Clotel, William Wells Brown [i like reading books .txt] 📗

heathen of other lands, and the parson began to expatiate upon his own efforts in foreign missions, when his daughter, with a childlike simplicity, said,

Send Bibles to the heathen;
On every distant shore,
From light that’s beaming o’er us,
Let streams increasing pour
But keep it from the millions
Down-trodden at our door.

Send Bibles to the heathen,
Their famished spirits feed;
Oh! haste, and join your efforts,
The priceless gift to speed;
Then flog the trembling negro
If he should learn to read.

“I saw a curiosity while at Mr. Jones’s that I shall not forget soon,” said Carlton.

“What was it?” inquired the parson.

“A kennel of bloodhounds; and such dogs I never saw before. They were of a species between the bloodhound and the foxhound, and were ferocious, gaunt, and savage-looking animals. They were part of a stock imported from Cuba, he informed me. They were kept in an iron cage, and fed on Indian corn bread. This kind of food, he said, made them eager for their business. Sometimes they would give the dogs meat, but it was always after they had been chasing a negro.”

“Were those the dogs you had, papa, to hunt Harry?” asked Georgiana.

“No, my dear,” was the short reply: and the parson seemed anxious to change the conversation to something else.

When Mr. Peck had left the room, Carlton spoke more freely of what he had seen, and spoke more pointedly against slavery; for he well knew that Miss Peck sympathised with him in all he felt and said.

“You mentioned about your father hunting a slave,” said Carlton, in an undertone.

“Yes,” replied she: “papa went with some slave-catchers and a parcel of those nasty negro-dogs, to hunt poor Harry. He belonged to papa and lived on the farm. His wife lives in town, and Harry had been to see her, and did not return quite as early as he should; and Huckelby was flogging him, and he got away and came here. I wanted papa to keep him in town, so that he could see his wife more frequently; but he said they could not spare him from the farm, and flogged him again, and sent him back. The poor fellow knew that the overseer would punish him over again, and instead of going back he went into the woods.”

“Did they catch him?” asked Carlton.

“Yes,” replied she. “In chasing him through the woods, he attempted to escape by swimming across a river, and the dogs were sent in after him, and soon caught him. But Harry had great courage and fought the dogs with a big club; and papa seeing the negro would escape from the dogs, shot at him, as he says, only to wound him, that he might be caught; but the poor fellow was killed.” Overcome by relating this incident, Georgiana burst into tears.

Although Mr. Peck fed and clothed his house servants well, and treated them with a degree of kindness, he was, nevertheless, a most cruel master. He encouraged his driver to work the field-hands from early dawn till late at night; and the good appearance of the house-servants, and the preaching of Snyder to the field negroes, was to cause himself to be regarded as a Christian master. Being on a visit one day at the farm, and having with him several persons from the Free States, and wishing to make them believe that his slaves were happy, satisfied, and contented, the parson got out the whiskey and gave each one a dram, who in return had to drink the master’s health, or give a toast of some kind. The company were not a little amused at some of the sentiments given, and Peck was delighted at every indication of contentment on the part of the blacks. At last it came to Jack’s turn to drink, and the master expected something good from him, because he was considered the cleverest and most witty slave on the farm.

“Now,” said the master, as he handed Jack the cup of whiskey; “now, Jack, give us something rich. You know,” continued he, “we have raised the finest crop of cotton that’s been seen in these parts for many a day. Now give us a toast on cotton; come, Jack, give us something to laugh at.” The negro felt not a little elated at being made the hero of the occasion, and taking the whiskey in his right hand, put his left to his head and began to scratch his wool, and said,

The big bee flies high,
The little bee make the honey;
The black folks makes the cotton,
And the white folks gets the money.

XIV A Free Woman Reduced to Slavery

Althesa found in Henry Morton a kind and affectionate husband; and his efforts to purchase her mother, although unsuccessful, had doubly endeared him to her. Having from the commencement resolved not to hold slaves, or rather not to own any, they were compelled to hire servants for their own use. Five years had passed away, and their happiness was increased by two lovely daughters. Mrs. Morton was seated, one bright afternoon, busily engaged with her needle, and near her sat Salome, a servant that she had just taken into her employ. The woman was perfectly white; so much so, that Mrs. Morton had expressed her apprehensions to her husband, when the woman first came, that she was not born a slave. The mistress watched the servant, as the latter sat sewing upon some coarse work, and saw the large silent tear in her eye. This caused an uneasiness to the mistress, and she said, “Salome, don’t you like your situation here?”

“Oh yes, madam,” answered the woman in a quick tone, and then tried to force a smile.

“Why is it that you often look sad, and with tears in your eyes?” The mistress saw that she had touched a tender chord, and continued, “I am your friend; tell me your sorrow, and, if I can, I will help you.” As the last sentence was escaping the lips of the mistress, the slave woman put her check apron