would
never do to stop work, I nerved myself up, and staggered on until I fell
by the side of the wheat fan, feeling that the earth had fallen{174}
upon me. This brought the entire work to a dead stand. There was work
for four; each one had his part to perform, and each part depended on
the other, so that when one stopped, all were compelled to stop. Covey,
who had now become my dread, as well as my tormentor, was at the house,
about a hundred yards from where I was fanning, and instantly, upon
hearing the fan stop, he came down to the treading yard, to inquire into
the cause of our stopping. Bill Smith told him I was sick, and that I
was unable longer to bring wheat to the fan.
I had, by this time, crawled away, under the side of a post-and-rail
fence, in the shade, and was exceeding ill. The intense heat of the sun,
the heavy dust rising from the fan, the stooping, to take up the wheat
from the yard, together with the hurrying, to get through, had caused a
rush of blood to my head. In this condition, Covey finding out where I
was, came to me; and, after standing over me a while, he asked me
what the matter was. I told him as well as I could, for it was with
difficulty that I could speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the
side, which jarred my whole frame, and commanded me to get up. The man
had obtained complete control over me; and if he had commanded me to do
any possible thing, I should, in my then state of mind, have endeavored
to comply. I made an effort to rise, but fell back in the attempt,
before gaining my feet. The brute now gave me another heavy kick, and
again told me to rise. I again tried to rise, and succeeded in gaining
my feet; but upon stooping to get the tub with which I was feeding
the fan, I again staggered and fell to the ground; and I must have so
fallen, had I been sure that a hundred bullets would have pierced me,
as the consequence. While down, in this sad condition, and perfectly
helpless, the merciless Negro breaker took up the hickory slab, with
which Hughes had been striking off the wheat to a level with the sides
of the half bushel measure (a very hard weapon) and with the sharp edge
of it, he dealt me a heavy blow on my head which made a large gash, and
caused the blood to run freely, saying,{175} at the same time, "If _you
have got the headache, I'll cure you_." This done, he ordered me again
to rise, but I made no effort to do so; for I had made up my mind that
it was useless, and
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