I have often suffered from the sting of the cruel slave driver's lash
on my quivering flesh--I have suffered from corporeal punishment in
its various forms--I have mingled my sorrows with those that were
bereaved by the ungodly soul drivers--and I also know what it is to
shed the sympathetic tear at the grave of a departed friend; but all
this is but a mere trifle compared with my sufferings from then to the
end of six months subsequent.
The second night while I was in jail, two slaves came to the dungeon
grates about the dead hour of night, and called me to the grates to
have some conversation about Canada, and the facilities for getting
there. They knew that I had travelled over the road, and they were
determined to run away and go where they could be free. I of course
took great pleasure in giving them directions how and where to go, and
they started in less than a week from that time and got clear to
Canada. I have seen them both since I came back to the north myself.
They were known by the names of King and Jack.
The third day I was brought out of the prison to be carried off with
my little family to the Louisville slave market. My hands were
fastened together with heavy irons, and two men to guard me with
loaded rifles, one of whom led the horse upon which I rode.
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