“I am sorry, Madam,” he began, his cap in hand, “but your passage was booked farther down the river than this point.  You are mistaken.  This is not Cairo.”

“What of that, sir?  Is it not the privilege of a passenger to stop at any intermediate point?”

“Not in this case, Madam.”

“What do you mean?” she blazed out at him in anger on first impulse.  But even as she did so there came over her heart once more the sick feeling of helplessness.  Though innocent, she was indeed a prisoner!  As much as though this were the Middle Ages, as though these were implacable armed enemies who stood about her, and not commonplace, every-day individuals in a commonplace land, she was a prisoner.

“You shall suffer for this!” she exclaimed.  “There must be a law somewhere in this country.”

“That is true, Madam,” said the captain, “and that is the trouble.  I’m told that my orders come from the highest laws.  Certainly I have no option in the matter.  I was told distinctly not to let you off without his orders—­not even to allow you to send any word ashore.”

“But the gentleman who accompanied me is no longer on the boat.  He left me word that our journey in common was ended.  See, here is his note.”

“All I can say, Madam, is that this is not signed, and that he did not tell me he was going to leave.  I can not allow you to go ashore at this point.  In fact, I should consider you safer here on the boat than anywhere else.”

“Are there then no gentlemen in all the world?  Are you not a man yourself?  Have you no pity for a woman in such plight as mine?”

“Your words cut me deeply, my dear lady.  I want to give you such protection as I can.  Any man would do that.  I am a man, but also I am an officer.  You are a woman, but apparently also some sort of fugitive, I don’t know just what.  We learn not to meddle in these matters.  But I think no harm will come to you—­I’m sure not, from the care the gentlemen used regarding you.  Please don’t make it hard for me.”

The boat was now alongside the dock at the river settlement, and there was some stir at the gangway as room was made for the reception of additional passengers.  As they looked over the rail they discovered these to be made up of a somewhat singular group.  Two or three roughly dressed men were guarding as many prisoners.  Of the latter, two were coal black negroes.  The third was a young woman apparently of white blood, of comely features and of composed bearing in spite of her situation.  A second glance showed that all these three were in irons.  Obviously then the law, which at that time under the newly formed Compromise Acts allowed an owner to follow his fugitive slaves into any state, was here finding an example, one offering indeed all the extremes of cruelty both to body and to soul.

“For instance, young lady, look at that,” went on the boat captain, turning to Josephine, who was carried back by the incoming rush of the new passengers.  “It is something we see now and again on this river.  Sometimes my heart aches, but what can I do?  That’s the law, too.  I have learned not to meddle.”