“I don’t care if every slaveholder in the South was on board, holding a knife at my throat; I’m on the broad ocean, where God spreads the breezes of freedom that man cannot enslave,” said he, sitting down beside Manuel, and getting him to recount the details of his shipwreck and imprisonment.  The number increased around him, and all listened with attention until he had concluded.  One of the spectators asked him if he would have something good to eat? but he declined, pulling out the little box that the consul had sent him, and, opening it before them, showed it to be well-stored with little delicacies.

The Philadelphian motioned that they take up a subscription for him, and almost simultaneously took his hat off and began to pass it around; but Manuel, mistaking the motive, told them that he never yet sought charity-that the consul had paid him his wages, and he had money enough to get home.  But if he did not accept their contributions, he had their sympathies and their good wishes, which were more prized by him, because they were contrasted with the cold hospitality he had suffered in Charleston.

On the morning of the twentieth he arrived in New York.  Here things wore a different aspect.  There were no constables fettering him with irons, aggravating his feelings, and dragging him to a miseerable cell overrun with vermin.  He had no scientific ordeal of the statutes to pass through, requiring the measure of his form and features; and he was a man again, with life and liberty, and the dark dread of the oppressor’s power far from him.  He went to his comfortable boarding-house, and laid his weary limbs down to rest, thanking God that he could now sleep in peace, and awake to liberty.  His system was so reduced that he was unable to do duty, although he was anxious to proceed on his way to join the old owners, but wanted to work his way in the capacity of steward.  Thus he remained in New York more than four weeks, gaining vigor and strength, and with a lingering hope that he should meet his little companion.

On the twenty-first of June, being well recruited, he sailed for Liverpool, and after a remarkably calm passage of thirty-four days, arrived in the Mersey, and in forty-eight hours more the ship was safely within the Princess’ Dock, and all hands ready to go on shore.  In the same dock was a ship taking in cargo and passengers for Charleston, South Carolina.  Manuel went on board, and found, in conversation with the steward, that she had sailed from that port on the 23d of May.  A short conversation disclosed that they had been old shipmates from the Thames, on board of the Indiaman, Lord William Bentick, and were on board of that ship when an unfortunate circumstance occurred to her on entering a British North American port, many years ago.  Here they sat recounting the many adventures through which they had passed since that period, the ships they had sailed in, the sufferings they had gone through, and the narrow escapes they had had for their lives, until past midnight.  Manuel wound up by giving a detailed account of his sufferings in Charleston.