three loaves of bread, and when his clothing was worn out, its place was
supplied by the coarse cloth of wool and camel's hair woven by the
Berber women. Three hours before sunset he was released from work, and
Friday, which is the Mohammedan Sabhath, was a day of entire rest. Once
a year, at the season called Ramadan, he was left at leisure for a whole
week. So time went on,--days, weeks, months, and years. His dark hair
became gray. He still dreamed of his old home on the Merrimac, and of
his good Anna and the boys. He wondered whether they yet lived, what
they thought of him, and what they were doing. The hope of ever seeing
them again grew fainter and fainter, and at last nearly died out; and he
resigned himself to his fate as a slave for life.

But one day a handsome middle-aged gentleman, in the dress of one of his
own countrymen, attended by a great officer of the Dey, entered the
ship-yard, and called up before him the American captives. The stranger
was none other than Joel Barlow, Commissioner of the United States to
procure the liberation of slaves belonging to that government. He took
the men by the hand as they came up, and told them that they were free.
As you might expect, the poor fellows were very grateful; some laughed,
some wept for joy, some shouted and sang, and threw up their caps, while
others, with David Matson among them, knelt down on the chips, and
thanked God for the great deliverance.

"This is a very affecting scene," said the commissioner, wiping his
eyes. "I must keep the impression of it for my 'Columbiad';" and
drawing out his tablet, he proceeded to write on the spot an apostrophe
to Freedom, which afterwards found a place in his great epic.

David Matson had saved a little money during his captivity by odd jobs
and work on holidays. He got a passage to Malaga, where he bought a