I said to them, "If you will not put me in jail, I will now tell you where I am from." They promised.

"Well," said I, "a few weeks ago, I was sold from the eastern shore to a slave-trader, who had a large gang, and set out for Georgia, but when he got to a town in Virginia, he was taken sick, and died with the small-pox.

Several of his gang also died with, it, so that the people in the town became alarmed, and did not wish the gang to remain among them.

No one claimed us, or wished to have anything to do with us; I left the rest, and thought I would go somewhere and get work." When I said this, it was evidently believed by those who were present, and notwithstanding the unkind feeling that had existed, there was a murmur of approbation.

At the same time I perceived that a panic began to seize some, at the idea that I was one of a small-pox gang.