第7章 Chapter II.(3)
In the course of an hour or more after my return fromthe kitchen， I was conscious of some one entering myroom. There seemed to be several—a mingling of variousvoices，—but how many， or who they were， I cannot tell.
Whether Brown and Hamilton were among them， is amere matter of conjecture. I only remember， with anydegree of distinctness， that I was told it was necessary to go to a physician and procure medicine， and that pullingon my boots， without coat or hat， I followed them througha long passage-way， or alley， into the open street. It ranout at right angles from Pennsylvania Avenue. On theopposite side there was a light burning in a window. Myimpression is there were then three persons with me， butit is altogether indefinite and vague， and like the memoryof a painful dream. Going towards the light， which Iimagined proceeded from a physician’s office， and whichseemed to recede as I advanced， is the last glimmeringrecollection I can now recall. From that moment I wasinsensible. How long I remained in that condition—whether only that night， or many days and nights— Ido not know； but when consciousness returned， I foundmyself alone， in utter darkness， and in chains.
The pain in my head had subsided in a measure，but I was very faint and weak. I was sitting upon a lowbench， made of rough boards， and without coat or hat. Iwas hand-cuffed. Around my ankles also were a pair ofheavy fetters. One end of a chain was fastened to a largering in the floor， the other to the fetters on my ankles. Itried in vain to stand upon my feet. Waking from sucha painful trance， it was some time before I could collectmy thoughts. Where was I？ What was the meaning ofthese chains？ Where were Brown and Hamilton？ Whathad I done to deserve imprisonment in such a dungeon？
I could not comprehend. There was a blank of someindefinite period， preceding my awakening in that lonely place， the events of which the utmost stretch of memorywas unable to recall. I listened intently for some sign orsound of life， but nothing broke the oppressive silence，save the clinking of my chains， whenever I chanced tomove. I spoke aloud， but the sound of my voice startledme. I felt of my pockets， so far as the fetters wouldallow—far enough， indeed， to ascertain that I had notonly been robbed of liberty， but that my money and freepapers were also gone！ Then did the idea begin to breakupon my mind， at first dim and confused， that I had beenkidnapped. But that I thought was incredible. There musthave been some misapprehension—some unfortunatemistake. It could not be that a free citizen of New York，who had wronged no man， nor violated any law， shouldbe dealt with thus inhumanly. The more I contemplatedmy situation， however， the more I became confirmedin my suspicions. It was a desolate thought， indeed. Ifelt there was no trust or mercy in unfeeling man； andcommending myself to the God of the oppressed， bowedmy head upon my fettered hands， and wept most bitterly.