and boy on the ferry-boat, and when you are on the other side
of the river you will be free. It is the cheapest way that I know of to
accomplish what you desire."

I looked at him in astonishment, and earnestly replied: "No, master, I
do not wish to be free in such a manner. If such had been my wish, I
should never have troubled you about obtaining your consent to my
purchasing myself. I can cross the river any day, as you well know, and
have frequently done so, but will never leave you in such a manner. By
the laws of the land I am your slave--you are my master, and I will only
be free by such means as the laws of the country provide." He expected
this answer, and I knew that he was pleased. Some time afterwards he
told me that he had reconsidered the question; that I had served his
family faithfully; that I deserved my freedom, and that he would take
$1200 for myself and boy.

This was joyful intelligence for me, and the reflection of hope gave a
silver lining to the dark cloud of my life--faint, it is true, but still
a silver lining.

Taking a prospective glance at liberty, I consented to marry. The
wedding was a great event in the family. The ceremony took place in the
parlor, in the presence of the family and a number of guests. Mr.
Garland gave me away, and the pastor, Bishop Hawks, performed the
ceremony, who had solemnized the bridals of Mr. G.'s own children. The
day was a happy one, but it faded all too soon. Mr. Keckley--let me
speak kindly of his faults--proved dissipated, and a burden instead of a
help-mate. More than all, I learned that he was a slave instead of a
free man, as he represented himself to be. With the simple explanation
that I lived with him eight years, let charity draw around him the
mantle of silence.

I went to work in earnest to purchase my freedom, but the years passed,
and I was still a slave. Mr. Garland's family claimed so much of my
attention--in fact, I supported them--that I was not able to accumulate
anything. In the mean time Mr. Garland died, and Mr. Burwell, a
Mississippi planter, came to St. Louis to settle up the estate. He was a
kind-hearted man, and said I should be free, and would afford me every
facility to raise the necessary amount to pay the price of my liberty.
Several schemes were urged upon me by my friends. At last I formed a
resolution to go to New York, state my case, and appeal to the
benevolence of the people. The plan seemed feasible, and I made
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