of endurance.  Slavery was an old world’s crime which, I have heard, the Indians never practiced among themselves.  Perhaps it would have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them in bondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they could hide in the vastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, than it was for white men to visit the coasts of Africa and, with their superior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across the ocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall of dense ignorance.”

“I remember,” said Robert, “in reading a history I once came across at our house, that when the Africans first came to this country they did not all speak one language.  Some had only met as mutual enemies.  They were not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow to deep black.”

“Yes,” said Captain Sybil, “and in dealing with the negro we wanted his labor; in dealing with the Indian we wanted his lands.  For one we had weapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, the coercion of force, and the terror of the unseen world.”

“That’s exactly so, Captain!  When I was a boy I used to hear the old folks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about the devil pouring hot lead down people’s throats and stirring them up with a pitch-fork; and I used to get so scared that I would be afraid to go to bed at night.  I don’t suppose the Indians ever heard of such things, or, if they had, I never heard of them being willing to give away all their lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven.”

“But, surely, Robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.  But a man is in a tight fix when he takes his part, like Nat Turner or Denmark Veasy, and is made to fear that he will be hanged in this world and be burned in the next.  And, since I come to think of it, we colored folks used to get mightily mixed up about our religion.  Mr. Gundover had on his plantation a real smart man.  He was religious, but he would steal.”

“Oh, Robert,” queried Sybil, “how could he be religious and steal?”

“He didn’t think,” retorted Robert, “it was any harm to steal from his master.  I guess he thought it was right to get from his master all he could.  He would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow-servants.  He thought that downright mean, but I wouldn’t have insured the lives of Gundover’s pigs and chickens, if Uncle Jack got them in a tight place.  One day there was a minister stopping with Mr. Gundover.  As a matter of course, in speaking of his servants, he gave Jack’s sins an airing.  He would much rather confess Jack’s sins than his own.  Now Gundover wanted to do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save Jack’s soul.  He told the minister that Jack was a liar and a thief, and gave the minister a chance to talk with Uncle Jack about the state of his soul.  Uncle Jack listened