stave, made of red oak, and before the
panic-stricken crowd could arrest his arm, he struck his master to the
ground, and beat his brains literally out. The crowd then tried to close
upon him, but Reuben, mounted with both feet upon the dead body of his
master, and with his back against the cart wheel--with the cart stave kept
the whole crowd at bay for the space of two or three minutes, when a
gentleman behind the cart climbed upon the outside wheel and fired the
pistol at him, and shot poor Reuben through the head. He fell dead about
six yards from where the dead body of his beloved Sally lay, and where his
children were screaming terribly. An indescribable thrill of horror crept
through my whole soul, as I gazed from the cart wheel to which I was
ironed, upon the dead bodies first of Reuben and then his wife, who but a
few moments before I had seen kneeling in solemn prayer, before what they
considered the Throne of Grace--and their master, whom I heard that very
morning calling on God not only to damn his negroes, but to damn himself,
now, in less than thirty minutes, all three standing before the awful
Judgment Seat. After witnessing this dreadful scene I was led into
Hagerstown jail, where I remained until my new master was ready, when I
went with him to Memphis, Tennessee; but the remembrance of this awful
tragedy haunted my mind, and even my dreams, for many months.

Reuben was the son of old Uncle Reuben and Aunt Dinah, and had been
swopped away when about twelve years old to William Steele, for a pair of
horses and a splendid carriage. Like his father and mother he was very
religious, and I had often been to his prayer meetings, where poor Reuben
would exhort and preach. Mr. Cobb had made him a class-leader long before
he died; and, in fact, we all reverenced Reuben after the death of his
father as the most moderate and gifted man amongst us. I had always loved
Reuben, but never knew how much until that fatal day. After I went to
Memphis I composed some verses on the life and death of Reuben, which run
as follows:--

Poor Reuben he fell at his post,
He's gone;
Like Stephen, full of the Holy Ghost,
Poor Reuben's gone away.
He's gone where pleasure never dies,
He's gone,
In the golden chariot to the skies,
Poor Reuben's gone away.

For many years he faced the storm,
He's gone;
And the cruel lash he suffered long;
Poor Reu