Of the cruelties, in whipping, beating and murdering slaves, it has
never been told nor described worse than is practised; and I have been
told by overseers on plantations themselves, of what is _necessary_
in the discipline of a set of hands, first to _subdue_ them, and
then to _keep them in subjection_. The first exhibition I had of
slavery, was at Louisville in Kentucky, in the fall of 1837, and I
shall never forget the nature of the scene before me; for it was the
first time that this singular phenomenon was presented to my view,
that in this land of _freedom_, where _liberty_ was engraven upon the
escutcheon of every shield, and yet, not a stone upon the earth,
but what was pressed by the bondsman’s foot; nor an inch of soil,
but what was watered by tears, and the sweat of his brow, and whose
very flesh too was torn and reeking from the chains and lash of the
inhuman task-master. And who is doing all this? was the enquiry. It
is KENTUCKY--the noble, proud and chivalrous _Kentucky_; whose sires
and sons, on the battle fields of the revolution, poured out their
blood like water, and when expiring in their last struggle, while
their voice ceased in whispers, would breathe out the magic words,
“LIBERTY or DEATH.” And it was thus with Kentucky, on the bloody fields
of the second revolution. And on that day, her sons were in arms,
struggling for their country’s rights and the extension of _American_
Freedom. And here was this singular phenomenon before me, of a proud
and chivalrous people, offering up their oblations upon the altar of
FREEDOM, and bearing in one hand the standard of LIBERTY, while in
the other were forged chains for the bondman’s limbs, and the scourge
for his back, and whose groans and shrieks were borne off upon the
same breeze with their own shouts of LIBERTY or DEATH!! And this is
no sketch of scenes drawn out with vivid colors of fancy; for it was
stern living reality, and human language conveys no impressions and has
not power to embellish them with ideal matter, for there was before
me at almost every corner of the streets, that proud emblem of our
nation’s greatness. It was the STARS and STRIPES calling upon the sons
of Kentucky to again rally in defence of their country’s honor. And
yet beneath the ample folds of this cherished emblem of FREEDOM were
passing almost every moment the native born citizens of this proud
State, driven to their daily task from the fear of the scourge and the
lash. And more than that did I witness on a steamboat where was thrown
out to the breeze our nation’s Flag, significant that the sons of
Kentucky, her soldiers in arms, were there marching to and fro upon her
deck and hurrying down to the plains of Mexico, to the field of battle
and strife; while below them on the same boat, confined in chains like
a pen of cattle, were their own _brothers_, upwards of an hundred
citizens of this proud land, who were being dragged down to that bourne
from whence none ever return--the great charnel house of American
slavery, the low land and swamps of the Mississippi Valley. The next
scene of interest that I saw was on a plantation a few miles above
the city of New Orleans. I passed into the negro yard and the first
slave I met was grinding corn with a double hand-mill like a common
coffee-grinder. He was chained to a post and was literally naked. A
plank lay within reach of his chain, the _soft_ side of which was his
bed. His punishment was for running away, and he had been confined
there to his mill seven weeks. In passing along to a shop, I found two
negroes working at blacksmithing. Both were chained to the block, and
were hampered with rings and chains on their legs. One of these was
a heavy stout mulatto man, and on his right ancle was a ring of iron
weighing from six to eight pounds. On the same leg near the knee was
another ring weighing from four to six pounds, and a chain fastened
from one ring to the other, making at least on this leg sixteen pounds
of iron. The rings had worn and irritated the leg, and they were almost
completely imbedded in the swollen flesh. From the knee to the top of
the foot was one continued putrid running sore; and without exception
the most loathsome and forbidding exhibition I ever witnessed. And yet
he was at work preparing the heavy irons for a sugar mill. I asked
him what he had those chains on for? He replied; “I run away, and by
G--d I will again when I get these off and am well.” He had worn them
eight weeks. The rings and chain on the other negro were not as large,
nor was he much mutilated by them. The first was a noble fine looking
mulatto man, with large head and prominent reflective faculties, and
evidently with much force of character--presenting nothing of the
African blood, except in the shade of his skin. He informed me that he
came from Kentucky, and had been on the plantation seven years, and in
that time he had seen the drivers kill eighteen boys. All slave men are
called boys. Whether this was true or not, I had no other testimony
except the circumstantial evidence which was around me on all sides,
and I am sure this was sufficient to convince any one that an effort
was being made to kill at least four more. In passing towards the sugar
field, I found a negro setting on a block. A physician from Mobile, who
was with me, spoke to him, and as he raised his head a swarm of flies
started off, and looking on the right side of his head above the ear, I
discovered the hair full of maggots, and the whole side was one mass of
putrid matter. The skull was evidently broken in, as the matter which
was running out indicated diseased bone. How he came in this condition
I know not, yet the same effect would be produced by striking him with
a heavy bludgeon or club. He was perfectly unconscious, and did not
answer a question intelligibly, as he was insane. After this scene I
was perfectly convinced that the negro in the shop had told the truth,
that “eighteen boys had been killed on that plantation within seven
years.”
And here I am aware that I shall be met with the usual reply--“that
such acts as killing slaves are _improbable_, for it is so decidedly
against the interest of the planter to allow his property to be
destroyed in this manner.” I have myself before I learned to the
contrary made the same reply; and yet one thing is sure, the reply does
not make or prove these things false; and of their truth, I have the
testimony of a large portion of the passengers, gentlemen and ladies,
on the steamer “Allen Glover,” on her first trip down to New Orleans,
in November, 1837. And I repeat that these cruelties are not isolated
cases; for men and women are whipped to death, and murdered by inches,
and shot down, as a common occurrence in the more Southern States. In
proof of this, I was told, on a plantation about twelve miles below
the city of New Orleans, by the overseer, that but very few plantations
passed more than three or four years without having a slave killed by
the driver. He said the season before the driver on this plantation
killed the best boy they had. He was beating and kicking the boy,
and finally the negro knocked him down. The driver rose up and shot
him through the heart. He was a spirited boy from Kentucky, about
twenty-three years old, and had been often beaten by the driver for
the most trivial thing, and often without the least provocation. And
he had borne the goads of the lash so long that his proud spirit broke
loose in the fatal blow which he knew would send him to his grave in an
instant. And while telling me this, the overseer pointed to the second
plantation below, and said the driver about two months before killed a
boy by shooting him. When these occurrences take place they are seldom
known beyond the limits of the plantation; for it is _lawful_ to kill a
negro if he raises his hand against a white man; and I can assure you
that few ever make the attempt without being instantly killed.