to revolve, and when she did stop she was fully a quarter of a mile from the Isabel. By this time Cyd returned with the bird which the sportsman had killed, and Dan announced the appalling fact that Colonel Raybone was on board of the steamer, and had recognized him and the boat.

"Possifus!" exclaimed Cyd, leaping upon the deck of the Isabel. "Wha—wha—what we gwine to do?"

"Take this gun, and do as I do," replied Dan, as he went into the cabin after the rifle.

"Gwine to shoot him!" groaned Cyd. "Hossifus! gwine to shoot ole Massa Raybone!"

"Do you want to go back to Redlawn with him, Cyd?" demanded Dan, with compressed lips.

"Don't want to go back, for shore. Gossifus! Dis chile's a free man now."

"Then use your gun when I tell you."

"Cyd do dat, for sartin," replied he, examining the lock of the fowling piece. "Mossifus! Dis nigger shoot de whole crowd if you says so, Dan."

"Don't fire till I tell you, and take good aim," added the skipper, as he finished loading the rifle.

"What's the matter, Dan?" asked Lily, opening the cabin door a little way, for she had heard the stirring words of her friends on deck.

Dan told her, in as few words as possible, what had happened, and the poor girl nearly fainted when she heard the name of her master.

"Then we are lost!" added she, in tones tremulous with emotion.

"Not yet, Lily. Be of good courage, and don't show yourself on deck."

The affrighted maiden threw herself upon her knees by her cot, and prayed fervently that God would interpose his strong arm to save them from the fate which now seemed to be inevitable. While she prayed, Dan and Cyd worked, and made such preparations for the pending encounter as their limited means would allow. There was only a small number of passengers on board of the steamer, and the resolute captain of the Isabel hoped that a few shots would intimidate them, and prevent Colonel Raybone from rushing upon certain death.

But the planter of Redlawn was as resolute as his runaway chattel, and a battery of artillery would not have deprived him of the satisfaction of pouncing upon the fugitives. Though no fear could deter the master from attempting to recover what he regarded as his own by the law of God and man, it was otherwise with the captain of the Terre Bonne; for he declared that he was in a tremendous hurry to make his trip, having been detained over night at the foot of the lake. He sympathized with Colonel Raybone in his desire to recover his slaves; but he positively refused to put the boat about and capture the runaways.

It is not improbable that the captain of the steamer saw the guns and the preparations made to receive a boarding party, and possibly he reasoned in his own mind that a chance shot was as likely to kill him as any other man on board; at any rate, he was as resolute in his refusal as any of the resolute parties we have already mentioned.

Dan could hardly believe his senses when he saw the Terre Bonne standing out towards the landing-place before the plantation. When her wheels started again, he nerved himself for the encounter; for he supposed she would come about, and bear down upon him. It was incredible that Colonel Raybone should give up the chase without an effort to capture them; and he knew his master too well to think, after more consideration, that he would abandon his slaves without an energetic effort to recover them.

The steamer went in to the landing-place, leaving Dan to wonder and rejoice at the happy turn which had taken place in the affairs of his party. He informed Lily of the altered state of things on deck, and the devout girl was happy in the reflection that her prayers had been so promptly answered.

"But we haven't seen the end of it yet, Lily. O, no," added Dan, "Colonel Raybone will never give us up. He would spend more money than we are all worth for the pleasure of flogging me for running away; but he shall never have that satisfaction. I had rather die here like a man than to be scourged to death at the Dead Oak."

"Can't we get away? Is there no chance to escape?" asked Lily, whose beating heart was full of mortal terrors.

"Gossifus! Wha—wha—what's de reason we can't take de bateau and row ober to de shore, and take to de woods?" suggested Cyd.

"Well, what then?" demanded Dan, calmly.

"Why, den run like a possum up a gum tree."

"With bloodhounds and slave-hunters on your track. No, Cyd; we should certainly be taken if we did that."

