My case was now desperate; and I took this desperate thought:  “I will run him a little farther from his coadjutor; I will then suddenly catch a stone, and wound him in the breast.”  This was my fixed purpose, and I had arrived near the point on the top of the hill, where I expected to do the act, when to my surprise and dismay, I saw the other side of the hill was not only all ploughed up, but we came suddenly upon a man ploughing, who as suddenly left his plough and cut off my flight, by seizing me by the collar, when at the same moment my pursuer seized my arms behind.  Here I was again in a sad fix.  By this time the other pursuer had come up; I was most savagely thrown down on the ploughed ground with my face downward, the ploughman placed his knee upon my shoulders, one of my captors put his upon my legs, while the other tied my arms behind me.  I was then dragged up, and marched off with kicks, punches and imprecations.

We got to the tavern at three o’clock.  Here they again cooled down, and made an appeal to me to make a disclosure.  I saw that my attempt to escape strengthened their belief that I was a fugitive.  I said to them, “If you will not put me in jail, I will now tell you where I am from.”  They promised.  “Well,” said I, “a few weeks ago, I was sold from the eastern shore to a slave-trader, who had a large gang, and set out for Georgia, but when he got to a town in Virginia, he was taken sick, and died with the small-pox.  Several of his gang also died with, it, so that the people in the town became alarmed, and did not wish the gang to remain among them.  No one claimed us, or wished to have anything to do with us; I left the rest, and thought I would go somewhere and get work.”

When I said this, it was evidently believed by those who were present, and notwithstanding the unkind feeling that had existed, there was a murmur of approbation.  At the same time I perceived that a panic began to seize some, at the idea that I was one of a small-pox gang.  Several who had clustered near me, moved off to a respectful distance.  One or two left the bar-room, and murmured, “better let the small-pox nigger go.”

I was then asked what was the name of the slave-trader.  Without premeditation, I said, “John Henderson.”

“John Henderson!” said one of my captors, “I knew him; I took up a yaller boy for him about two years ago, and got fifty dollars.  He passed out with a gang about that time, and the boy ran away from him at Frederickstown.  What kind of a man was he?”

At a venture, I gave a description of him.  “Yes,” said he, “that is the man.”  By this time, all the gossippers had cleared the coast; our friend, “Jake Shouster,” had also gone back to his bench to finish his custom work, after having “lost nearly the whole day, trotting about with a nigger tied,” as I heard his wife say as she called him home to his dinner.  I was now left alone with the man who first called to me in the morning.  In a sober manner, he made this proposal to me:  “John, I have a brother living in Risterstown, four miles off, who keeps a tavern; I think you had better go and live with him, till we see what will turn up.  He wants an ostler.”  I at once assented to this.  “Well,” said he, “take something to eat, and I will go with you.”