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The wagoner.
He said that he would run the risk of capture if he had a compass or a friend to direct him to the
North.
Ignorance of the way, he added, was the chief obstacle in preventing the slaves in this district from escaping to the
North.
Dozens, he said, were ready to fly.
We came up to a colored man who was chopping in the woods.
“ Now there,” said the wagoner, “is a man who would not tell what you said to him, and would like very much the chance of being free.”
We had previously met a boy driving oxen that were drawing logs to town.
This man was chopping the trees for him. They both belonged to the same master, who is described by his slaves, as well as by other colored people, as a type of the tribe of
Legree.
We met, also, two wagons laden with cotton.
“These,” said the wagoner, “these come from right away up the country, and very likely these boys — the drivers — have travelled all night.”
I bade the wagoner farewell, and went up to the axeman.
The axeman.
He was a powerful, resolute-looking negro.
A cast in one of his eyes gave him an almost savagely dogged appearance.
“Good day, friend.”
“Good day, mass'r.”
“You are a slave?”
“ Yes, sah.”
“Who do you belong to?”
“
Mr. D----.”
