"I'll settle scores with them in a way they
won't like. To capture the yacht was bad
enough, but to maul your honour so! But here,
sir, is a letter the villain bid me hand you, when
he got over to the Canada side, and untied Eli
and me, after the most of the niggers was in
the boats."
The letter was short:

"A thousand excuses, my dear Pownall, for
the liberty we have taken with your handsome
yacht. Necessity, you know, has no law. Our
dark-skinned friends desire me to thank you for
helping them out of the clutches of the Columbian
eagle, and the whole matter would be mere
food for laughter, but for the unlucky blow you
were foolhardy enough to strike the professor.
That nearly turned the farce into a tragedy, for
it was all we could do, to prevent our peppery
friend from washing out the affront in blood.
We were chased, but the Constellation's heels,
quicker than greased lightning, saved our bacon.
Should we never meet again, which, alas!
is probable, I will give you one parting word of
advice in return for your hospitality: Be a little
less confiding—what you English call 'green'
—another time.

"Gratefully yours,

"P. G."

"And now, my dear sir, allow me to tell you,
briefly as may be, the rest of the story," said
the doctor; "this Mr. Gartmore, alias Daniel
Holt, is about the most famous of the paid
agents of the Underground Railway, as they
call the active part of the society. He had aided
the escape of a number of slaves from Tennessee
—eight men, five women, and several children
—and, with much trouble, the party was lodged
at Hunter's Cove, to await means of transport
to Canada and freedom. Besides these,
the society had charge of a very beautiful
Quadroon girl, Cornelia Rashleigh, from Mobile.
Hers was a story you may have often heard in
America. It is sufficient to know that she was
the petted child of an old planter, who neglected
to set her free; that, at his death, she was
claimed as property by his heirs; that she was
menaced with sale, slavery, and shame; and that
her only hope was in flight to our free country.
She was, as you have guessed, probably, the
fictitious Mrs. Kinder, and to her you probably
owe your life; for I understand that the sham
professor, whose name is Hiram Leech, is a
ferocious ruffian."

The doctor went on to tell me that the fugitive
Quadroon girl had been long concealed in
Buffalo, in the house of an elderly Quaker lady,
who had braved the mob and the law, to shelter
the helpless creature. She had been disguised,
so as to pass for Kinder's wife, and, on landing
at Dover, would be received into a family of
zealous abolitionists, who would procure her friends
and employment, at Toronto or Montreal. The
plot to secure the yacht had been contrived by
my first guest, who had sought my acquaintance
for that very end and aim. The negroes, with
two whites to aid them, had easily mastered
my crew, and Gartmore was quite competent
to manage the schooner in the run for Canada.
But, in some manner, the doctor added, the
scheme had leaked out. A sloop, with two
carronades, and a number of armed men on
board, headed by Joshua Hudson, and backed
by a marshal and a warrant, had arrived at
Hunter's Cove, in time to give chase to the
schooner, and to riddle her mainsail with shot.
Luckily, no one was hurt, and the yacht far
outstripped her pursuers, landing her human
freight in safety.

"The conduct of Holt and Leech is indefensible,"
said the doctor, "but what can you
expect? The society must work with such tools
as can be got; the work to be done is desperate;
and these paid agents, who care for nothing but
profit, are not overburdened with scruples. To
do Holt justice, I have heard that he was
sincerely sorry that you should have sustained
bodily hurt."

"I am very much obliged to him," said I.

A few days later, a Yankee speculator from
Buffalo paid me a visit.

"Mister," said he, "I've come to trade with
you for the schooner. She ain't no manner of
use to you no more, she ain't."

"How so?" I asked, rather tartly.

"Captain," said the man, "the bhoys won't
believe that rigmarole about a forcible seizure.
They swear it was a planned thing, out of
jealousy of our glorious institutions. And when
the sloop come back, beat, from the pursuit,
you never heerd such a row as there war in
Buffalo. The people burned you in effigy, they did
—meanin' no offence—and swore great guns
they'd do it in real, next time you showed
yourself, after jaunting off them darkies. As for the
yacht, they'll burn her, they will. Now, cap.,
be advised. Yacht work won't be no fun, now
you can't land on our shores—and you can't,
sure as coons climb! So just trade her to me,
and I'll send her on by the canal, and swop her
to Brooklyn."

I was sick of my bargain, and tired of aquatics,
as the Yankee probably guessed. He bought
the famous yacht Constellation for about a
hundred dollars, and there the matter ended.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S NEW READINGS
On Wednesday Afternoon, May 7th, at ST. JAMES'S HALL,
Piccadilly, at 3 o'clock precisely,
And on Wednesday Afternoon, May 21st, at 3,
Mr. CHARLES DICKENS will read his
DAVID COPPERFIELD.
These are the only TWO AFTERNOON READINGS that can
possibly take place.