Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/28

 sole hope. While I remained with him, I might reasonably expect to escape the utter bitterness of slavery. In his eyes, I was not a mere servant. He regarded me rather as a loved and trusted companion. Indeed, though he had the name and prerogatives of master, I was much less under his control than he was under mine. There was between us, something of a brotherly affection, at least of that kind, which may exist between foster brothers, though neither of us ever alluded to our actual relationship, and he probably, was ignorant of it.

I loved master James as well as ever; but towards colonel Moore, my feelings underwent a rapid and a radical change. While I considered myself merely as his slave, his apparent kindness had gained my affections, and there was nothing I would not have done or suffered, for so good natured and condescending a master. But after I had learned to look upon myself as his son, I began to feel that I might justly claim as a right, what I had till now regarded as a pure gratuity. I began to feel that I might claim much more, — even an equal birth-right with my brethren. Occasionally, I had read the bible; and I now turned with new interest to the story of Hagar, the bond-woman, and Ishmael her son; and as I read how an angel came to their relief, when the hard-hearted Abraham had driven them into the wilderness, there seemed to grow up within me, a wild, strange, uncertain hope, that in some accident, I knew not what, I too might find succor and relief. At the same time, with this irrational hope, a new spirit of bitterness burst in upon my soul. Unconsciously I clenched my hands, and set my teeth, and fancied myself, as it were, another Ishmael, wandering in the wilderness, every man's hand against me, and my hand against every man. The injustice of my unnatural parent, stung me deeper and deeper, and all my love for him was turned into hate. The atrocity of those laws which made me a slave — a slave in the house of my own father — seemed to glare before my too prophetic eyes in letters of blood. Young as I was, and as yet untouched, I trembled for the future, and cursed the country and the hour that gave me birth!

I endeavored as much as possible, to conceal these new