western shore, and had a day's sport in the
woods, he handled his rifle with practised
adroitness, and killed the only two bucks we could
succeed in approaching.

"Upon my word," said I, on one of these
occasions, " that is a pretty shot. A hundred
and thirty yards, at the lowest calculation,
and the buck actually bounding from the
covert when you shouldered the piece! You
must have had great practice."

My new friend ceased wiping out the barrel of
his long rifle, cast his eye on the dead stag lying
at his feet, and then looked at me with rather a
comical expression on his bronzed face.

"Practice, captain? You may say that. I've
known the time when 'twas touch and go with
Patrick Gartmore, his life or another's—and all
lay on the finger that was steadiest on the
trigger, and the eye that drew the truest bead on
the enemy."

"The Indians, I suppose?" said I. "Ah!
There is wild work on the frontier, I believe?"

Mr. Gartmore's reply was rather vague.

"Indians! They're some wild cats, that's true
for you, the red scalpers, but there are worse
savages in America, Captain Pownall, than ever
wore paint and eagle's feathers. Why, down
south, I've known the day when the
bloodhounds—"

He stopped short, bit his lips, and his
sunburnt face flushed scarlet.

"Bloodhounds?" said I. "The mention of
those brutes puts me in mind of the old Spanish
conquerors, and their merciless pursuit of the
Caribs. I have heard, but I can hardly believe,
that the slave-owners in the south employ such
dogs still, in negro catching!"

To my surprise, Mr. Gartmore broke out into
a tirade against the whole coloured race, and
especially against fugitive slaves and the white
abolitionists who helped them. He was so
violent on this topic, that we had a long argument;
for I was sorry to see a native of our own
islands so blinded by prejudices, picked up
among the planters of the south. But on this
subject Mr. Gartmore would not listen to reason.

"It's too bad, sir, to defend such subversionary
principles," said he; " forgive my warmth,
captain, but you see the question lies in a
nutshell. I know niggers; you don't. What air,
they, then? Why, animated property, and
that's just about all, the ebony-coloured
possums! Senator Call never said a sensibler or
more philosophical thing than when he galvanised
the House with that definition. As for
emancipation, sir, it's robbery the most barefaced;
and if any one asks Pat Gartmore's opinion,
there it is for him."

I laughed, and changed the subject. It was
not the first time that I had found persons who
were kind and liberal in other matters,
hopelessly impracticable on this question. That
evening we took advantage of a brisk breeze,
and ran over to the American shore, anchoring
in front of Munroe. The next morning at an
early hour a boat came alongside, and two
persons asked leave to come on board. One of
them was a stern-looking man, in plain clothes,
but with policeman written on his face as plainly
as if D 42 had been embroidered on his collar;
the other, was a big bony Kentuckian, with a
fierce eye and a lowering brow that indicated
anything but good humour.

"Morrow, mister! " growled the Kentuckian,
whose homespun clothes and high riding-boots
of ill-dressed leather showed many a stain of
clay and mud, but yet half-dried; "this
gentleman's a States marshal, and I and he hev
comed on business."

"Indeed?" said I, rather nettled by the
fellow's coarse tone; "what may that business
be?"

"Let me speak, Mr. Gregg," said the officer
of justice, in a dry, but civil manner; "I told
you before I came off, that we had no complaint
against the gentleman. We only require an
answer to one or two questions, which in the
name of the law, sir, it is my duty to put."

This puzzled me, but I saw that the last
speaker, though firm, had no wish to be offensive,
and I therefore professed my willingness
to afford any needful information.

"Your name, sir?" said the marshal, pulling
out pocket-book and pencil.

"Henry Wadmore Pownall."

"Nationality, and pro-fession?"

"An Englishman, late a captain in her
Majesty's service, now a settler in Canada West."

The Kentuckian's features relaxed into a less
ferocious expression. The people of his native
State have a considerable respect for military
men, and the announcement of my social standing
seemed to mollify him.

"We needn't trouble the cap.; our bird won't
be treed here, I guess," he said, as he chucked
his cigar, now reduced to a stump, overboard.

"Wait a moment, Mr. Gregg," said the
marshal; " sir, I owe you an explanation of this.
I am here in execution of my duty to carry out
the pro-visions of the Fugitive Slave Act."

"Of the Fugitive Slave Act?" I exclaimed;
"what, in the name of all that's absurd, have
I to do with such a law or its provisions?"

"Wall, cap.," said the Kentucky man, lighting
a fresh cigar, " this is how her head lays.
A lot of pesky black varmint have made tracks
out of Tennessee, and there's more than four
thousand dollars reward to be got by the white
gentleman that claps his fist on them. They
were run, that's what they war, stampedoed and
run off by a darned skunk, whom I'll scalp if I
set eyes on his ugly face—or may I be
mosquitoed out of creation!"

The marshal here interfered, as my patience
was evaporating, and briefly informed me:
first, that a number of valuable slaves,
fourteen in all, had escaped from an estate in
Tennessee: secondly, that the Kentuckian was
Joshua Gregg, one of the most celebrated of
the professional man-hunters whose trade was
to pursue runaway negroes: thirdly, that the
present search was less for the slaves, who had
hitherto been closely concealed, than for the
man who had prompted and aided their flight.