le she would have been forced to herd with them upon the deck.
But she had not come aboard! The staging had been already taken in, as
I recognised her on the wharf-boat. On the supposition that the slaves
of Besancon were aboard, my heart felt relieved. I was filled with a
hope that all might yet be well.

Why? you may ask. I answer--simply because the thought occurred to me,
that the youth, who so tenderly parted from Aurore, _might be a brother,
or some near relative_. I had not heard of such relationship. It might
be so, however; and my heart, reacting from its hour of keen anguish,
was eager to relieve itself by any hypothesis.

I could not endure doubt longer; and turning on my heel, I hastened
below. Down the kleets of the wheel-house, along the guard-way, then
down the main stairs to the boiler-deck. Threading my way among bags of
maize and hogsheads of sugar, now stooping under the great axle, now
climbing over huge cotton-bales, I reached the after-part of the lower
deck, usually appropriated to the "deck passengers"--the poor immigrants
of Ireland and Germany, who here huddle miscellaneously with the swarthy
bondsmen of the South.

As I had hoped, there were they,--those black but friendly faces,--every
one of them. Old Zip, and Aunt Chloe, and the little Chloe; Hannibal,
the new coachman, and Caesar and Pompey, and all,--all on their way to
the dreaded mart.

I had halted a second or two before approaching them. The light was in
my favour, and I saw them before discovering my presence. There were no
signs of mirth in that sable group. I heard no laughter, no light
revelry, as was their wont to indulge in in days gone by, among their
little cabins in the quarter. A deep melancholy had taken possession of
the features of all. Gloom was in every glance. Even the children,
usually reckless of the unknown future, seemed impressed with the same
sentiment. They rolled not about, tumbling over each other. They
played not at all. They sat without stirring, and silent. Even they,
poor infant helots, knew enough to fear for their dark future,--to
shudder at the prospect of the slave-market.

All were downcast. No wonder. They had been used to kind treatment.
They might pass to a hard taskmaster. Not one of them knew where in
another day should be his home--what sort of tyrant should be his lord.
But that was not all. Still worse. Friends, they were going to be
parted; relatives, they would b