Bacchus lingered, and looked as if he could not enjoy any thing that morning.

"Any thing the matter, Bacchus?" said Mr. Weston.

"Well," said Bacchus, "nothin more I 'spose than what I had a right to expect of 'em. Simon's got to go. I done all I could for him, but it aint nothin, after all."

"What could you do?" said Mr. Weston.

"Well, master, I was nigh asleep last night, when all at once I thought 'bout dis here Abolition gentleman, Mr. Baker, that boards long wid us.

Now, thinks I, he is a mighty nice kind of man, talks a heap 'bout G.o.d and the Gospel, and 'bout our duty to our fellow-creaturs. I know'd he had a sight of money, for his white servant told me he was a great man in Boston, had a grand house thar, his wife rode in elegant carriages, and his children has the best of every thing. So, I says to myself, he aint like the rest of 'em, he don't approve of stealing, and lying, and the like o'

that; if he thinks the Southern gentlemen oughter set all their n.i.g.g.e.rs free, why he oughter be willin to lose just a little for one man; so I went straight to his room to ask him to buy Simon."

"That was very wrong, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, sternly. "Don't you know your duty better than to be interfering in the concerns of these people? I am excessively mortified. What will this gentleman think of me?"

"Nothin', master," said Bacchus. "Don't be oneasy. I told him I come to ax him a favor on my own 'sponsibility, and that you didn't know nothin' about it. Well, he axed me if I wanted a chaw of tobacco. 'No sir,' says I, 'but I wants to ax a little advice.' 'I will give you that with pleasure,' says he.

"'Mr. Baker,' says I, 'I understands you think G.o.d made us all, white and colored, free and equal; and I knows you feels great pity for de poor slaves that toils and frets in de sun, all their lives like beasts, and lays down and dies like beasts, clean forgot like 'em too. I heard you say so to a gentleman at de door; I thought it was mighty kind of you to consider so much 'bout them of a different color from your own. I heard you say it was de duty of de gentlemen of de South to set their slaves free, if it did make 'em poor, kase Jesus Christ, he made hisself poor to set us all free. Warn't dat what you said, sir?'

"'Exactly,' says he. 'I didn't know you had such a good memory.'

"'Now, Mr. Baker,' says I, 'you're a Christian yourself, or you couldn't talk dat way. I know Christians must like to make other people happy; they're bound to, for their Master, Christ, did. Well, sir, all de poor creturs dat de Abolitionists got off is cotched--they're gwine to be sold, and thar's one young man thar, that had a good home and a good mistis, and him they 'suaded off, and now he's gwine to be sold South, whar he'll toil and sweat in de hot sun. Now, Mr. Baker, if de Southern gentlemen's duty's so plain to you, that they oughter make themselves poor, to make their slaves free and happy, surely you'll buy this one poor man who is frettin'

hisself to death. It won't make you poor to buy jist this one; his master says he'll sell him to any Abolitioner who'll take him to the great Norrurd, and have him teached. Buy him, sir, for de Lord's sake--de poor fellow will be so happy; jist spend a little of your money to make dat one poor cretur happy. G.o.d gave it all to you, sir, and he aint gave none to de poor slaves, not even gave him his freedom. You set dis one poor feller free, and when you come to die, it will make you feel so good to think about it; when you come to judgment, maybe Christ may say, "You made dis poor man free, and now you may come into de kingdom and set down wid me forever." Oh! sir,' says I, 'buy him, de Lord will pay you back, you won't lose a copper by him.'"

"Well," said Mr. Weston, "what did he say?"

"Why, sir," said Bacchus, "he got up and stood by de fire, and warmed hisself, and says he, 'Ole felur, if I'd a had de teaching of you, I'd a larned you to mind your own business. I'll let you know I didn't come to Washington to buy n.i.g.g.e.rs.' 'Here,' says he, to dat white n.i.g.g.e.r that waits on him, 'Next time dis feller wants me, tell him to go 'bout his business.'

"'Good mornin' sir,' says I, 'I shan't trouble you agin. May de Lord send better friends to de slaves than de like of you.'"

"Well, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "you did very wrong, and I hope you will not again take such a liberty with any person. You see for yourself what an Abolitionist is. I wish those poor runaways had had some such experience, it would have saved them from the trouble they are now in."

"Yes, indeed, master. I've been down thar agin, to-day. I went right early; thar's an ole woman thar that tried to run away. She's gwine too, and she leaves her husband here. She aint a cryin, though, her heart's too full for tears. Oh! master," said Bacchus, sighing deeply, "I think if you'd seed her, you'd do more than the Abolitioners."

In the afternoon Mr. Weston usually walked out. He did not dine with the ladies at their late hour, as his complaint, dyspepsia, made it necessary for him to live lightly and regularly. Bacchus attended him in his walks, and many a person turned back to look upon the fine-looking old gentleman with his gold-headed cane, and his servant, whose appearance was as agreeable as his own. Bacchus was constantly on the lookout for his master, but he managed to see all that was going on too, and to make many criticisms on the appearance and conduct of those he met in his rambles.

