This search was unsuccessful; and at night Peter turned, with weary feet, towards his boarding-house.

Early the next morning he arose, and with new strength and energy, re-commenced his search. He found one old man who had lived in Philadelphia fifty-three years. He told him that he knew of sixty colored children that were missing from that vicinity in one year; and in another year forty were carried off, of whom no trace was ever found. Yet he had never known the Levin and Sidney whom Peter sought.

Hour after hour he continued these fruitless inquiries; and at last he was forced to abandon this method of search, and to return to Mrs. Byas for further counsel.

Towards evening the good woman devised another plan. She told Peter that at the Anti-Slavery Office were kept old records of colored Churches; and that, as he was sure his parents were religious people, it was quite possible that their names might there be found. She, thought it best for him to go there immediately, and ask them to search these records.

He did not hesitate to follow her advice; and, with the same guide who had previously accompanied him, at about six o'clock, he started for the Office.

The guide who had been sent by Mrs. Byas had no confidence in Peter. His story seemed to him improble; and he suspected him of being a spy sent out to hunt for fugitives. This distrust soon became mutual. Peter dreaded the Abolitionists of the North, of whose decoying people away and selling them at the far South he had so often heard; and as he noticed that the guide spoke frequently in a low voice to those he met, he feared some net was spreading for his feet.

At last they reached North Fifth street, and as they pa.s.sed a window of the Anti-Slavery Office, they saw a young colored man within, writing at a desk.

"Did you ever see a black man doing that at the South?" asked the guide.

"No, indeed," replied Peter, "if a black man thar knowed how to write, he'd best keep it a secret."

They entered the office. The young clerk whom they had noticed through the window was there alone. He was graceful in his bearing and dressed with extreme neatness.

"Good evening, sir;" said the guide. Here is a man from the South that says he is hunting for his people; and he wants to make me believe he was born in Philadelphia. Mrs. Byas sent me here with him--she thought possibly you might I find the names of his parents on some of your books."

"What were you parents' names?" asked the young man of Peter.

"I was stolen away from the Delaware river," said he, "with my brother Levin, when I was about six years old. My father's name was Levin, and my mother's name was Sidney; and we had two sisters--one name 'Merica and the other Charity; though my brother always said that 'Merica was our cousin. One day when our mother was gone, as we thought, to church, a man came along in a gig, and asked us if we didn't want to ride. He told us he would carry us to our mother; so we got up with him. But in place o' carryin' us to our mother, he taken us off into Kaintucky, and sold us. We used to talk a heap about our mother, but nineteen years ago my brother died in Alabama; and now I've bought my liberty, and come back to hunt for my relations."

The young clerk listened with much apparent interest, and when Peter had ended his simple story, he requested him to wait till he had finished putting up those papers for the Post Office, when he would render him any a.s.sistance in his power.

Peter constantly grow more uneasy. He could not shake off the idea that some snare was here laid to entrap him, and while the young man was busied at his desk, he slipped along a little nearer to the door, in order that he might escape if any violence should be attempted.

When the papers were all prepared for the mail, the clerk sat down near him, and entered into conversation. "It will take sometime,"

said he, "to look over those old papers, and this man may as well go home. I will show yon the way back to Mrs. Byas'."

The guide rose to depart,--and Peter prepared to accompany him.

"I'll go, too," said he.

"No, no,--stay;" said the clerk, "I will do my best to find your friends."

"Yes, stay--by all means;" added the guide,--if he will look for them, it isn't worth while to go away now."

Peter was greatly frightened. He thought he could detect a mntual understanding between the two, to keep him there till night, that they might commit some outrage upon his person; but he knew no way of escape, for he was a stranger. Trembling, therefore, he consented to remain; but seated himself as near as possible to the door, and watched intently every motion of the young man whose treachery he so much feared.

When they two were left alone, the clerk questioned him further respecting his early memories of home and mother; and then, looking him in the face, he said, "Suppose I should tell you that I am your brother?"

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been more astonished. But the doubt was uppermost in his mind, and with an incredulous look he answered, only, "Supposin' you should?"

"Well," continued the young man, "from all you have told me, I believe that you are a brother of mine. My father's name was Levin, and my mother's name is Sidney; and they lost two boys named Levin and Peter, about the time you speak of. I have often heard my mother mourn about those two children, and I am sure you must be one of them."

