Tulee was very impatient for the sound of Mrs. King’s bell, and as soon as the first tinkle was heard she rushed into her dressing-room, exclaiming, “O, do come to the window, Missy Rosy!  Sure this is silver land.”

Rosa was no less surprised when she looked out upon that wonderful vision of the earth, in its transfigured raiment of snow-glory.  “Why, Tulee,” said she, “it is diamond land.  I’ve seen splendid fairy scenes in the theatres of Paris, but never anything so brilliant as this.”

“I used to think the woods down South, all covered with jess’mines, was the beautifullest thing,” responded Tulee; “but, Lors, Missy Rosy, this is as much handsomer as Solomon’s Temple was handsomer than a meetin’-house.”

But neither the indoor nor the outdoor splendor, nor all the personal comforts they enjoyed, made this favored band of colored people forgetful of the brethren they had left in bondage.  Every word about John Brown was sought for and read with avidity.  When he was first taken captive, Chloe said:  “The angel that let Peter out o’ prison ha’n’t growed old an’ hard o’ hearing.  If we prays loud enough, he’ll go and open the doors for old John Brown.”

Certainly, it was not for want of the colored people’s praying loud and long enough, that the prisoner was not supernaturally delivered.  They did not relinquish the hope till the 2d of December:  and when that sad day arrived, they assembled in their meeting-house to watch and pray.  All was silent, except now and then an occasional groan, till the hands of the clock pointed to the moment of the martyr’s exit from this world.  Then Tom poured forth his soul in a mighty voice of prayer, ending with the agonized entreaty, “O Lord, thou hast taken away our Moses.  Raise us up a Joshua!” And all cried, “Amen!”

Chloe, who had faith that could walk the stormiest waves, spoke words of fervent cheer to the weeping congregation.

“I tell ye they ha’n’t killed old John Brown,” said she; “’cause they couldn’t kill him.  The angel that opened the prison doors for Peter has let him out, and sent him abroad in a different way from what we ’spected; that’s all.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Through the following year, the political sky grew ever darker with impending clouds, crinkled with lightning, and vocal with growlings of approaching thunder.  The North continued to make servile concessions, which history will blush to record; but they proved unavailing.  The arrogance of slaveholders grew by what it fed on.  Though a conscientious wish to avoid civil war mingled largely with the selfishness of trade, and the heartless gambling of politicians, all was alike interpreted by them as signs of Northern cowardice.  At last, the Sumter gun was heard booming through the gathering storm.  Instantly, the air was full of starry banners, and Northern pavements resounded with the tramp of horse and the rolling of artillery wagons.  A thrill of patriotic enthusiasm kindled the souls of men.  No more sending back of slaves.  All our cities became at once cities of refuge; for men had risen above the letter of the Constitution into the spirit of the Declaration of Independence.