"Well," said Mr. Weston, "what did he say?"
"Why, sir," said Bacchus, "he got up and stood by de fire, and warmed hisself, and says he, 'Ole felur, if I'd a had de teaching of you, I'd a larned you to mind your own business. I'll let you know I didn't come to Washington to buy niggers.' 'Here,' says he, to dat white nigger that waits on him, 'Next time dis feller wants me, tell him to go 'bout his business.'
"'Good mornin' sir,' says I, 'I shan't trouble you agin. May de Lord send better friends to de slaves than de like of you.'"
"Well, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "you did very wrong, and I hope you will not again take such a liberty with any person. You see for yourself what an Abolitionist is. I wish those poor runaways had had some such experience, it would have saved them from the trouble they are now in."
"Yes, indeed, master. I've been down thar agin, to-day. I went right early; thar's an ole woman thar that tried to run away. She's gwine too, and she leaves her husband here. She aint a cryin, though, her heart's too full for tears. Oh! master," said Bacchus, sighing deeply, "I think if you'd seed her, you'd do more than the Abolitioners."
In the afternoon Mr. Weston usually walked out. He did not dine with the ladies at their late hour, as his complaint, dyspepsia, made it necessary for him to live lightly and regularly. Bacchus attended him in his walks, and many a person turned back to look upon the fine-looking old gentleman with his gold-headed cane, and his servant, whose appearance was as agreeable as his own. Bacchus was constantly on the lookout for his master, but he managed to see all that was going on too, and to make many criticisms on the appearance and conduct of those he met in his rambles.
Bacchus followed his master, and found that he was wending his steps to the place where the arrested runaways were confined. This was very agreeable to him, for his heart was quite softened towards the poor prisoners, and he had an idea that his master's very presence might carry a blessing with it. "Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, as they were going in, "you need not point out the servants to me. I will observe for myself, and I do not wish to be conspicuous."
There were a great many lounging about, and looking round there. Some were considering the scene as merely curious; some were blaming the slaves; some their masters, some the Abolitionists. There was confusion and constant going in and out. But though the countenances of the runaways expressed different emotions, it was evident that one feeling had settled in each breast, and that was, there was no hope that any thing would occur to relieve them from their undesirable position.
Mr. Weston easily recognized Simon, from Bacchus's description. He had a boyish expression of disappointment and irritation on his countenance, and had evidently been recently weeping. There were several men, one or two of them with bad faces, and one, a light mulatto, had a fine open countenance, and appeared to be making an effort not to show his excessive disappointment. In the corner sat the woman, on a low bench—her head was bent forward on her lap, and she was swaying her body slightly, keeping motion with her foot.