"Man's inhumanity to man, makes countless thousands mourn." This
poetic sentiment cannot find a more appropriate application, than in
the case which I am going to relate. Plumley was one of that class of
human beings, on whom nature had not been profusely lavish of her
endowments, and he was, consequently, a fit tool for the master
spirits of iniquity to practice upon. Only tell Plumley to do any
thing, good or bad, right or wrong, it made no difference, and he
would promptly obey, entirely reckless of the consequence; and hence
it came to pass, that he had very often to suffer for the guilt of
others.
These sufferings which were always severe, and sometimes extremely
cruel, began finally to undermine his iron constitution, and open the
way for disease. The last complaint he made was of pain and swelling
of the left breast, accompanied with inflammation. He applied very
frequently to the keeper and to the physician for medicine, and
particularly, for a change or suspension of his employment, but to no
purpose. Some medicinal drops were given him from time to time, but he
could obtain no mercy in respect to his daily task. It was to no
effect that he exhibited the _occular demonstration_ of his infirmity;
his swollen and inflamed breast and side were considered no evidence
of inability, and he was informed that he must either do his task or
be _punished_.
Thus doomed to unpitied suffering, he made a virtue of necessity, and
bore up under his calamity as well as he could, toiling all day, and
writhing in keen distress all night, till death, more merciful than
his keepers, kindly removed him from the power of their anger. Up to
the last moment of his life, the full amount of labor was demanded of
him; and he had been from his own work but a few hours, when the pulse
of life stopped, and put an end to his misery.
After death his body was dissected and the most unequivocal
indications of disease were discovered, both internally and
externally,--but no _remorse_ was discovered in his _oppressors_. His
life was considered of no more account than that of a dog, and his
memory was thrown into the grave with his _mangled_ body. No tear of
pity was dropped at his funeral--no "heart warmed with the glow of
humanity"--but the "dust went to the dust as it was," without the
least kindred sympathy in a single bosom, "and the soul to the God who
gave it," to meet its tormentors in the great and terrible day of the
Lord.