One of the most thrilling incidents of the late war was one in which I was an observer and part participant. I never more wished for the powers of a great painter than then, or even now, for I can see it to-day as vividly as when it occurred, fourteen years ago; for to me it seemed to contain a history of slavery, embodied in a single act. The army, in suddenly swinging round, had enclosed within its lines a large number of slaves who could not be taken further South before this was done. As we could not encumber ourselves with the women and children, the steamers bringing supplies for the army were prepared to take them to Washington. A very large steamer was brought as near the shore as possible, and a plank gangway, some fifteen feet in length, and at an angle of about 45°, was laid from the shore to the entryport of the steamer. Just back from the shore, the bluff, at about the same angle, rose some 100 feet, and this bluff and the plain above were occupied and covered by some three or four thousand slaves. All being made ready, the order was given for embarkation; the women and children were to go on board first. For some moments no one started, and then a single figure, that of a woman of some sixty years, was seen slowly advancing alone up the plank; no one else followed. A perfect hush seemed to hang over the scene, as if some great event was to take place, and if ever an emblematic scene was enacted it was here. Slowly the bent form went forward, bearing the weight of years of toil in the field—years of bodily and heart suffering such as you and I never knew, and pray God _never_ may. Her face, her whole frame, was a perfect picture of a doubt. All eyes seemed to watch her in silence; officers and men waited—they probably knew not for what; her own people—as though she was their “path-finder.” At last she reached the side of the steamer; the open port was right before her, and just then it seemed to her as the open portal to all her heart’s longings, and God’s open door. She and her race had poured, for long years, their tales of trial and suffering into His ear, “who never slumbers nor sleeps.” _Was this the answer to her prayers?_ That seemed to be the question of her heart all the way up. Suddenly the bent form straightened, the homely, wrinkled face glowed with a new light, her coarse, ragged garb was a royal robe, as she turned and looked towards her people, raising her hand and eyes to heaven, and exclaiming, in tones so loud and clear that they reached every ear, and made the very hills ring: “_I’s free! Thank God, I’s free! Come on!_” For a single instant there was perfect silence, and then cheer on cheer rent the air, and, with a shout, the rest followed up the gangway till the steamer was full. It was, indeed, their way to liberty and happiness even in this life, and by such efforts as this Association is making and aiding, shall it not be to the life to come?