Though we worked from morning till night, there was no satisfying Mr. D——.  I hoped, when I left Capt.  I——­, that I should have been better off, but I found it was but going from one butcher to another.  There was this difference between them:  my former master used to beat me while raging and foaming with passion; Mr. D——­ was usually quite calm.  He would stand by and give orders for a slave to be cruelly whipped, and assist in the punishment, without moving a muscle of his face; walking about and taking snuff with the greatest composure.  Nothing could touch his hard heart—­neither sighs, nor tears, nor prayers, nor streaming blood; he was deaf to our cries, and careless of our sufferings.  Mr. D——­ has often stripped me naked, hung me up by the wrists, and beat me with the cow-skin, with his own hand, till my body was raw with gashes.  Yet there was nothing very remarkable in this; for it might serve as a sample of the common usage of the slaves on that horrible island.

Owing to the boils in my feet, I was unable to wheel the barrow fast through the sand, which got into the sores, and made me stumble at every step; and my master, having no pity for my sufferings from this cause, rendered them far more intolerable, by chastising me for not being able to move so fast as he wished me.  Another of our employments was to row a little way off from the shore in a boat, and dive for large stones to build a wall round our master’s house.  This was very hard work; and the great waves breaking over us continually, made us often so giddy that we lost our footing, and were in danger of being drowned.

Ah, poor me!—­my tasks were never ended.  Sick or well, it was work—­work—­work!—­After the diving season was over, we were sent to the South Creek, with large bills, to cut up mangoes to burn lime with.  Whilst one party of slaves were thus employed, another were sent to the other side of the island to break up coral out of the sea.

When we were ill, let our complaint be what it might, the only medicine given to us was a great bowl of hot salt water, with salt mixed with it, which made us very sick.  If we could not keep up with the rest of the gang of slaves, we were put in the stocks, and severely flogged the next morning.  Yet, not the less, our master expected, after we had thus been kept from our rest, and our limbs rendered stiff and sore with ill usage, that we should still go through the ordinary tasks of the day all the same.—­Sometimes we had to work all night, measuring salt to load a vessel; or turning a machine to draw water out of the sea for the salt-making.  Then we had no sleep—­no rest—­but were forced to work as fast as we could, and go on again all next day the same as usual.  Work—­work—­work—­Oh that Turk’s Island was a horrible place!  The people in England, I am sure, have never found out what is carried on there.  Cruel, horrible place!