Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, was totally deficient in energy.  She had not strength to superintend her household affairs; but her nerves were so strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a woman whipped, till the blood trickled from every stroke of the lash.  She was a member of the church; but partaking of the Lord’s supper did not seem to put her in a Christian frame of mind.  If dinner was not served at the exact time on that particular Sunday, she would station herself in the kitchen, and wait till it was dished, and then spit in all the kettles and pans that had been used for cooking.  She did this to prevent the cook and her children from eking out their meagre fare with the remains of the gravy and other scrapings.  The slaves could get nothing to eat except what she chose to give them.  Provisions were weighed out by the pound and ounce, three times a day.  I can assure you she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour barrel.  She knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make, and exactly what size they ought to be.

Dr. Flint was an epicure.  The cook never sent a dinner to his table without fear and trembling; for if there happened to be a dish not to his liking, he would either order her to be whipped, or compel her to eat every mouthful of it in his presence.  The poor, hungry creature might not have objected to eating it; but she did not object to having her master cram it down her throat till she choked.

They had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house.  The cook was ordered to make some Indian mush for him.  He refused to eat, and when his head was held over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the basin.  He died a few minutes after.  When Dr. Flint came in, he said the mush had not been well cooked, and that was the reason the animal would not eat it.  He sent for the cook, and compelled her to eat it.  He thought that the woman’s stomach was stronger than the dog’s; but her sufferings afterwards proved that he was mistaken.  This poor woman endured many cruelties from her master and mistress; sometimes she was locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a whole day and night.

When I had been in the family a few weeks, one of the plantation slaves was brought to town, by order of his master.  It was near night when he arrived, and Dr. Flint ordered him to be taken to the work house, and tied up to the joist, so that his feet would just escape the ground.  In that situation he was to wait till the doctor had taken his tea.  I shall never forget that night.  Never before, in my life, had I heard hundreds of blows fall; in succession, on a human being.  His piteous groans, and his “O, pray don’t, massa,” rang in my ear for months afterwards.  There were many conjectures as to the cause of this terrible punishment.  Some said master accused him of stealing corn; others said the slave had quarrelled with his wife, in presence of the overseer, and had accused his master of being the father of her child.  They were both black, and the child was very fair.