"What shall we do, Dan?" murmured Lily. "We shall certainly be taken if we stay here."

"No; we have beaten off the slave-hunters twice, and we can do it again. They will come in small boats, and I will shoot them down, one at a time, if they persist," answered Dan, bringing down the butt of the rifle upon the floor of the standing room to emphasize his words.

"But you may be shot, yourself, Dan," said Lily, with a visible shudder.

"No; I will conceal myself behind the bulwarks when they come within range of my rifle."

"But can't we get away? Can't we escape without shooting any of them?" pleaded the poor girl, with a natural horror of bloodshed.

"We cannot unless we have wind."

"Gossifus! Dar dey come!" exclaimed Cyd, pointing to two boats pulling out from the landing-place of the plantation.

"Heaven protect and defend us!" cried Lily. "I will pray for wind; I will pray with all my soul for a breeze, Dan, and our Father in heaven, who has so often heard my prayers will hear me again."

"Stop a minute, Missy Lily; stop a minute," interposed Cyd, gazing earnestly down the lake; "needn't pray no more, Missy Lily; dare's a breeze coming up from de souf-east. Hossifus! de breeze am comin like a possum down a cotton tree! Possifus! Hossifus! Gossifus! De breeze am coming!" shouted Cyd, as he danced round the deck like a madman. "Needn't pray no more, Missy Lily. De breeze am come."

"Then I will thank God for sending it," replied the poor girl, a smile of joy playing radiantly upon her fair face.

If Dan was not so extravagant as his companion on deck, he was not less rejoiced, especially as the wind from this quarter promised to be a strong one. The bateau was hastily hoisted upon the deck of the Isabel, and the sails trimmed to catch the first breath of the coming breeze.

"Mossifus! Dat breeze wuth a hun'd tousand million dollars!" shouted Cyd, as the first puff of the welcome wind swelled the sails of the Isabel.

"It may be worth more than that," replied Dan calmly. "It may be life and liberty to us."

The breeze had come, and plenty of it; but for the course the skipper wished to lay, it was dead ahead; yet it mattered little where it carried them, if it only enabled them to escape from the terrible man who was the impersonation of slavery to them. As the wind freshened, the lake was agitated, and the Isabel dashed on as though she understood the issues which depended upon her speed. In half an hour the pursuing boats could not be seen; and no doubt they had abandoned the chase in despair.

It was useless to seek a place for concealment, for the white sails of the Isabel were doubtless watched by scores of eager eyes; so Dan ran up under the lee of one of the small islands that dot the lake, and came to anchor there. He did not care to run up the lake any farther than was necessary, and he did not think it prudent to beat down the lake in the face of his pursuers. No more anxious skipper than he of the Isabel ever paced a deck. Colonel Raybone was as energetic as he was remorseless, and would leave no means untried to capture the fugitives. Dan was at first afraid that he would charter the steamer, and pursue them in her; but this fear was removed when he saw the Terre Bonne steaming on her way up the lake.

The fugitives breakfasted on cold ham and hard bread while the boat remained at anchor; but not for a single instant did the watchful skipper intermit his gaze in the direction in which he had last seen the pursuing boats. It was a late breakfast, for it was ten in the forenoon when it was finished. But this meal, though it seemed to increase the vigor and resolution of the party, did not remove a particle of their anxiety for the future.

Dan, as we have before shown, was a master of strategy; and it is good generalship to penetrate the purposes of the enemy. Our hero was all the time trying to do this, but, of course, without any encouragement of success. He only felt sure that Colonel Raybone would cover the lake with boats filled with slave-hunters, if he could find them, and that every hour of delay increased the peril of his situation. He intended to wait till night, and then, under cover of the darkness, run down to the outlet of the lake, and escape to the Gulf. This purpose was encumbered by a terrible doubt; he feared that the south-east wind would die out when the sun went down, and that the fugitives would again be at the mercy of the slave-hunters. The thought was so appalling that Dan, in the middle of the afternoon, determined to run the gantlet of the boats, and trust to Providence for success. In a few moments after this decision was reached, the Isabel was under way, and standing, close hauled, down the lake.

