in the world, old Jamie saw and recognized the
husband of his little girl,--St. Clair.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] A fact, but the man who thus assaulted the flag lived to
command a company in the Union army.

VI.

McMurtagh ran out into the street toward him, but was stopped by an
officer. He still pressed his way, and when the end of the procession
went by they suffered him to go, and he fell in behind the trailing
cannon. There he found some others, following out of sympathy for the
slave. Some of them he knew, and they took Jamie for an Abolitionist,
but Jamie hardly knew what it was all about.

"When Simms was taken," said one, a doctor, "I vowed that he should be
the last slave sent back from Massachusetts."

"Did you hear," said another, a young lawyer, "how they have treated
him? His master had him whipped, when he got home, for defending his
case before our courts."

Jamie tried to find his way through the artillery company, but failed.
It was only when they got down to the Long Wharf that the artillery
divided, sending two guns to either side of the street, and Jamie and
the others hurried to the end. Here was a United States revenue
cutter, armed with marines, to take this poor bondsman back to his
master. No crowned head ever left a country with more pomp of escort
and retinue of flag and cannon. But Jamie's business was with the
slave-catcher, not the slave. He found St. Clair standing by the
gangway, and called him by name. The fellow started like a criminal;
then recognizing the poor clerk, "Oh, it's you, is it?"

"How is Mercedes?" stammered Jamie.

"How the h----l should I know? And what is that to you?"

"But you will tell me where she is?" pleaded the poor old man. "She
will not answer my letters. Does she get them? I know she does not get
them," he added, as the thought struck him suddenly.

"She gets any that have got money in," retorted St. Clair grimly.
"However, I married her, and I suppose I've got to support her. Get
out of the way, there!"

The men were already casting off the ropes. Poor Jamie felt in his
pocket, but of course he had no money; he never carried money now.

The cordon of soldiers drew across the wharf and presented arms as
their commanding officer came ashore, and the stars and stripes rose
at the stern of the vessel, and she forged out toward the blue rim of
the sea that is visible, even from the wharves, in Boston harbor.

But not a gun was fired. Silently the a