but there were the same walks her feet had so often pressed,
and the same trees which had so often shaded her as she passed
through the garden at the back of the house. Old remembrances
rushed upon her memory and caused her to shed tears freely.
Isabella was now in her native town, and near her daughter;
but how could she communicate with her? how could she see her?
To have made herself known would have been a suicidal act;
betrayal would have followed, and she arrested. Three days passed away,
and still she remained in the hotel at which she had first put up,
and yet she got no tidings of her child.

Unfortunately for Isabella, a disturbance had just broken
out among the slave population in the State of Virginia,
and all strangers were treated with suspicion.

The insurrection to which we now refer was headed by a full-blooded negro,
who had been born and brought up a slave. He had heard the crack of the
driver's whip, and seen the warm blood streaming from the negro's body.
He had witnessed the separation of parents from children, and was
made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave could expect no justice
from the hands of the slave-owner. The name of this man was Nat Turner.
He was a preacher amongst the negroes, distinguished for his eloquence,
respected by the whites, loved and venerated by the negroes.
On the discovery of the plan for the outbreak, Turner fled to the swamps,
followed by those who had joined in the insurrection.

Here the revolted negroes numbered some hundreds, and for a
time bade defiance to their oppressors. The Dismal Swamps
cover many thousand acres of wild land, and a dense forest,
with wild animals and insects such as are unknown in any