bid him throw down his hoe and come forward. The undaunted slave refused
to comply, and continuing his work told the drunken demon to shoot if he
pleased. Huckstep advanced within a few steps of him when Harry raised
his hoe and told him to stand back. He stepped back a few paces, leveled
his gun and fired. Harry received the charge in his breast, and fell
instantly across a cotton row. He threw up his hands wildly, and
groaned, "Oh, Lord!"

The hands instantly dropped their hoes. The women shrieked aloud. For my
own part I stood silent with horror. The cries of the women enraged the
overseer, he dropped his gun, and snatching the whip from my hand, with
horrid oaths, and imprecations fell to whipping them, laying about him
like a maniac. Upon Harry's sister he bestowed his blows without mercy,
commanding her to quit her screaming and go to work. The poor girl,
whose brother had thus been murdered before her eyes, could not wrestle
down the awful agony of her feelings, and the brutal tormentor left her
without effecting his object. He then, without going to look of his
victim, told four of the hands to carry him to the house, and taking up
his gun left the field. When we got to the poor fellow, he was alive,
and groaning faintly. The hands took him up, but before they reached the
house he was dead. Huckstep came out, and looked at him, and finding him
dead, ordered the hands to bury him. The burial of a slave in Alabama is
that of a brute. No coffin--no decent shroud--no prayer. A hole is dug,
and the body (sometimes enclosed in a rude box,) is thrown in without
further ceremony.

From this time the overseer was regarded by the whole gang with
detestation and fear--as a being to whose rage and cruelty there were no
limits. Yet he was constantly telling us that he was the kindest of
overseers--that he was formerly somewhat severe in managing his hands,