and meanwhile strove, on all fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross fraud and inhumanity of slavery.  I went first to Henry, next to John, then to the others.  I found, in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits.  They were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible plan should be proposed.  This was what I wanted.  I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we submitted to our enslavement without at least one noble effort to be free.  We met often, and consulted frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted the difficulties, real and imagined, which we should be called on to meet.  At times we were almost disposed to give up, and try to content ourselves with our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending in our determination to go.  Whenever we suggested any plan, there was shrinking—­the odds were fearful.  Our path was beset with the greatest obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end of it, our right to be free was yet questionable—­we were yet liable to be returned to bondage.  We could see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could be free.  We knew nothing about Canada.  Our knowledge of the north did not extend farther than New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed with the frightful liability of being returned to slavery—­with the certainty of being treated tenfold worse than before—­the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was not easy to overcome.  The case sometimes stood thus:  At every gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman—­at every ferry a guard—­on every bridge a sentinel—­and in every wood a patrol.  We were hemmed in upon every side.  Here were the difficulties, real or imagined—­the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned.  On the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us,—­its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and even now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh.  On the other hand, away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubtful freedom—­half frozen—­beckoning us to come and share its hospitality.  This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled.  Upon either side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid shapes.  Now it was starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;—­now we were contending with the waves, and were drowned;—­now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound.  We were stung by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and finally, after having nearly reached the desired spot,—­after swimming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and nakedness,—­we were overtaken by our pursuers, and, in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot!  I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made us

     “rather bear those ills we had,
     Than fly to others, that we knew not of.”