When but three months old, the children born on the estate were given up to the care of the old women who were not able to work out of doors.  Their mothers were kept at work in the field.

It was the object of the overseer to separate me in feeling and interest as widely as possible from my suffering brethren and sisters.  I had relations among the field hands, and used to call them my cousins.  He forbid my doing so; and told me if I acknowledged relationship with any of the hands I should be flogged for it.  He used to speak of them as devils and hell-hounds, and ridicule them in every possible way; and endeavoured to make me speak of them and regard them in the same manner.  He would tell long stories about hunting and shooting “runaway niggers,” and detail with great apparent satisfaction the cruel and horrid punishments which he had inflicted.  One thing he said troubled him.  He had once whipped a slave so severely that he died in consequence of it, and it was soon after ascertained that he was wholly innocent of the offence charged against him.  That slave, he said, had haunted him ever since.

Soon after we commenced weeding our cotton, some of the hands who were threatened with a whipping for not finishing their tasks, ran away.  The overseer and myself went out after them, taking with us five bloodhounds, which were kept on the Estate for the sole purpose of catching runaways.  There were no other hounds in the vicinity, and the overseers of the neighboring plantations used to borrow them to hunt their runaways.  A Mr. Crop, who lived about ten miles distant, had two packs, and made it his sole business to catch slaves with them.  We used to set the dogs upon the track of the fugitives, and they would follow them until, to save themselves from being torn in pieces, they would climb into a tree, where the dogs kept them until we came up and secured them.

These hounds, when young, are taught to run after the negro boys; and being always kept confined except when let out in pursuit of runaways, they seldom fail of overtaking the fugitive, and seem to enjoy the sport of hunting men as much as other dogs do that of chasing a fox or a deer.  My master gave a large sum for his five dogs,—­a slut and her four puppies.

While going over our cotton picking for the last time, one of our hands named Little John, ran away.  The next evening the dogs were started on his track.  We followed them awhile, until we knew by their ceasing to bark that they had found him.  We soon met the dogs returning.  Their jaws, heads, and feet, were bloody.  The overseer looked at them and said, “he was afraid the dogs had killed the nigger.”  It being dark, we could not find him that night.  Early the next morning, we started off with our neighbors, Sturtivant and Flincher; and after searching about for some time, we found the body of Little John lying in the midst of a thicket of cane.  It was nearly naked, and dreadfully mangled