at the north, therefore my name was not mentioned in the transaction.  Fanny was carried on board at the appointed time, and stowed away in a very small cabin.  This accommodation had been purchased at a price that would pay for a voyage to England.  But when one proposes to go to fine old England, they stop to calculate whether they can afford the cost of the pleasure; while in making a bargain to escape from slavery, the trembling victim is ready to say, “take all I have, only don’t betray me!”

The next morning I peeped through my loophole, and saw that it was dark and cloudy.  At night I received news that the wind was ahead, and the vessel had not sailed.  I was exceedingly anxious about Fanny, and Peter too, who was running a tremendous risk at my instigation.  Next day the wind and weather remained the same.  Poor Fanny had been half dead with fright when they carried her on board, and I could readily imagine how she must be suffering now.  Grandmother came often to my den, to say how thankful she was I did not go.  On the third morning she rapped for me to come down to the storeroom.  The poor old sufferer was breaking down under her weight of trouble.  She was easily flurried now.  I found her in a nervous, excited state, but I was not aware that she had forgotten to lock the door behind her, as usual.  She was exceedingly worried about the detention of the vessel.  She was afraid all would be discovered, and then Fanny, and Peter, and I, would all be tortured to death, and Phillip would be utterly ruined, and her house would be torn down.  Poor Peter!  If he should die such a horrible death as the poor slave James had lately done, and all for his kindness in trying to help me, how dreadful it would be for us all!  Alas, the thought was familiar to me, and had sent many a sharp pang through my heart.  I tried to suppress my own anxiety, and speak soothingly to her.  She brought in some allusion to aunt Nancy, the dear daughter she had recently buried, and then she lost all control of herself.  As she stood there, trembling and sobbing, a voice from the piazza called out, “Whar is you, aunt Marthy?” Grandmother was startled, and in her agitation opened the door, without thinking of me.  In stepped Jenny, the mischievous housemaid, who had tried to enter my room, when I was concealed in the house of my white benefactress.  “I’s bin huntin ebery whar for you, aunt Marthy,” said she.  “My missis wants you to send her some crackers.”  I had slunk down behind a barrel, which entirely screened me, but I imagined that Jenny was looking directly at the spot, and my heart beat violently.  My grandmother immediately thought what she had done, and went out quickly with Jenny to count the crackers locking the door after her.  She returned to me, in a few minutes, the perfect picture of despair.  “Poor child!” she exclaimed, “my carelessness has ruined you.  The boat ain’t gone yet.  Get ready immediately, and go with Fanny.  I ain’t got another word to say against it now; for there’s no telling what may happen this day.”