If there is one thing more than another calculated to make one hate
and detest American slavery, it is to witness the meetings between
fugitives and their friends in Canada. Jerome had beheld some of
these scenes. The wife who, after years of separation, had escaped
from her prison-house and followed her husband had told her story
to him. He had seen the newly-arrived wife rush into the arms of
the husband, whose dark face she had not looked upon for long,
weary years. Some told of how a sister had been ill-used by the
overseer; others of a husband's being whipped to death for having
attempted to protect his wife. He had sat in the little log-hut,
by the fireside, and heard tales that caused his heart to bleed;
and his bosom swelled with just indignation when he thought that
there was no remedy for such atrocious acts. It was with such
feelings that he informed his employer that he should leave him at
the expiration of a month.
In vain did Mr. Streeter try to persuade Jerome to remain with him;
and late, in the month of February, the latter found himself on
board a small vessel loaded with pine-lumber, descending the St.
Lawrence, bound for Liverpool. The bark, though an old one, was,
nevertheless, considered seaworthy, and the fugitive was working
his way out. As the vessel left the river and gained the open sea,
the black man appeared to rejoice at the prospect of leaving a
country in which his right to manhood had been denied him, and his
happiness destroyed.
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