The south-east wind, having free course, and blowing fresh, had kicked up a heavy sea, for an inland sheet of water; but this was highly favorable for the Isabel, and very unfavorable for the flatboats in which the pursuers chased them. As Dan had anticipated, the slave-hunters were on the alert; and as the Isabel was standing through a narrow channel between two islands, the two boats, which had chased her in the morning, dashed out from under the lea of one of them.

"Take the helm, Cyd, and keep her steady as she is!" said Dan, as he grasped the rifle.

"Possifus!" exclaimed Cyd; but he promptly obeyed without further speech.

Only one of the boats—that which contained Colonel Raybone—was near enough to board the Isabel as she dashed through the passage. It was evidently the intention of the planter to spring on board as she passed through the channel; for he stood in the bow of his boat with the painter in his hand. One of the rowers in the other boat had "crabbed" his oar and lost it overboard, or the colonel's plan would have succeeded.

"Put down the helm, Cyd! Luff, luff!" shouted Dan, as he fathomed the purpose of his master.

"Luff um 'tis!" replied the helmsman.

The Isabel was running tolerably free at the time the order was given, and when she luffed up, the planter's boat lay directly in her path. The next instant she struck the bateau full on the broadside.

"Possifus!" shouted Cyd, at the top of his lungs, as he heard the crashing and snapping of the pine boards, that indicated the destruction of the planter's boat.



CHAPTER XXIII.

COLONEL RAYBONE CHANGES HIS TONE

The Isabel dashed furiously on her way, passing over the bateau of the slave-hunters, which presently reappeared astern of her. Colonel Raybone, who, in spite of his years and his habits, was an active man, seized the bowsprit of the sail-boat, as it bore his frail bark beneath the waves; and while Dan and Cyd were eagerly gazing into the water astern of them in search of their dreaded master, he climbed upon the forecastle of the Isabel, thus saving himself from the wreck and the water.

"Hossifus!" groaned Cyd, as he turned to observe the course of the boat, and discovered upon deck the stalwart form of Colonel Raybone—to him the most terrible man on the face of the earth.

The exclamation attracted the attention of Dan, and a glance forward revealed to him the desperate situation of his party. The slave-master, nearly exhausted by the shock of the collision, and his exertions in hauling himself up to the deck of the Isabel, had failed to improve the first moment that ushered him into the presence of his astonished chattels; and the loss of that opportunity was the ruin of his expectations. Dan instantly raised his rifle; but the old feeling of awe and reverence for the sacred person of his master prevented him from firing at once.

"Hah, you villains! I've got you at last!" said Colonel Raybone.

Without making any reply to this expression of rage and malice, Dan fired, but not at the head or the heart of the colonel; for he did not wish to kill him. The rifle was aimed at one of his legs, and the ball passed through the fleshy part of his thigh. Colonel Raybone, with a volley of curses, sank upon the deck of the Isabel, a stream of blood flowing from his wound. Dan dropped the rifle, and took one of the fowling pieces, ready to complete his work if the occasion should require. His face was deadly pale, his lips quivered, and his frame trembled, as though the ball had passed through him, instead of his master. He had watched and waited too long for liberty and true life to sacrifice all his hopes, when they were on the point of being realized, to a sentimental horror of shedding the blood of a slave-master.

Lily, as soon as she heard the report of the rifle, opened her cabin door, and stepped out into the standing room. The pale face and quivering lip of Dan first attracted her attention; and when he pointed to the forecastle, she saw the prostrate form of her master, and sank upon the seat, overcome with fear and horror.

"Don't be afraid, Lily," said he. "He cannot harm us now."

"Have you killed him?" gasped she.

