Taking a prospective glance at liberty, I consented
to marry. The wedding was a great
event in the family. The ceremony took place
in the parlor, in the presence of the family and a
number of guests. Mr. Garland gave me away,
and the pastor, Bishop Hawks, performed the
ceremony, who had solemnized the bridals of Mr.
Gr. s own children. The day was a happy one,
but it faded all too soon. Mr. Keckley let me
speak kindly of his faults proved dissipated, and
a burden instead of a helpmate. More than all,
I learned that he was a slave instead of a free
man, as he represented himself to be. With the
simple explanation that I lived with him eight
years, let charity draw around him the mantle of
silence.
I went to work in earnest to purchase my
freedom, but the years passed, and I was still a
slave. Mr. Garland's family claimed so much of
my attention in fact, I supported them that I
was not able to accumulate anything. In the
mean time Mr. Garland died, and Mr. Burwell, a
Mississippi planter, came to St. Louis to settle
up the estate. He was a kind-hearted man, and
said I should be free, and would afford me every
facility to raise the necessary amount to pay the
price of my liberty. Several schemes were urged
upon me by my friends.