Maxwell had sought the captain of this schooner, found him of a
generous disposition, ready to act in behalf of freedom. Having soon
gained his confidence, and enlisted his good services, it took no
great amount of persuasion to do this, his feelings having already
been aroused against slavery, the giant arms of which, stretched out
between fear and injustice, had interfered with his rights. He had
seen it grasp the bones and sinews of those who were born in
freedom-he had seen men laugh at his appeals for justice-he had seen
one of his free-born British seamen manacled and dragged to prison
at noonday, merely because his skin was slightly coloured; he had
been compelled to pay tribute to keep alive the oppressor's power,
to compensate the villainy rogues practise upon honest men.
"Yes!" says the captain, a sturdy son of the sea, in answer to
Maxwell; "bring her on board; and with a heart's best wishes, if I
don't land her free and safe in Old Bahama I'll never cross the gulf
stream again." And the mode of getting the boats ready was at once
arranged.
The night was still and dark; picturesque illuminations in and
around the mansion glittered in contrast with the starry arch of
heaven; the soft south breeze fans to life the dark foliage that
clusters around-nature has clothed the scene with her beauties.
Clotilda-she has eagerly awaited the coming time-descends to the
balustrade in the rear of the mansion. Here she meets a band of
musicians; they have assembled to serenade, and wait the
benediction, a signal for which will be made from one of the
balconies.
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