“Oh, pray let us have them in—­I wish to see them, and should be sorry to be the cause of their being disappointed.”

“Open the door, Boy Jack.”  As soon as it was open, about twenty black children, from seven to three years old, most of them naked, with their ivory skins like a polished table, and quite pot-bellied from good living, tumbled into the room, to the great amusement of Newton and the party.  They were followed by seven or eight more, who were not yet old enough to walk; but they crawled upon all-fours almost as fast as the others who could walk erect after the image of their Maker.

The company amused themselves with distributing to the children the contents of the dishes on the table—­the elder ones nestling alongside of the planter and his friends with the greatest familiarity, while the younger sat upright on the floor, laughing as they devoured their respective portions.

“Of course, these are all slaves?” observed Mr Berecroft.

“Yes, bred them all myself,” replied the planter; “indeed, out of two hundred and fifteen which I have on the estate, I think that there are not more that twelve who were not born on this property, during my father’s time or mine.  Perhaps, as breakfast is over, you will like to inspect my nursery.”

The planter led the way into the yard from which the children had entered.  It was a square, of about two roods of ground, three sides of which were enclosed by rows of small houses, of two rooms each; and most of them were occupied by female slaves, either nursing children at the breast, or expecting very soon to have that duty to perform.  They received their master with a smiling face, as he addressed a question to each of them when he entered their abode.

“Now these are all my breeding women; they do no work, only take care of the children, who remain here until they are eight or nine years old.  We have a surgeon on the estate, who attends them as well as the other slaves when they are sick.  Now, if you feel inclined, we will go round the works.”

The old planter, in a few minutes’ walk, brought them to an extensive row of detached cottages, each centred in a piece of garden-ground, well stocked with yams, sweet potatoes, bananas, and other tropical productions.  Poultry of all descriptions were scattered in profusion about the place, and pigs appeared to be abundant.

“Now, captain, these are the cottages of the working slaves.  The garden-ground is allowed to them; and whatever they can make by its produce, or by their pigs and their poultry, is all their own.”

“But how are they subsisted?”

“By rations, as regularly served out as yours are on board of your vessel, and they have as much as they can consume.”

“Are they all single men?”

“No, mostly married to slave girls on the estate:  their wives live with them, unless they breed, and then they are removed up to the nurseries.”