pair of a deep drink of whiskey not because they loved it, but to act runaway slaves, “quaffed — like and timidity would reveal the slave for who he was. Loguen knew to freemen.” Temerity act free was to appear free. The pair for their clothes and killed bravely, “called dinner… dried time as best they for Loguen, nearly became a threat to their escape plan could.” Idle hands, a newspaper on the table, and to cover the pretence that he was a freeman, entirely. “Seeing Jarm took His illiterate eyes passed over the words and pages, to make, if he was reading it.” “as But the man knew but one letter, the aside from which he, entirely it.” capital “A”, “was ignorant of every letter of the Jarm hunted for the letter diligently in the newsprint, alphabet.” when he found it, to his deep mortification, it was wrong end The slave, posing “but upwards!” as an he had the paper He quickly thrust educated freedman, instantly, “knew bottom upwards.” the paper from his hands, sheepishly surveying the tavern to see if his ruse had been found out. His fatal mistake had not been noticed, so Jarm, took another taste of the whiskey, and “he turned to the fire firmly resolved to let newspapers alone, until he reached a land where it was — safe to handle them.” When he reached Canada, however, Jarm Logue would learn to devour the written word. At Hamilton, Canada West, on the shores of Lake Ontario, the future minister found hope and his first tastes of freedom. He later wrote to Frederick Douglass that, is a sacred and “Hamilton memorable spot to me; and I cannot slightly pass Loguen, the memory of Hamilton was it.” For a sweet balm to a seems to Loguen wrote to his fellow fugitive, fugitive’s soul. “It me,” “and ever will seem to me, a paternal home. I shall never visit it without the feelings which a child feels on returning after weary years to his in Canada West, Logue father's house.” Arriving stood full of doubt. He was, and forlorn “penniless, ragged, lonely, homeless, helpless, hungry a pitiable wanderer, without a friend, or shelter, or place to lay my The refuge he had — head.”
pair of runaway slaves, “quaffed a deep drink of whiskey — not because they loved it, but to act like freemen.” Temerity and timidity would reveal the slave for who he was. Loguen knew to act free was to appear free. The pair bravely, “called for dinner… dried their clothes and killed time as best they could.” Idle hands, for Loguen, nearly became a threat to their escape plan entirely. “Seeing a newspaper on the table, and to cover the pretence that he was a freeman, Jarm took it.” His illiterate eyes passed over the words and pages, to make, “as if he was reading it.” But the man knew but one letter, the capital “A”, aside from which he, “was entirely ignorant of every letter of the alphabet.” Jarm hunted for the letter diligently in the newsprint, “but when he found it, to his deep mortification, it was wrong end upwards!” The slave, posing as an educated freedman, instantly, “knew he had the paper bottom upwards.” He quickly thrust the paper from his hands, sheepishly surveying the tavern to see if his ruse had been found out. His fatal mistake had not been noticed, so Jarm, “he took another taste of the whiskey, and turned to the fire — firmly resolved to let newspapers alone, until he reached a land where it was safe to handle them.” When he reached Canada, however, Jarm Logue would learn to devour the written word. At Hamilton, Canada West, on the shores of Lake Ontario, the future minister found hope and his first tastes of freedom. He later wrote to Frederick Douglass that, “Hamilton is a sacred and memorable spot to me; and I cannot slightly pass it.” For Loguen, the memory of Hamilton was a sweet balm to a fugitive’s soul. “It seems to me,” Loguen wrote to his fellow fugitive, “and ever will seem to me, a paternal home. I shall never visit it without the feelings which a child feels on returning after weary years to his father's house.” Arriving in Canada West, Logue stood full of doubt. He was, “penniless, ragged, lonely, homeless, helpless, hungry and forlorn — a pitiable wanderer, without a friend, or shelter, or place to lay my head.” The refuge he had