In a few days we reached New Orleans, and arriving there in the
night, remained on board until morning. While at New Orleans this time,
I saw a slave killed; an account of which has been published by Theodore
D. Weld, in his book entitled, "Slavery as it is." The circumstances
were as follows. In the evening, between seven and eight o'clock, a
slave came running down the levee, followed by several men and boys. The
whites were crying out, "Stop that nigger; stop that nigger;" while the
poor panting slave, in almost breathless accents, was repeating, "I did
not steal the meat--I did not steal the meat." The poor man at last took
refuge in the river. The whites who were in pursuit of him, run on board
of one of the boats to see if they could discover him. They finally
espied him under the bow of the steamboat Trenton. They got a pike-pole,
and tried to drive him from his hiding place. When they would strike at
him, he would dive under the water. The water was so cold, that it soon
became evident that he must come out or be drowned.
While they were trying to drive him from under the bow of the boat or
drown him, he would in broken and imploring accents say, "I did not
steal the meat; I did not steal the meat. My master lives up the river.
I want to see my master. I did not steal the meat. Do let me go home to
master." After punching him, and striking him over the head for some
time, he at last sunk in the water, to rise no more alive.
On the end of the pike-pole with which they were striking him was a hook
which caught in his clothing, and they hauled him up on the bow of the
boat. Some said he was dead, others said he was "_playing possum_" while
others kicked him to make him get up, but it was of no use--he was dead.
As soon as they became satisfied of this, they commenced leaving, one
after another. One of the hands on the boat informed the captain that
they had killed the man, and that the dead body was lying on the deck.
The captain came on deck, and said to those who were remaining, "You
have killed this nigger; now take him off of my boat." The captain's
name was Hart. The dead body was dragged on shore and left there. I went
on board of the boat where our gang of slaves were, and during the whole
night my mind was occupied with what I had seen. Early in the morning, I
went on shore to see if the dead body remained there. I found it in the
same position that it was left the night before. I watched to see what
they would do with it. It was left there until between eight and nine
o'clock, when a cart, which takes up the trash out of the streets, came
along, and the body was thrown in, and in a few minutes more was covered
over with dirt which they were removing from the streets. During the
whole time, I did not see more than six or seven persons around it, who,
from their manner, evidently regarded it as no uncommon occurrence.
During our stay in the city, I met with a young white man with whom I
was well acquainted in St. Louis. He had been sold into slavery, under
the following circumstances. His father was a drunkard, and very poor,
with a family of five or six children. The father died, and left the
mother to take care of and provide for the children as best she might.
The eldest was a boy, named Burrill, about thirteen years of age, who
did chores in a store kept by Mr. Riley, to assist his mother in
procuring a living for the family. After working with him two years, Mr.
Riley took him to New Orleans to wait on him while in that city on a
visit, and when he returned to St. Louis, he told the mother of the boy
that he had died with the yellow fever. Nothing more was heard from him,
no one supposing him to be alive. I was much astonished when Burrill
told me his story. Though I sympathized with him, I could not assist
him. We were both slaves. He was poor, uneducated, and without friends;
and if living, is, I presume, still held as a slave.
After selling out this cargo of human flesh, we returned to St. Louis,
and my time was up with Mr. Walker. I had served him one year, and it
was the longest year I ever lived.