"No; I did not intend to kill him. I would not have fired at him if I could have helped it. I only hit him in the leg."

"But he will die."

"He may; I cannot help it. We should have been slaves again in a moment more if I had not fired."

"This is horrible!" moaned Lily.

"But it is better than slavery," replied Dan, firmly, though he was scarcely less agitated than his gentle companion. "Mind your helm, Cyd, and go to windward of that little island ahead," he continued; for the helmsman's ideas had been considerably shaken up by the stirring events which had just transpired.

The second boat, astern of the Isabel, was engaged in picking up the oarsmen of the first, and with the fresh breeze there was no danger of pursuit from that direction. Colonel Raybone was evidently suffering severely from his wound, but his mental tortures seemed to be greater than his physical pain. His mouth was still filled with curses, and maledictions of rage and hatred were poured out upon the runaways. He was so violent in his agony, that none of the party dared to approach him, and Dan stood with the fowling piece in his hand, ready to protect himself and his companions from any possible assault. There he lay, unable to rise; but still the Isabel dashed on, as if reckless of the terrible scene which had just been enacted upon her deck.

Colonel Raybone's wound bled freely, and the loss of blood soon moderated his fiery temper. Gradually he calmed down, and became quite reasonable, at least so far as outward manifestations were concerned. Then Dan ventured to approach him, though he did not relax his hold upon the gun, and took every precaution to guard against any sudden movement on the part of the sufferer.

"Are you much hurt, sir?" asked Dan.

"You have killed your master, Dandy," replied he, faintly, as he looked up at the redeemed chattel.

"I did not mean to kill you, sir, and I am sorry you compelled me to fire upon you," added Dan, in respectful and sympathizing tones.

"I am wounded and in your power now; I can do nothing more, and you may finish me as soon as you please," groaned Colonel Raybone, completely subdued by weakness and the fear of death.

"I do not wish to kill you, Colonel Raybone, and I am willing to do all I can for you. But if you attempt to make me a slave again, I will shoot you at once."

"I can't harm you now if I would," said the sufferer, faintly.

"Then we will take you into the cabin out of the sun, and do what we can for you."

"Can't you land me at Mr. Lascelles' plantation?" asked he, lifting his eyes up with an expression so pitiful that Dan could hardly resist the petition.

"No, sir. I dare not do that," he replied. "But I will do all I can to save your life."

Dan then went aft, and explained to his companions the condition of Colonel Raybone. Lily was placed at the helm, with instructions how to steer, and Dan and Cyd, with a great deal of difficulty, removed the wounded planter to the cabin. But he had lost so much blood that he fainted as soon as they had placed him upon the bunk. Cyd then took his place at the helm; and while Lily bathed the head of the patient with lavender, Dan examined his wound. The ball had passed entirely through the fleshy part of the thigh, about half way between the hip and the knee. The blood flowed steadily from the two openings, but not in jets, which would indicate the severing of an artery.

Dan was no surgeon, but he had ingenuity and common sense, and he used these to the best advantage his limited means would permit. He tore up one of his shirts for bandages, and Lily made lint of of his collars. When the sufferer had recovered from his faintness he drank a glass of brandy, which seemed to revive him. But he was still very weak, and breathed not a word of hatred or malice.

"Hallo! Dan! Where we gwine?" shouted Cyd from the deck, who had come to a point in the lake where he required further sailing directions.

The skipper took his map and went on deck. From the position of three islands laid down on his chart, and which he identified as those near him, he concluded that the Isabel had reached the outlet of the lake, which is the Atchafalaya River. Its course gave him a fair wind, and he headed the boat down the stream. As the sailing of the boat was now a matter of the utmost importance, Dan was compelled to remain on deck. He took the precaution to place all the fire-arms on board in a safe place, where Colonel Raybone, if his condition should so far improve as to encourage him to make an attempt to obtain possession of the boat, could not get them, and where he and Cyd could get them.

