There had been one other man, belonging to Mr.Hugh Hamilton, who could read (his name was "Jim"), but he, poor fellow, had, shortly after my coming into the neighborhood, been sold off to the far south.

I saw Jim ironed, in the cart, to be carried to Easton for sale--pinioned like a yearling for the slaughter.

My knowledge was now the pride of my brother slaves; and, no doubt, Sandy felt something of the general interest in me on that account.

The supper was soon ready, and though I have feasted since, with honorables, lord mayors and aldermen, over the sea, my supper on ash cake and cold water, with Sandy, was the meal, of all my life, most sweet to my taste, and now most vivid in my memory.
Supper over, Sandy and I went into a discussion of what was _possible_ for me, under the perils and hardships which now overshadowed my path.
The question was, must I go back to Covey, or must I now tempt to run away?
Upon a careful survey, the latter was found to be impossible; for I was on a narrow neck of land,{184} every avenue from which would bring me in sight of pursuers.

There was the Chesapeake bay to the right, and "Pot-pie" river to the left, and St.Michael's and its neighborhood occupying the only space through which there was any retreat.
I found Sandy an old advisor.