of concealment, and I groped my way back into
the house. The pain had become intense, and my friend was startled by my
look of anguish. I asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and
vinegar, and I applied it to my leg, which was already much swollen. The
application gave me some relief, but the swelling did not abate. The dread
of being disabled was greater than the physical pain I endured. My friend
asked an old woman, who doctored among the slaves, what was good for the
bite of a snake or a lizard. She told her to steep a dozen coppers in
vinegar, over night, and apply the cankered vinegar to the inflamed
part.[1]

[Footnote 1: The poison of a snake is a powerful acid, and is counteracted
by powerful alkalies, such as potash, ammonia, &c. The Indians are
accustomed to apply wet ashes, or plunge the limb into strong lie. White
men, employed to lay out railroads in snaky places, often carry ammonia
with them as an antidote.--EDITOR.]

I had succeeded in cautiously conveying some messages to my relatives. They
were harshly threatened, and despairing of my having a chance to escape,
they advised me to return to my master, ask his forgiveness, and let him
make an example of me. But such counsel had no influence with me. When I
started upon this hazardous undertaking, I had resolved that, come what
would, there should be no turning back. "Give me liberty, or give me
death," was my motto. When my friend contrived to make known to my
relatives the painful situation I had been in for twenty-four hours, they
said no more about my going back to my master. Something must be done, and
that speedily; but where to return for help, they knew not. God in his
mercy raised up "a friend in need."

Among the ladies who were acquainted with my grandmother, was one who had
known her from childhood, and always been very friendly to her. She had
also known my mother and her children, and felt interested for them. At
this crisis of affairs she called to see my grandmother, as she not
unfrequently did. She observed the sad and troubled expression of her face,
and asked if she knew where Linda was, and whether she was safe. My
grandmother shook her head, without answering. "Come, Aunt Martha,"
said the kind lady, "tell me all about it. Perhaps I can do something
to help you." The husband of this lady held many slaves, and bought and
sold slaves. She also held a number in her own name; but she treated
them kindly, and would never allow an