Reader, the life of a colored man in America, save as a slave, is regarded as far less sacred than that of a dog.  There is no exaggeration in this statement—­I am not writing of exceptions.  It is true there are white people in America who, while the colored man will keep in what they call “his place,” will treat him with a show of respect even.  But even this kind of people have their offset in the multitudes and majorities—­the populace at large who would go out of their way to inflict the most demon-like outrages upon those whose skins are not colored like their own!

I have before me at this moment recent American papers which contain accounts of the throttling of respectably-dressed colored men and women for venturing no further even than into the cabins of ferry boats plying between opposite cities; of colored ladies made to get out of the cars in which they had found seats—­in cars in which the vilest loafer, provided his skin be white might sit unmolested; of respectable clergymen having their clothes torn from their backs, because they presumed to ask in a quiet manner that they might have berths in the cabins of steamers on which they were travelling, and not be compelled to lodge on deck; and lastly, of a colored man who was not long since picked up and thrown over-board from a steam boat, on one of the Western rivers, because of some affray with a white man—­while all the bye-standers stood looking on, regarding the drowning of the man with less consideration than they would have done the drowning of a brute.

Knowing all these things, and knowing also the peculiarity of the circumstances which surrounded me on that Sabbath evening, the reader will not be surprised, that when I saw the dense multitude surrounding the house of Mr. Porter, I at once came to the conclusion that I should not be permitted to live an hour longer.  I was not frightened—­was never calmer—­prepared for the worst, disposed of my watch and such other articles of value as I had about my person.

Mr. Porter was below stairs at the time the mob approached.  Soon he came running up, introducing the Committee to whom reference has already been made.  They at once addressed us.  I do not remember their words,—­the purport of the whole, however, was that death was intended for me, provided we had been married; and as it was, I could only escape it, by Miss King consenting to go with them, and by myself consenting to leave the village; and further, that there must be no delay by either party.

One of the Committee, in order to assure me of the terrible danger by which I was surrounded, drew back the window curtains and bade me look out.  I did not do so, however, since it was not necessary that I should look out in order to feel fully convinced that there were men below, who had determined to degrade themselves below the level of the brutes that perish.  Such cursings, such imprecations, such cries of “nigger,” “bring him out,” “d——­n him,” “kill him,” “down with the house,” were never heard before, I hardly think, even in America.