-We must return to our humble adventurers.
The fugitives reached the back gate, leading into a narrow lane,
from whence they cross into the main street. Clotilda has none of
the African about her; the most observing guardsman would not stop
her for a slave. They pass along unmolested; the guardsmen, some
mounted and some walking at a slow pace, bow politely. No one
demands a pass. They arrive in safety at a point about two miles
from the city, where the captain and his boat await them. No time is
lost in embarking: the little bark rides at anchor in the stream;
the boat quietly glides to her; they are safely on board. A few
minutes more, and the little craft moves seaward under the pressure
of a gentle breeze. There is no tragic pursuit of slave-hunters, no
tramp of horses to terrify the bleeding victim, no howlings of
ravenous bloodhounds,--nothing that would seem to make the issue
freedom or death. No! all is as still as a midsummer night in the
same clime. The woman--this daughter of slavery's vices--cherishes a
love for freedom; the hope of gaining it, and improving those
endowments nature has bestowed upon her, freshens her spirits and
gives her life to look forward without desponding. Maxwell is her
friend; he has witnessed the blighting power of slavery-not alone in
its workings upon the black man, but upon the lineal offspring of
freemen-and has resolved to work against its mighty arm. With him it
is the spontaneous action of a generous heart sympathising for the
wrongs inflicted upon the weak, and loving to see right respected.
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