A little improvident and immethodical in his business, the master had contracted large obligations, which he was unable to meet; his paper matured; his creditors swooped down upon him simultaneously, and in a single day he was stripped of everything. His slaves, with the exception of Uncle Jake, who was purchased at a round figure by a neighbor who had long coveted him, were sold to a southern trader, and on Saturday morning, chained into separate coffles, the unhappy wife and mother, with her children, forming one by themselves, whilst the father, indulging in pleasant day-dreams of the future, was busily plying his craft in one part of the town, were driven through another, down to the river, and put on board a steamer for New Orleans. Evening came, and the week’s work ended, Uncle Jake started with a light heart homeward. When he reached the neighborhood sometime after nightfall, he was apprised by a friend on the lookout for him, of the fate of the master—of himself and loved ones. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been more shocked. Learning, also, that his new master, a tyrannical man, was waiting his coming, he turned aside to give vent to his grief. Had he been sold with the family he could have endured it, for then there might have been a chance of occasional meeting; indeed, he and his wife might have been sold to the same plantation; but now they were gone—separated forever. Under the blue dome of heaven, with the myriad stars looking down upon him, he wept—wept as only a man can weep under such circumstances—until the reaction came, when a lion-like manhood asserted itself in the laconic expression, “Not one more stroke in slavery.” Arising with the clear-cut resolution to obtain his freedom or perish in the attempt, he proceeded stealthily to his cabin, armed himself with a large butcher knife and a heavy walking stick, and taking one last look at objects, though humble, still dear to him, he set out with elastic step towards the river. About one-half the distance had been gone over, when he perceived himself pursued. He turned aside, hoping to secrete himself, but in vain; he had been sighted, and was summoned to surrender. To the challenge, he responded: “I am yours if you can take me.” The two men, his new master and an attendant, dismounted and hitched their horses, thinking the conquest of the “cowardly nigger” would be an easy matter. But not so. The man who for nearly three-score years had manifested only the meekness of a child, was now endowed with the spirit and prowess of a giant. A well-aimed blow of the bludgeon laid his master a quivering corpse at his feet, and several well-directed strokes of the butcher knife sent the other covered with ghastly, bleeding wounds, fainting to the roadside.