The young man's voice trembled as he spoke; and Peter, more frightened than ever, knew not what to say. He did not believe one word the clerk had said; for had he not merely repeated his own story! At last he spoke: "I want to ask you one question--is your father and mother a livin'?"

"My father has been dead some years," replied the clerk, "but my mother is still living."

"Well, sir," said Peter, "then your mother is not my mother; for my mother must be dead. My brother said, before he died, that he was sure she was dead; and that is nineteen years ago. Yes, my mother must be dead. I don't expect to find her alive, but I thought I mought find her grave."

In vain the young man strove to convince him that they might both be sons of the same mother. In vain he related little incidents connected with their loss, which he had heard from his mother's lips. Peter still believed that he was merely constructing a tale to match his own. "Oh!" thought he, "what a fool I was to tell him, any how!"

"Where does your mother live?" asked he, after some minutes spent in painful thought.

"She lives in New Jersey, but I have two sisters living in this city.["]

"New Jersey!" Where could that be? It must be a great way off, for he had never heard of it. Perhaps it was across the sea. "New Jersey," said he aloud, how far is that from yer?"

"Oh, it is just across the river. My mother lives fifteen or twenty miles from the city. Come, go with me to my sister's; one of them lives quite near. She is several years older than I, and can tell you much more about our family."

"No, sir; if you please, show me the way to my boardin'-house. It is night, and I'd ruther go thar."

But the young man urged him so strongly, that he at last consented to accompany him to see his sister Mary, an unmarried woman, who taught a little school, and kept a few boarders.

She was engaged, when they entered, in removing the tea-things; and, as she supposed Peter was some stranger who was going home with her brother, she took no special notice of him. Soon she started to go into the bas.e.m.e.nt, and the young man followed her.

Peter heard them talking, in a low tone, upon the stairs, and all his worst fears returned. He had heard of houses kept by infamous women in cities; and of strangers being beguiled into them to be robbed and murdered. He had heard, too, of kidnappers, that employed colored agents to ensnare their victims; and the perspiration started from every pore, as he fancied himself thus entangled. He could not flee, for he knew not where to go; and if he made inquiries for his boarding-house, he might fall into other dangers.

After a few minutes, which seemed an age to Peter, the brother and sister returned into the room, and sat, down. "Sister," said the clerk, "here is a man who tells a strange story. He has come to Philadelphia to look for his relations, and I should like to have you hear what he has to say."

She turned to Peter. "For whom are you looking?" said she.

"Oh," he replied,["] I'm a lookin' for a needle in a hay-stack: and I reckon the needle's rusty, and the stack is rotted down, so it's no use to say any more about it."

"But tell her," said the young man, "what you related to me in the office."

He proceeded to repeat his story; but when he spoke the names of his father and mother, his listener could sit still no longer. Seizing the candle, and holding it near his face, she cried, "O Lord! it is one of our lost brothers! I should know him by his likeness to our mother. Thank G.o.d! one of our brothers has come!" Then checking herself, she turned to the young brother, "O William, this will kill mother!"

Peter was still more agitated, yet not convinced. He was so unprepared for such a joyful greeting, that he could not believe they were sincere. He promised, however, to come again in the morning, and to go with her to see an older sister, who resided in another part of the city.

After spending a few minutes in further conversation respecting their family, the clerk, according to his promise, accompanied Peter to his boarding-house.

"Good evening, Mrs. Byas," said he, as he entered the neat parlor; "did you send this man to the Anti-Slavery Office this evening?"

"Yes, Sir. I thought he might find some account there of his people."

"Well, he is my own brother."

The good woman looked amazed.

"My parents," continued the young man, "lost two children over forty years ago; and from this man's story I am convinced that he is one of those brothers. And now I have brought him back here, as I promised at the office; but I want him to go home with me and stay all night. In the morning I will take him to see other members of our family.

"No, sir," said Peter, who could not yet fully trust his new-found brother, "I'd as lief stay here to-night; and then I can go with you in the morning."

Mrs. Byas, however, joined in urging him to go home with Mr.

Still; a.s.suring him that he did resemble him in looks, and that she doubted not they, were really brothers. At last, after much persuasion, he reluctantly bade his kind landlady "good night," and departed with the clerk.