At Fredericksburgh we were transferred from the stagecoach to a car， and before dark arrived in Richmond，the chief city of Virginia. At this city we were taken fromthe cars， and driven through the street to a slave pen，between the railroad depot and the river， kept by a Mr.
Goodin. This pen is similar to Williams’ in Washington，except it is somewhat larger； and besides， there weretwo small houses standing at opposite corners withinthe yard. These houses are usually found within slaveyards， being used as rooms for the examination of humanchattels by purchasers before concluding a bargain.
Unsoundness in a slave， as well as in a horse， detractsmaterially from his value. If no warranty is given， a closeexamination is a matter of particular importance to thenegro jockey.
We were met at the door of Goodin’s yard by thatgentleman himself—a short， fat man， with a round， plumpface， black hair and whiskers， and a complexion almostas dark as some of his own negroes. He had a hard， sternlook， and was perhaps about fifty years of age. Burchand he met with great cordiality. They were evidently oldfriends. Shaking each other warmly by the hand， Burchremarked he had brought some company， inquired atwhat time the brig would leave， and was answered thatit would probably leave the next day at such an hour.
Goodin then turned to me， took hold of my arm， turnedme partly round， looked at me sharply with the air of onewho considered himself a good judge of property， and as ifestimating in his own mind about how much I was worth.
“Well， boy， where did you come from？”
Forgetting myself， for a moment， I answered， “FromNew-York.”
“New-York！ H—l！ what have you been doing up there？”
was his astonished interrogatory.
Observing Burch at this moment looking at me withan angry expression that conveyed a meaning it was notdifficult to understand， I immediately said， “O， I haveonly been up that way a piece，” in a manner intendedto imply that although I might have been as far as New-York， yet I wished it distinctly understood that I did notbelong to that free State， nor to any other.
Goodin then turned to Clem， and then to Eliza andthe children， examining them severally， and askingvarious questions. He was pleased with Emily， as wasevery one who saw the child’s sweet countenance. Shewas not as tidy as when I first beheld her； her hair wasnow somewhat disheveled； but through its unkemptand soft profusion there still beamed a little face ofmost surpassing loveliness. “Altogether we were a fairlot—a devilish good lot，” he said， enforcing that opinionwith more than one emphatic adjective not found in theChristian vocabulary. Thereupon we passed into the yard.
Quite a number of slaves， as many as thirty I should say，were moving about， or sitting on benches under the shed.
They were all cleanly dressed—the men with hats， thewomen with handkerchiefs tied about their heads.
Burch and Goodin， after separating from us， walkedup the steps at the back part of the main building， and satdown upon the door sill. They entered into conversation，but the subject of it I could not hear. Presently Burchcame down into the yard， unfettered me， and led me intoone of the small houses.
“You told that man you came from New-York，” said he.
I replied， “I told him I had been up as far as New-York，to be sure， but did not tell him I belonged there， nor thatI was a freeman. I meant no harm at all， Master Burch. Iwould not have said it had I thought.”
He looked at me a moment as if he was ready to devourme， then turning round went out. In a few minutes hereturned. “If ever I hear you say a word about New-York，or about your freedom， I will be the death of you—I willkill you； you may rely on that，” he ejaculated fiercely.
I doubt not he understood then better than I did， thedanger and the penalty of selling a free man into slavery.
He felt the necessity of closing my mouth against thecrime he knew he was committing. Of course， my lifewould not have weighed a feather， in any emergencyrequiring such a sacrifice. Undoubtedly， he meantprecisely what he said.
Under the shed on one side of the yard， there wasconstructed a rough table， while overhead were sleeping lofts—the same as in the pen at Washington. Afterpartaking at this table of our supper of pork and bread，I was hand-cuffed to a large yellow man， quite stoutand fleshy， with a countenance expressive of the utmostmelancholy. He was a man of intelligence and information.
