No sooner said than done. In fifteen minutes I was again on the road; and travelling all night, under the skilful guidance of Sambo, following unfrequented paths, swimming creeks and rivers, and fording swamps, by morning we reached a lonely wood yard on the banks of the river, where the steamers were accustomed to stop for fuel. Before long, a boat bound to New Orleans made its appearance, and, upon a signal for that purpose, she checked her course for the moment, and sent a skiff to take me on board.
A few days after arriving in New Orleans, I read in the newspapers how the house of Mr Hooper — for that was the name of my generous host — had been attacked; how he had barricaded his doors and windows; had wrapped his infant child in a feather bed, and, not venturing to employ any of his slaves to assist him, had alone defended the house, keeping the assailants at bay for some time, and dangerously wounding one of their number; nor had he surrendered till the breaking of his arm by a musket ball had made it impossible for him any longer to load and fire. His case — as I afterwards learnt, when he was brought before the vigilance committee — had been a subject of vehement controversy; but as his connections were numerous and powerful, the comag did not dare to proceed to extremities against him.
Having written a letter of inquiry to Mr Thomas, — since the disturbed state of the country had interrupted my personal visit, — while waiting an answer, passing in one of my walks through a principal street of New Orleans, I was attracted to enter a large warehouse where a sale of slaves was going on at auction.
