scarcely hope to escape,
to attempt the rescue of a beloved child, demonstrate that
over-willingness of woman to carry out the promptings of the finer
feelings of the heart. True to woman's nature, she had risked her own
liberty for another's. She remained in the hotel during the night, and
the next morning, under the plea of illness, took her breakfast alone.

That day the fugitive slave paid a visit to the suburbs of the town,
and once more beheld the cottage in which she had spent so many happy
hours. It was winter, and the clematis and passion-flower were not
there; but there were the same walks her feet had so often pressed, and
the same trees which had so often shaded her as she passed through the
garden at the back of the house. Old remembrances rushed upon her
memory and caused her to shed tears freely. Isabella was now in her
native town, and near her daughter; but how could she communicate with
her? how could she see her? To have made herself known would have been
a suicidal act; betrayal would have followed, and she arrested. Three
days passed away, and still she remained in the hotel at which she had
first put up, and yet she got no tidings of her child.

Unfortunately for Isabella, a disturbance had just broken out among the
slave population in the State of Virginia, and all strangers were
treated with suspicion.

The insurrection to which we now refer was headed by a full-blooded
negro, who had been born and brought up a slave. He had heard the crack
of the driver's whip, and seen the warm blood streaming from the
negro's body. He had witnessed the separation of parents from children,
and was made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave could expect no
justice from the hands of the slave-owner. The name of this man was Nat
Turner. He was a preacher amongst the negroes, distinguished for his
eloquence, respected by the whites, loved and venerated by the negroes.
On the discovery of the plan for the outbreak, Turner fled to the
swamps, followed by those who had joined in the insurrection.

Here the revolted negroes numbered some hundreds, and for a time bade
defiance to their oppressors. The Dismal Swamps cover many thousand
acres of wild land, and a dense forest, with wild animals and insects
such as are unknown in any other part of Virginia. Here runaway negroes
usually seek a hiding-place, and some have been known to reside here
for years. The revolters were joined by one of these. He was a large,