It was sunset when the Isabel entered the great bayou; and as she dashed on her course, the anxious skipper saw many boats, and even some larger craft, but no one offered to molest them. Colonel Raybone remained as quiet as a lamb. He was feverish, and in much pain, and all night long Lily sat by his bunk, and watched over him as tenderly as though he had been her dearest friend, instead of her most terrible enemy. She not only watched; she prayed for him—prayed that God would forgive him, heal his wounds, and soften his heart.

And all night long the Isabel sped on her course, and at midnight she entered the great bay. Dan was worn out with anxiety and long watching, and as the waters of the bay were comparatively smooth, the wind having subsided to a gentle breeze, he gave the helm to Cyd, and slept three hours upon the floor of the standing room, with a cushion under his head.

At daybreak, Point au Fer light, which was marked on Dan's map, lay directly ahead of them. The land to the westward was low and swampy, and with frequent indentations. In one of these Dan came to anchor about sunrise. He was much perplexed to know what he should do with Colonel Raybone. He could not think of going to sea with him on board, and to send him back was to invite an immediate pursuit.

The good care which had been bestowed upon the planter had very sensibly improved his condition. After breakfast he inquired of Dan where he had been for a year, and the whole story of the residence in the swamp was narrated to him. In return he told the fugitives what had been done to recover them, and added that he was on his way from New Orleans to Mr. Lascelles' plantation when he discovered the Isabel. Colonel Raybone said not a word about reclaiming his property, and apparently only cherished the hope of saving himself.

"Now, Dandy, what are you going to do with me?" asked he, when he had finished his narrative.

"I don't know, sir. After the whipping I got, I determined to run away; and I say now I would rather die than go back," replied he.

"Didn't I use you well?" asked the colonel.

"As well as any master can use a slave."

"I was rather sorry afterwards that I whipped you; but you were treated as well as the members of my own family; and so was Lily."

"But I was a slave, and so was she. Master Archy tormented me, and Miss Edith tormented Lily. I could have borne it, perhaps, if I hadn't been whipped."

"You have your revenge now," added the planter, meekly. "I am in your power."

"I don't seek revenge, and I wouldn't harm you for all the world," replied Dan.

The proud spirit of the planter was subdued by pain, weakness, and the fear of death, and he was in no condition to think of resistance. He offered to give the fugitives free papers if they would land him at any place where there was a surgeon, and from which he could be removed to Redlawn; but Dan dared not run any risks. The planter wanted to know where they were going, but the prudent skipper declined to answer this question.

The Isabel remained at anchor for three days, under the lea of the land, during which time Colonel Raybone was carefully nursed by Dan and Lily; but his wound was still very painful, and the patient, fearful of mortification, or some other unfavorable turn in his condition, declared himself willing to do any thing rather than remain any longer in this place.

"I might put you on board of some vessel if I dared to do so," said Dan.

"What do you fear?" demanded the sufferer.

"If you should tell the people of the vessel what we are, they would capture us."

"Do you think I would do that, Dandy?" asked he, in reproachful tones.

"I am afraid to run any risks, sir."

"Will you let me die here? My wound may mortify. I think it is growing worse instead of better," added he, with a groan of anguish. "I will give you my word, Dandy, if you will put me on board of any vessel bound to any place where I can get home, I will give you all your freedom. If you are arrested, send to me, and you shall have free papers. You know I always keep my word, Dandy."

It was a terrible necessity which could extort such a declaration from the imperious planter, and Dan decided to accept the proposition. The anchor was weighed, and the Isabel stood out of the inlet where she had lain for three days. They cruised all day without meeting a vessel; but on the following morning they hailed a small schooner bound up the bay.

"I will keep my promise, Dandy, to the letter," said Colonel Raybone, as they bore him to the deck. "Here is some money, which you may want before long;" and he handed Dan a roll of bills.

"Thank you, sir," replied he. "I hope we part friends."

"Yes, Dandy; and if you ever want a friend, come to me."

