t is a great point with her to be married by a
minister. Her master and mistress make no objection, knowing that
after the ceremony, she will remain an article of property, the same
as ever. Now come happy months, during which you almost forget that
you are a slave, and that it must be a weary long while before you
can earn enough to buy yourself and your dear one, in addition to
supporting your dissipated master. But you toil bravely on, and soon
pay another hundred dollars toward your ransom. The Drummond Light
of Freedom burns brighter in the diminished distance.

Alas! in an unlucky hour, your tipsy master-brother sees your gentle
Amy, and becomes enamored of her large dark eyes, and the rich
golden tint of her complexion. Your earnings and your ransom-money
make him flush of cash. In spite of all your efforts to prevent it,
she becomes his property. He threatens to cowhide you, if you ever
speak to her again. You remind him that she is your wife; that you
were married by a minister. "Married, you damned nigger!" he
exclaims; "what does a slave's marriage amount to? If you give me
any more of your insolence, you'll get a taste of the cowhide."

Anxious days and desolate nights pass. There is such a heavy pain at
your heart, it is a mystery to yourself that you do not die. At
last, Amy contrives to meet you, pale and wretched as yourself. She
has a mournful story to tell of degrading propositions, and terrible
threats. She promises to love you always, and be faithful to you
till death, come what may. Poor Amy! When she said that, she did not
realize how powerless is the slave, in the hands of an unprincipled
master. Your interview was watched, and while you were sobbing in
each other's arms, you were seized and ordered to receive a hundred
lashes. While you are lying in jail, stiff with your wounds, your
master-brother comes to tell you he has sold you to a trader from
Arkansas. You remind him of the receipt he has given you for six
hundred dollars, and ask him to return the money. He laughs in your
face, and tells you his receipt is worth no more than so much brown
paper; that no contracts with a slave are binding. He coolly adds,
"Besides, it has taken all my spare money to buy Amy." Perhaps you
would have killed him in that moment of desperation, even with the
certainty of being burnt to cinders for the deed, but you are too
horribly wounded by the lash to be able to spring upon him. In that
helpless condition,