Bacchus followed his master, and found that he was wending his steps to the place where the arrested runaways were confined. This was very agreeable to him, for his heart was quite softened towards the poor prisoners, and he had an idea that his master's very presence might carry a blessing with it. "Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, as they were going in, "you need not point out the servants to me. I will observe for myself, and I do not wish to be conspicuous."

There were a great many lounging about, and looking round there. Some were considering the scene as merely curious; some were blaming the slaves; some their masters, some the Abolitionists. There was confusion and constant going in and out. But though the countenances of the runaways expressed different emotions, it was evident that one feeling had settled in each breast, and that was, there was no hope that any thing would occur to relieve them from their undesirable position.

Mr. Weston easily recognized Simon, from Bacchus's description. He had a boyish expression of disappointment and irritation on his countenance, and had evidently been recently weeping. There were several men, one or two of them with bad faces, and one, a light mulatto, had a fine open countenance, and appeared to be making an effort not to show his excessive disappointment. In the corner sat the woman, on a low bench--her head was bent forward on her lap, and she was swaying her body slightly, keeping motion with her foot.

"What is the woman's name, Bacchus?" asked Mr. Weston in a low tone.

"I axed her dis mornin, sir. Its Sarah--Sarah Mills."

Mr. Weston walked up nearer to her, and was regarding her, when she suddenly looked up into his face. Finding herself observed, she made an effort to look unconcerned, but it did not succeed, for she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry to see you here, Sarah," said Mr. Weston, "you look too respectable to be in such a situation." Sarah smoothed down her ap.r.o.n, but did not reply. "What induced you to run away? You need not be afraid to answer me truthfully. I will not do you any harm."

"My blessed grief!" said Bacchus. "No, master couldn't do no harm to a flea."

"Hush, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston.

There was something in Mr. Weston's appearance that could not be mistaken.

The woman gave him a look of perfect confidence, and said--

"I thought I could better myself, sir."

"In what respect? Had you an unkind master?" said Mr. Weston.

"No," said the woman, "but my husband I was afear'd might be sold, and I thought I could make so much money at the North, that I could soon help him to buy himself. He's a barber, sir, lives on the Avenue, and his master, when he was young, had him taught the barber's trade. Well, his master told him some time ago that he might live to himself, and pay him so much a month out o' what he made, but seemed as if he couldn't get along to do it.

My husband, sir, drinks a good deal, and he couldn't do it on that account; so, a year or two ago his master sent for him, and told him that he was worthless, and unless he could buy himself in three years he would sell him. He said he might have himself for five hundred dollars, and he could have earned it, if he hadn't loved whiskey so, but 'pears as if he can't do without that. We aint got no children, thank G.o.d! so when the Abolitionists advised me to go off, and told me they would take care of me until I got out of my master's reach, and I could soon make a sight of money to buy my husband, I thought I would go; and you see, sir, what's come of it."

Sarah tried to a.s.sume the same look of unconcern, and again she wept bitterly.

"I don't mean to reproach you, now that you are in trouble," said Mr.

Weston, "but you colored people in this city have got into bad hands. G.o.d has made you slaves, and you should be willing to abide by his will, especially if he give you a good master."

"Yes, sir, it was mighty hard though, to think of my poor husband's being sold,--he and I don't belong to the same person."

"So, I suppose," said Mr. Weston; "but you have only made your condition worse."

"Yes, sir; but I didn't think things would turn out so. The Abolitionists said they would see that I got off free."

"They ought to be cotched, and tied up, and have a good whaling besides,"

said Bacchus, indignantly.

"'Taint no use wishin 'em harm," said Sarah; "the Lord's will be done," at the same time her pale lips quivered with emotion.

Mr. Weston paused a few moments in deep thought, then went into the other room. When he returned, she was sitting as when he first entered, her face buried in her lap.

"Sarah," he said, and she looked up as before, without any doubt, in his open countenance, "are you a good worker?"

"I am, at washin and ironin. I have been makin a good deal for my master that way."

"Well," said Mr. Weston, "if I were to purchase you, so as you could be near your husband, would you conduct yourself properly; and if I wish it, endeavor to repay me what I have given for you?"

Such a thought had not entered the despairing woman's mind. She was impressed with the idea that she should never see her husband again; other things did not effect her. It was necessary, therefore, for Mr. Weston to repeat what he had said before she comprehended his meaning. When she heard and understood, every energy of her soul was aroused. Starting from her seat, she clasped her hands convulsively together; her face became deathlike with agitation.

"Would I, sir? Oh! try me! Work! what is work if I could be near my poor husband as long as I can. Buy me, sir, only for Jesus' sake, buy me. I will work day and night to pay you, and the blessing of G.o.d Almighty will pay you too, better than any money I could earn."

Bacchus, the tears rolling down his cheeks, looked earnestly at his master's face.

"Buy her, master, buy her, for the love of G.o.d," he said.

"Sarah," said Mr. Weston, "I do not like to be in a public place; do not, therefore, become excited, and say any thing that will draw observation to me. I have bought you, and I will not require you to repay me. Come to me to-night, at Willard's, and I will give you your free papers; I will see also what I can do for your husband. In the mean time, Bacchus will help you take your things from this place. Stay here though a few moments, until he gets me a carriage to go home in, and he will return to you."

Sarah perfectly understood that Mr. Weston wanted no thanks at that time.