In one of the deepest parts of a ravine grew a variety of tangled bushes, which clothed it to its very bottom with their verdant foliage. Disrupted rocks were thickly scattered about, over which glided the speckled snake, while cricket and frog kept up an incessant chirping. About the commencement of the storm already described, a dark figure was seen slowly, but firmly descending the steep bank of the ravine, whose nearer approach bespoke him a son of Ham, one who wore the chain of bondage. In height he measured about six feet, while his broad chest and muscular arms shewed his Herculean strength. His complexion was of the deepest jet, and his large black eye shone with the fierceness of a firebrand. A mantle of dark blue cloth was wrapt around his form, leaving his arms and legs bare; and his head was bound round with a scarlet handkerchief, the ends of which floated in the breeze with graceful negligence. In one hand he bore a massive club, which assisted his steps in his descent; while the other rested upon a horse-pistol, which, heavily loaded, lay hid in the folds of his garment. Upon gaining the bottom of the ravine, he looked cautiously around; and then, as if satisfied all was right, he raised a conch-shell to his lips, and blew a low but clear blast. This repeated thrice, he seated himself upon one of the rocks; and burying his face in his hands, mused in silence, unmindful of the threatening appearance of the heavens. But a few minutes passed, when he again started to his feet, and blew a louder blast, which at a short interval was answered by a low whistle; and the crackling of dry leaves (as if trodden under foot) proclaimed the approach of other visitants. Drawing the pistol from its confinement, the first occupant of the ravine stepped a few paces forward, and, in a voice rendered thick by contending passions, demanded the word. “Death to our foes!” was the answer; and in another moment, about forty negroes stood around their king. “Welcome, brave friends, to this lone spot; for here at least we can feel we are free, and bid defiance to the hated whites. But where is Morah? Surely she will not desert us, Tomboy?” And he directed his looks to a short stout man, who ranked as his general, and answered to that name, and who had taken up his post at the right shoulder of his sable majesty. “Oh, no; Morah knows too well to desert Klaas at his need. Believe not that,” returned the man. “We should have been here long before, but she was knocked up with her walk, and we were obliged to wait her will. But see!”—and touching the arm of Klaas, he pointed to two lusty youths who were coming down the bank, bearing between them some object, which could scarcely be pronounced human. Placing their burden safely at the feet of Klaas, the young men drew back, while he, giving her his hand, raised and placed her upon a rocky seat near himself. The woman, (for so she proved,) although looking more like the habitant of