’Tis not strange the heavenly orbs
    In silence blushed neath Nature’s sable garb
    When woman’s gagged and rashly torn away
    Without blemish and without crime. 
    Unheeded by God’s holy word:—­
    Unloose the fetters, break the chain,
    And make my people free again,
    And let them breath pure freedom’s air
    And her rich bounty freely share. 
    Let Eutopia stretch her bleeding hands abroad;
    Her cry of anguish finds redress from God.

We were hurried along the streets.  The inhabitants heard our cries and rushed to their doors, but our carriage being perfectly tight, and the alarm so sudden, that we were at the jail before they could give us any relief.  There were strong Union men and officers in the city, and if they could have been informed of the human smuggling they would have released us.  But oh, that horrid, dilapidated prison, with its dim lights and dingy walls, again presented itself to our view.  My sister was there first, and we were thrust in and remained there until three o’clock the following afternoon.  Could we have notified the police we should have been released, but no opportunity was given us.  It appears that this kidnapping had been in contemplation from the time we were before taken and returned; and Captain Tirrell’s kindness to mother,—­his benevolence towards Mr. Adams in assisting him to furnish his house,—­his generosity in letting us work for ourselves,—­his approbation in regard to the contemplated marriage was only a trap.  Thus instead of a wedding Thursday evening, we were hurled across the ferry to Albany Court House and to Kentucky through the rain and without our outer garments.  My mother had lost her bonnet and shawl in the struggle while being thrust in the coach, consequently she had no protection from the storm, and the rest of us were in similar circumstances.  I believe we passed through Springfield.  I think it was the first stopping place after we left East St. Louis, and we were put on board the cars and secreted in the gentlemen’s smoking car, in which there were only a few rebels.  We arrived in Springfield about twelve o’clock at night.  When we took the cars it was dark, bleak and cold.  It was the 18th of March, and as we were without bonnets and clothing to shield us from the sleet and wind, we suffered intensely.  The old trader, for fear that mother might make her escape, carried my brother, nine years of age, from one train to the other.  We then took the cars for Albany, and arrived at eight o’clock in the morning.  We were then carried on the ferry in a wagon.  There was another family in the wagon, in the same condition.  We landed at Portland, from thence to Louisville, and were put into John Clark’s trader’s yard, and sold out separately, except my mother and little brother, who were sold together.  Mother remained in the trader’s yard two weeks, my sister six, myself four.

THE FARE AT THEIR NEW HOMES