On the way to freedom (from "Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Harriet Beecher-Stowe)

Harriet Beecher-Stowe (1811 — 1896) was born in the family of a clergyman. She studied the conditions of slave labour on the plantations of the South as a newspaper reporter. This provided her with material to write a novel against Negroslavery, which she called "Uncle Torn's Cabin" This novel exposed the terrible fate of American Negroes and became known all over the world. At the present time it occupies an honourable place among the books devoted to the fight against racial discrimination.

One rainy afternoon a traveller stopped at the door of a small country hotel, in a village in Kentucky.
The newcomer was a short stout man, carefully dressed, with a round, good-natured face.
"What's that?" he said, noticing that some of the guests had formed a group around a large advertisement.
"Nigger advertised," said one of the group.
Mr Wilson (for that was the gentleman's name) took out his glasses and fixed them on his nose. Then he read: "Ran away my mulatto boy, George. Said George six feet in height, a very light mulatto, brown curly hair, is very intelligent, speaks handsomely, can read and write, has been branded on his right hand with the letter H.
"I will give four hundred dollars for him alive, and the same sum for reliable proof that he has been killed." The old gentleman read this advertisement from end to end, in a low voice. Then he said aloud:
"The boy described here is a fine fellow. He worked for me six years or so at my factory, and he was my best hand. He invented a good machine — a really valuable one. His master holds the patent of it."
"To be sure,", said another man in the group, "he holds it and makes money out of it and at the same time he brands the boy on his right hand. If I had a chance, I'd mark him so that he'd carry it for a long time."
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a well-dressed gentleman with a coloured servant.
The newcomer was very tall, with a dark Spanish complexion, fine expressive black eyes, and curly hair, also black.
He walked up to the bar, and gave his name as Henry Butler, Oaklands, Shelby County. Turning with an indifferent air to the advertisement, he read it through.
Mr Wilson looked at the newcomer. It seemed to him he had met the man somewhere. And then he suddenly remembered...
He stared at the stranger with such an air of surprise that the latter walked up to him.
"Mr Wilson, I think," he said in a quiet voice. "I beg your pardon. I hardly recognized you. I see you remember me — Mr Bulter of Oaklands, Shelby County."
"Ye — yes — yes, sir," said Mr Wilson, like one speaking in a dream.
"I should like to have a few moment's conversation with you on business, in private, in my room, if you please," added the newcomer.
When they entered the room upstairs, the young man locked the door, put the key into his pocket, and looked Mr Wilson straight in the face.
"George!',' said Mr Wilson.
"Yes, George," said the young man. "I am fairly well disguised, it j seems. I've dyed my hair black, so you see I don't answer to the advertisement at all."
For a few minutes Mr Wilson could not say a word. When he began to speak at last, his voice was trembling. "Well, George, I see you're running away — leaving your lawful master, George,— I think it's my duty to tell you so. I am sorry to see you in opposition to the laws of your country."
"My country!" said George with bitterness, "I have no country."
"You see, George," said Mr Wilson. "Well, I think you're running an awful risk. You should be very careful. They'll kill you if they catch you."
"See here, now, Mr Wilson," said George, coming up and sitting down in front of him: "Look at me. Don't I sit before you, just as much a man as you are? I had a father — one of your Kentucky gentlemen — who didn't think enough of me to keep me from being sold after his death with his dogs and horses. I saw my mother sold with her seven children. You, Mr Wilson, I admit, treated me well, you encouraged me to do well, and to learn to read and write, to make something of myself. But now what? Now comes my master and says I am only a nigger. And last of all he comes between me and my wife, and says I must give her up. And your laws give the white masters power to do all this.
"When I get to Canada, that will be my country, and its laws I shall obey. But if any man tries to stop me, let him take care, for I'll fight for my freedom to the last breath I breathe."
The old man looked at him with wonder in his eyes.
"Well, George," he said, "you are changed beyond recognition, and not only in appearance. You hold up your head, and speak and move like a new man."
"Because I'm a free man!" said George proudly. "Yes, sir, I've said 'Master' for the last time to any man. I'm free!"
George stood up, and held out his hand with a proud and independent air. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and made his way out of the room.