It was some comfort to me afterward when the captain sent for me and told me that he knew me, that my Uncle Elijah was his old-time friend, and one of the most extensive shippers on the steamboat line.

"It is shameful the way these people are treating you," he said, "but let it pass, and when we get to Independence everything will be all right." But everything was not all right.

In the evening, when I led my wife out on the floor of the cabin, where the passengers were dancing, every dancer immediately walked off the floor, the men scowling and the women with their noses in the air.

All that night my wife wept while I walked the floor.
At daybreak, when we stopped for wood, I heard shots and shouting.
Walking out on deck, I saw the freed negroes who composed the crew scrambling back on board.

The steamboat was backing out in the stream.
Later I learned that my fellow passengers had wired up the river that I was on board, and an armed party had ridden down to "get" me.
I quickly returned to the stateroom, and, diving into my trunk, took out and buckled on a brace of revolvers which had done excellent service in times past.