“Eulalia was a Spanish saint,” responded Mrs. Delano; “and her name is so very musical that it would naturally please the ear of La Senorita.”

“My curiosity is considerably excited to see this stylish lady,” said Flora.

“We will wait a little, till the first rush of visitors has somewhat subsided, and then we will call,” rejoined Mrs. Delano.

They called three days after, and were informed that Mr. and Mrs. King had gone to New Orleans.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Strange contrasts occur in human society, even where there is such a strong tendency toward equality as there is in New England.  A few hours before Queen Fashion held her splendid court in Beacon Street, a vessel from New Orleans called “The King Cotton” approached Long Wharf in Boston.  Before she touched the pier, a young man jumped on board from another vessel close by.  He went directly up to the captain, and said, in a low, hurried tone:  “Let nobody land.  You have slaves on board.  Mr. Bell is in a carriage on the wharf waiting to speak to you.”

Having delivered this message, he disappeared in the same direction that he came.

This brief interview was uneasily watched by one of the passengers, a young man apparently nineteen or twenty years old.  He whispered to a yellow lad, who was his servant, and both attempted to land by crossing the adjoining vessel.  But the captain intercepted them, saying, “All must remain on board till we draw up to the wharf.”

With desperate leaps, they sprang past him.  He tried to seize them, calling aloud, “Stop thief!  Stop thief!” Some of his sailors rushed after them.  As they ran up State Street, lads and boys, always ready to hunt anything, joined in the pursuit.  A young black man, who was passing down the street as the crowd rushed up, saw the yellow lad race by him, panting for breath, and heard him cry, “Help me!”

The crowd soon turned backward, having caught the fugitives.  The black man hurried after, and as they were putting them on board the vessel he pushed his way close to the yellow lad, and again heard him say, “Help me!  I am a slave.”

The black man paused only to look at the name of the vessel, and then hastened with all speed to the house of Mr. Willard Percival.  Almost out of breath with his hurry, he said to that gentleman:  “A vessel from New Orleans, named ‘The King Cotton,’ has come up to Long Wharf.  They’ve got two slaves aboard.  They was chasing ’em up State Street, calling out, ‘Stop thief!’ and I heard a mulatto lad cry, ‘Help me!’ I run after ’em; and just as they was going to put the mulatto lad aboard the vessel, I pushed my way close up to him, and he said, ’Help me!  I’m a slave.’  So I run fast as I could to tell you.”

“Wait a moment till I write a note to Francis Jackson, which you must carry as quick as you can,” said Mr. Percival.  “I will go to Mr. Sewall for a writ of habeas corpus”