ord, when slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls will have our peace;--
There's a better day a coming,
Will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming,
Go sound the jubilee!"

We finally arrived at Mr. Walker's farm. He had a house built during our
absence to put slaves in. It was a kind of domestic jail. The slaves
were put in the jail at night, and worked on the farm during the day.
They were kept here until the gang was completed, when we again started
for New Orleans, on board the steamboat North America, Capt. Alexander
Scott. We had a large number of slaves in this gang. One, by the name of
Joe, Mr. Walker was training up to take my place, as my time was nearly
out, and glad was I. We made our first stop at Vicksburg, where we
remained one week and sold several slaves.

Mr. Walker, though not a good master, had not flogged a slave since I
had been with him, though he had threatened me. The slaves were kept in
the pen, and he always put up at the best hotel, and kept his wines in
his room, for the accommodation of those who called to negotiate with
him for the purchase of slaves. One day while we were at Vicksburg,
several gentlemen came to see him for this purpose, and as usual the
wine was called for. I took the tray and started around with it, and
having accidentally filled some of the glasses too full, the gentlemen
spilled the wine on their clothes as they went to drink. Mr. Walker
apologized to them for my carelessness, but looked at me as though he
would see me again on this subject.

After the gentlemen had left the room, he asked me what I meant by my
carelessness, and said that he would attend to me. The next morning, he
gave me a note to carry to the jailer, and a dollar in money to give to
him. I suspected that all was not right, so I went down near the landing
where I met with a sailor, and walking up to him, asked him if he would
be so kind as to read the note for me. He read it over, and then looked
at me. I asked him to tell me what was in it. Said he,

"They are going to give you hell."

"Why?" said I.

He said, "This is a note to have you whipped, and says that you have a
dollar to pay for it."

He handed me back the note, and off I started. I knew not what to do,
but was determined not to be whipped. I went up to the jail--took a look
at it, and walked off again. As Mr. Walker was acquainted with the
jailer, I feared that I should be found out if I did not go,