was a babe in arms, the other five were large enough to walk; his number
was twenty-one, but his wife's number was thirty-three, and
notwithstanding the mournful idea of parting with relations and friends on
the plantation, up to this moment they had indulged a hope of being sold
as a family, together; but the numbers revealed the awful disappointment.
Even in this hoped for consolation, the painful distress into which this
poor woman was thrown, it is beyond my ability to describe. The anguish of
her soul, evinced by the mournful gaze first at her children and then at
her husband, made me forget for the time being, my own sufferings and
sorrows. Her looks seemed to say to her husband--these are your children,
I am their mother--there is no other being in this world that I have to
look to for love and protection; cant you help me? I am very much mistaken
if these were not the thoughts running through that poor broken-hearted
mother's mind. Reuben, for that was his name, called his wife and children
into one corner of the sty, and repeated a verse of a hymn which may be
found in Watts' hymn book:--

"Ah, whither shall I go,
Burthened, or sick, or faint;
To whom shall I my troubles show,
And pour out my complaint."

Not daring to sing it for fear of disturbing the sale, they both knelt
down with the children, and Reuben offered up a long and fervent prayer.
In the interval of his prayer nineteen of the slaves were sold, and he had
not concluded when my number being twenty was called, and my master handed
me out under the hammer; when, after a few preliminary remarks on the part
of the auctioneer, my master mounted the auction block and recommended me
as a good field hand, a good cook, waiter, hostler, a coachman, gentle and
willing, and above all, free from the disease of running away. So after a