The crew of the schooner asked a great many questions, all of which Colonel Raybone took it upon himself to answer. He was placed in the cabin of the vessel, and Dan, bidding him good by, hastened back to the Isabel. They parted in peace, and Lily could not restrain her tears as the schooner bore away on her course.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE YOUNG FUGITIVES MAKE A HARBOR.

"Colonel Raybone is not a bad man, after all," said Dan, as the Isabel filled away.

"He wouldn't be, if he wasn't a slaveholder," replied Lily.

"Possifus! I feel 'tickler sorry for ole massa, when he lay dar and couldn't help hisself," added Cyd.

"If he could have helped himself, he wouldn't have lain there. I never saw such a change come over a man. He will be ashamed of himself, I know, when he gets well, and it will be lucky for us that we are out of his reach."

"He would keep his word, Dan; you know that," said Lily, whose looks seemed to contain a mild rebuke of the sentiment just uttered.

"He would; at least, he wouldn't wish to break his word; but he will want me as soon as he gets to be Colonel Raybone again."

"Why, he was always good to us," responded Lily.

"He was always liberal and generous, and treated all the people well, while they behaved to suit him."

"They ought to behave well."

"I had to fawn and cringe before him, and before Archy. If I dared to say my soul was my own, I was punished for it. What did I get whipped for?"

"For striking Archy."

"Well, why did I strike him? Didn't he insist upon my striking him? and when he came at me like a madman, because I happened to hit him rather harder than I intended, I was tied up to the Dead Oak, and whipped like a mule. I shall carry the marks of that day to my grave," continued Dan, earnestly.

"But he has changed."

"He was afraid he was going to die, and he was in my power. He knew I could blow out his brains any moment when he attempted to lay his hands upon me; and he knew I would do it, too."

"I never saw him so mild and gentle as he was while on board the boat."

"I hope he will always continue so, and treat the people well when he gets back to Redlawn. I have nothing against him now. I forgive him, and I did all I could for him when he was wounded."

"I know you did. Do you suppose he will get well, Dan?"

"I have no doubt he will."

"Shall you send for your free papers?"

"I shouldn't dare to let him know where I am."

"He gave us our freedom."

"I should be afraid that he would alter his mind; and though he might keep his word, he might cause us to be taken up for killing the slave-hunters, or stealing the boat and provisions, or something of that kind. I shall keep out of his way. If we should be arrested, I would appeal to him then."

"Where are we going now, Dan?" asked Lily, as she glanced out upon the vast expanse of waters which rolled to the southward.

"I hardly know, Lily. We have got to the bottom of my map; I shall stand to the south-east till something happens. If we can fall in with a vessel which does not sail from or to a southern port, I should have some hopes, especially as we have money enough now to pay our passage."

"How much have you, Dan?"

"Two hundred dollars," replied Dan, exhibiting the roll of bills which the planter had given him. "Colonel Raybone is generous, but this would not half pay us for the services we have rendered him."

The pocket compass upon which the skipper had to depend for his course was now produced, and before dark that night the Isabel was out of sight of land. The wind was light, the weather pleasant, and the sea not heavier than they had seen on the lake. It was arranged that each of the boys should steer four hours in his turn, night and day, and the voyage, which had been looked upon as involving many perils, was found to be very pleasant.

For two days they were favored with good weather; but on the third it came on cloudy and blowy after dinner. The foresail was taken in, and every thing made snug about the Isabel, in preparation for the worst. The storm increased in violence, and they soon had their first experience of a heavy sea. The waves tossed them about like a feather, dashing over the decks, and several times filling the standing room half full of water.

"Gossifus! Dis big sea!" exclaimed Cyd, as he shook the water from his woolly locks.

"Yes, and it is coming heavier yet," replied Dan. "But the Isabel stands it well."

"Plenty ob water on fora'd dar," said Cyd, pointing to the forecastle, which was often submerged in the heavy billows.

