As I was traveling in the lower country in South Carolina, a number of years since, my attention was suddenly arrested by an exclamation of horror from the coachman, who called out, “Look there, Miss Sarah, don’t you see?”—­I looked in the direction he pointed, and saw a human head stuck up on a high pole.  On inquiry, I found that a runaway slave, who was outlawed, had been shot there, his head severed from his body, and put upon the public highway, as a terror to deter slaves from running away.

On a plantation in North Carolina, where I was visiting, I happened one day, in my rambles, to step into a negro cabin; my compassion was instantly called forth by the object which presented itself.  A slave, whose head was white with age, was lying in one corner of the hovel; he had under his head a few filthy rags but the boards were his only bed, it was the depth of winter, and the wind whistled through every part of the dilapidated building—­he opened his languid eyes when I spoke, and in reply to my question, “What is the matter?” He said, “I am dying of a cancer in my side.”—­As he removed the rags which covered the sore, I found that it extended half round the body, and was shockingly neglected.  I inquired if he had any nurse.  “No, missey,” was his answer, “but de people (the slaves) very kind to me, dey often steal time to run and see me and fetch me some ting to eat; if dey did not, I might starve.”  The master and mistress of this man, who had been worn out in their service, were remarkable for their intelligence, and their hospitality knew no bounds towards those who were of their own grade in society:  the master had for some time held the highest military office in North Carolina, and not long previous to the time of which I speak, was the Governor of the State.

On a plantation in South Carolina, I witnessed a similar case of suffering—­an aged woman suffering under an incurable disease in the same miserably neglected situation.  The “owner” of this slave was proverbially kind to her negroes; so much so, that the planters in the neighborhood said she spoiled them, and set a bad example, which might produce discontent among the surrounding slaves; yet I have seen this woman tremble with rage, when her slaves displeased her, and heard her use language to them which could only be expected from an inmate of Bridewell; and have known her in a gust of passion send a favorite slave to the workhouse to be severely whipped.

Another fact occurs to me.  A young woman about eighteen, stated some circumstances relative to her young master, which were thought derogatory to his character; whether true or false, I am unable to say; she was threatened with punishment, but persisted in affirming that she had only spoken the truth.  Finding her incorrigible, it was concluded to send her to the Charleston workhouse and have her whipt; she pleaded in vain for a commutation of her sentence, not so much because she dreaded the actual suffering,