packs, and made it his sole business to catch slaves with them. We used
to set the dogs upon the track of the fugitives, and they would follow
them until, to save themselves from being torn in pieces, they would
climb into a tree, where the dogs kept them until we came up and
secured them.

These hounds, when young, are taught to run after the negro boys; and
being always kept confined except when let out in pursuit of runaways,
they seldom fail of overtaking the fugitive, and seem to enjoy the sport
of hunting men as much as other dogs do that of chasing a fox or a deer.
My master gave a large sum for his five dogs,--a slut and her
four puppies.

While going over our cotton picking for the last time, one of our hands
named Little John, ran away. The next evening the dogs were started on
his track. We followed them awhile, until we knew by their ceasing to
bark that they had found him. We soon met the dogs returning. Their
jaws, heads, and feet, were bloody. The overseer looked at them and
said, "he was afraid the dogs had killed the nigger." It being dark, we
could not find him that night. Early the next morning, we started off
with our neighbors, Sturtivant and Flincher; and after searching about
for some time, we found the body of Little John lying in the midst of a
thicket of cane. It was nearly naked, and dreadfully mangled and gashed
by the teeth of the dogs. They had evidently dragged it some yards
through the thicket: blood, tatters of clothes, and even the entrails of
the unfortunate man, were clinging to the stubs of the old and broken
cane. Huckstep stooped over his saddle, looked at the body, and muttered
an oath. Sturtivant swore it was no more than the fellow deserved. We
dug a hole in the cane-brake, where he lay, buried him, and
returned home.