"Perhaps we can remedy that. I don't think we shall want the bateau any more, and we may as well toss it overboard. It sinks her head down too much."

"Hossifus! Frow de boat overboard?"

"Yes; over with it, if you can."

Cyd took a boat-hook, and pried up the bateau, and after much labor succeeded in getting it over the side, though he had nearly gone with it, when a big sea, swooping over the deck, finished his work. The effect of the step was instantly apparent in the working of the Isabel. She no longer scooped up the seas, but rode over them. Before night it began to rain, and the gale increased in violence. The bonnet had been taken off the jib, and a reef put in the mainsail; but she could not much longer carry this sail, and at dark she was put under a close-reefed foresail.

Poor Lily was obliged to remain in the cabin, and she was very much alarmed at the roaring of the waves and the terrible pitching of the schooner; but Dan often assured her that there was no danger; that the Isabel was behaving splendidly. During that long, tempestuous night, there was no sleep for the fugitives. Dan did not leave the helm, and Cyd stood by to obey the orders of the skipper. At midnight the gale began to moderate, but the sea still ran high.

The sun rose bright and clear on the following morning. The wind had subsided to a gentle breeze, and the Isabel moved slowly along over the rolling waves. Cyd and Lily went to sleep after breakfast, and Dan still maintained his position at the helm, which he had not left for fourteen hours. He was nearly exhausted; but so was Cyd, and he was afraid the latter would drop asleep if he left the boat in his care.

While he sat by the tiller, dreaming of the future, and struggling to keep awake, he discovered a sail far to the southward of him. The sight roused him from his lethargy, for he had not seen any thing that looked like a vessel since the day he parted with Colonel Raybone. He was wide awake; and laying his course so as to intercept the vessel, he waited patiently till the winds wafted her within hailing distance.

It was two hours before he could clearly make her out, for the wind was very light. She was a bark, and Dan could only hope that she was not bound to any port in the slave states. He had a very good knowledge of geography, and after calculating the position of the Isabel, he concluded that the bark could not have come from any southern city.

"Sail ho!" shouted he, when he was within half a mile of the bark.

"What's the matter?" called Lily, roused from her slumbers by the shout.

"Come on deck. We are close by a vessel."

"Gossifus!" shouted Cyd, as he rushed out of the cabin, and discovered the bark. "Wha—wha—what vessel's dat?"

"I don't know," answered Dan; "but we shall soon know all about her."

"What a monster she is!" added Lily.

Dan hailed the bark, and ascertained that she was an English vessel, bound from Vera Cruz to New York. As this information was satisfactory, he asked to be taken on board, with his companions. The vessel backed her main topsail, and Dan ran the Isabel alongside. The captain and crew were astonished to find a small boat, with two boys and a girl in her, at this distance from land; but they were kindly taken on board. In as few words as possible Dan told the substance of his story, and the captain consented to carry the fugitives to New York.

"I can pay our passage, captain," added he; "and if you will take us you shall lose nothing by it."

"I should be in duty bound to take you, any how," replied the captain; "but what shall we do with your boat?"

"Cut her adrift, if you can't do any better. We have done with her now."

"I think we can save her," added the captain.

As the wind was light, the Isabel was lashed to the side, and the bark squared away upon her course. In a short time every thing on board of the sail-boat was passed on board, and she was stripped and her masts taken out. She was then hoisted on deck, and set up between the fore and main masts. Dan and his companions were rejoiced to preserve her, for she had been their home for a year, and had borne them safely through many perils. They regarded her as a dear friend.

Captain Oxnard gave Lily a state-room, and the two boys were berthed in the steerage. It took all the rest of the day for Dan to relate the experience of the young fugitives on board the Isabel; and the officers of the bark were intensely interested in the narrative and in the runaways. The listeners were all Englishmen, and had no sympathy with slave-holders.

