Mr. Sampson encouraged me to hope, however, that the case would be dismissed as two other cases of that kind had been.

I labored to the best of my ability to prepare myself for the trial, which was to decide whether I had a right to possess myself and command my own services and earnings, or whether all belonged to Capt.  Helm.  As I looked forward with anxious forebodings to the day appointed for the suit to commence, I was startled by the announcement of my old master’s death!  Yes, Capt.  Helm was dead; and with him died the law suit.  He who had so wronged me, who had occasioned me so much suffering and sorrow had gone to his account.  He who had once been thought to be one of the wealthiest as well as one of the greatest men in the county, died a pauper—­neglected and despised, and scarcely awarded a decent burial.  Like his wife, who died such a horrid death, he had been reared in affluence and was an inheritor of vast possessions, but his home was in a slave State; he was raised on a plantation, and nurtured in the atmosphere of Slavery.

In his youth he had contracted the habit of drinking to excess, beside that of gambling, horse-racing and the like, which followed him through life.  Forgotten and scorned in his poverty by many who had partaken of his abundance, sipped his wine, and rode his fast horses.

During the last war his princely mansion was ever open to the officers of the army, and many a wounded soldier has been cheered and comforted by his hospitality.  But now he is regarded as no better than his poorest slave, and lies as lowly as they, in the narrow house appointed for all the living.

My old master had two brothers:  the oldest, Thomas Helm, was a Captain in the United States Army, and had been in many hard-fought battles.  His younger brother, William, was a Captain also; but Thomas was the man to awaken curiosity.  I have lived with him, but never knew of his going unarmed for an hour, until he left Virginia and came to Steuben County, where he died.  When at the South, I have seen strangers approach him, but they were invariably commanded to “stand” and to “approach him at their peril.”  He finally came to the State of New York, bringing with him his “woman” with whom he lived, and two children, with whom he settled on a piece of land given him by my old master, where the old soldier lived, died, and was buried on one of his small “clearings” under an old apple tree.  He owned a few slaves, but at his death his “woman” collected every thing she could, and among the rest, two or three slave children, to whom she had no right or claim whatever, and made her way to Kentucky.  About a year ago I visited the spot where the brave old defender of his country had been buried, but found very little to mark the resting place of the brother of my old master.  They had passed away.  Their wealth, power and bravery had come to nought; and no tribute was now paid to the memory of one of “Old Virginia’s best families.”  The blood of which they were wont to boast, was now no more revered than that which commingled with the African and circulated in the veins of his despised and downtrodden slaves.