to whip his own negro.  We noticed the universal carrying of this whip, when we first visited Macon, some four years ago, and were curious to know its purport, which was elucidated by a friend; but we have since seen the practical demonstrations painfully carried out.  Those who visited Boston for the recovery of Crafts and Ellen—­whose mode of escape is a romance in itself—­were specimens of these “marshals.”  How they passed themselves off for gentlemen, we are at a loss to comprehend.

During the day, the Messrs. Dusenberry and Dunn may be seen at times watching about the wharves, and again in low grog-shops—­then pimping about the “Dutch beer-shops and corner-shops”—­picking up, here and there, a hopeful-looking nigger, whom they drag off to limbo, or extort a bribe to let him go.  Again, they act as monitors over the Dutch corner-shops, the keepers of which pay them large sums to save themselves the heavy license fine and the information docket.  When they are no longer able to pay over hush-money, they find themselves walked up to the captain’s office, to be dealt with according to the severe penalty made and provided for violating the law which prohibits the sale of liquor to negroes without an order.  The failure to observe this law is visited with fine and imprisonment,—­both beyond their proportionate deserts, when the law which governs the sale of liquor to white men is considered.  Things are very strictly regulated by complexions in South Carolina.  The master sets the most dissipated and immoral examples in his own person, and allows his children not only to exercise their youthful caprices, but to gratify such feelings as are pernicious to their moral welfare, upon his slaves.  Now, the question is, that knowing the negro’s power of imitation, ought not some allowance to be made for copying the errors of his master?  Yet such is not the case; for the slightest deviation from the strictest rule of discipline brings condign punishment upon the head of the offender.

CHAPTER V.

Mr. Grimshaw, the man of the county.

On the 22d of March last, about ten o’clock in the morning, a thin, spare-looking man, dressed in a black cashmeret suit, swallow-tail coat, loose-cut pants, a straight-breasted vest, with a very extravagant shirt-collar rolling over upon his coat, with a black ribbon tied at the throat, stood at the east corner of Broad and Meeting street, holding a very excited conversation with officers Dusenberry and Dunn.  His visage was long, very dark—­much more so than many of the colored population—­with pointed nose and chin, standing in grim advance to each other; his face narrow, with high cheek-bones, small, peering eyes, contracted forehead, reclining with a sunken arch between the perceptive and intellectual organs—­or, perhaps, we might have said, where those organs should have been.  His countenance