Taking the eldest boy by the hand, the
preacher said to him, kindly and gently, "Come here, my boy;
what is your name?" "Tom, sir." "Yes, _Thomas_." "No sir,
_Tom_." "Well, Tom, how old are you?" "Three _months_." "And
how old is your little brother?" "Six _months_, sir!" "And
have you no other name but Tom?" "No." "What is your father's
name?" "Haven't got any!" "Who made you, Tom?" "Nobody!" "Did
you ever hear of God or Jesus Christ?" "No, sir." And this
was slavery in its best estate. By and by the aged couple,
and the young man and his wife, the remaining children, with
the master, and the dead body of the little one, were
escorted through the streets of the Queen City of the West by
a _national guard of armed men_, back to the great and
chivalrous State of old Kentucky and away to the shambles of
the South--back to a life-long servitude of hopeless despair.
It was a long, sad, silent procession down to the banks of
the Ohio; and as it passed, the death-knell of freedom tolled
heavily.
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