The passage was rather long, but it was pleasant, and on the twentieth of June the bark anchored in New York harbor. Her consignees were informed of the incidents which had placed the three passengers on board, and they were not disposed to undo what Captain Oxnard had done. While the vessel lay at anchor, the Isabel was hoisted into the water again, rigged, and every thing placed on board of her, just as she was when she left the camp in the swamp.

It so happened that the junior member of the firm to which the bark was consigned, was a friend of Mr. Grant, and had dined at Woodville the day before. It occurred to him that the young fugitives would be well cared for in the hands of his friends, and being a boatman himself, he resolved to proceed up the river in the Isabel.

It was a pleasant day and a happy occasion, and at an early hour in the afternoon, the party landed at the pier in front of the Woodville mansion. I need not inform my readers that they were kindly received by the family; and the story of the young fugitives was again repeated to a group of partial listeners.

* * * * *

Mr. Grant and his friend Presby immediately set their heads at work to determine what should be done with the party which had just arrived at Woodville. Bertha soon settled the question so far as Lily was concerned, by declaring that she must live with her, and go to school at the village, for she had become strongly attached to the fair fugitive, and would not think of permitting her lot to be cast among those who might possibly be unkind to her.

There was less difficulty in disposing of Dan and Cyd. Boats and boatmen were in great demand at Whitestone and other places on the river, and the Isabel promised to bring in a fortune to her owners during the summer months. A few days later, she was employed in carrying parties out upon excursions, with Dan as skipper, old Ben as pilot, and Cyd as foremast hand. In a short time Dan learned the navigation of the river, and dispensed with the services of the pilot. They boarded with Mr. Grant's gardener; but Cyd, very much to his disgust, was not permitted to sit down at the first table because he was black.

Dan and Cyd made a great deal of money in the Isabel during the remainder of the season, and when she was laid up for the winter, both of them went down to the city and worked in a hotel; but they much preferred a life on the water. In the spring they resumed their business as boatmen, and for several years continued to thrive at this occupation.

"See here, Possifus," said Mr. Presby, who never called Cyd by any other name; "don't you want to own a boat yourself?"

"I does own one, sar," replied he. "De Isabel jus as much mine as Dan's."

"I was going to set you up in business for yourself, Possifus."

"No, sar, tank ye; can't leabe Dan, no how; he fotched dis chile out of de swamp, and I don't run no popposition to him."

"That's right, Possifus; stick to your friends."

But Mr. Presby continued to do a great many kind deeds for "Possifus," which were duly appreciated.

When Dan was twenty-one, he and Cyd had saved a considerable sum of money; and the Isabel having become rather shaky from old age, they proposed to procure another boat, and establish themselves at the city. With the aid of Mr. Presby, they built a yacht of forty tons, which was called the "Lily." It was a beautiful little vessel, and soon became very popular among people devoted to the sea. They were very fortunate in this new enterprise, and made money beyond their most sanguine expectations.

Dan lived in the city now. The name on the doorplate of his house was Daniel Preston, for he had chosen a family name to suit himself—a privilege allotted to only a few. Mrs. Preston—of course the reader will at once understand that this was the Lily of our story—was as happy as liberty and prosperity could make her. Cyd—who has improved upon his former cognomen, and now calls himself Sidney Davidson—lives on board the Lily, a contented, happy man. He almost worships Dan and his wife, at whose house he is an occasional visitor.

They never heard anything from Colonel Raybone, or any of his family, perhaps because they made no inquiries. Certainly no efforts were ever made to reclaim the chattels. They had proved that they could take care of themselves, and that freedom was their true sphere of life.

And now, having seen the young fugitives safely through all their trials and perplexities, and securely established in the enjoyment of those rights and privileges with which the great Creator had endowed them, we take leave of them, in the hope that the reign of Freedom will soon be extended to every part of our beloved country, and that the sons of toil shall no longer WATCH AND WAIT for deliverance from the bonds of the slave-master.

THE END