ummoned by their master. No words were used, but a club felled
them to the ground. A rough box was their coffin, and their interment was a
dog's burial. Nothing was said.

Murder was so common on his plantation that he feared to be alone after
nightfall. He might have believed in ghosts.

His brother, if not equal in wealth, was at least equal in cruelty. His
bloodhounds were well trained. Their pen was spacious, and a terror to the
slaves. They were let loose on a runway, and, if they tracked him, they
literally tore the flesh from his bones. When this slaveholder died, his
shrieks and groans were so frightful that they appalled his own friends.
His last words were, "I am going to hell; bury my money with me."

After death his eyes remained open. To press the lids down, silver dollars
were laid on them. These were buried with him. From this circumstance, a
rumor went abroad that his coffin was filled with money. Three times his
grave was opened, and his coffin taken out. The last time, his body was
found on the ground, and a flock of buzzards were pecking at it. He was
again interred, and a sentinel set over his grave. The perpetrators were
never discovered.

Cruelty is contagious in uncivilized communities. Mr. Conant, a neighbor of
Mr. Litch, returned from town one evening in a partial state of
intoxication. His body servant gave him some offence. He was divested of
his clothes, except his shirt, whipped, and tied to a large tree in front
of the house. It was a stormy night in winter. The wind blew bitterly cold,
and the boughs of the old tree crackled under falling sleet. A member of
the family, fearing he would freeze to death, begged that he might be taken
down; but the master would not relent. He remained there three hours; and,
when he was cut down, he was more dead than alive. Another slave, who stole
a pig from this master, to appease his hunger, was terribly flogged. In
desperation, he tried to run away. But at the end of two miles, he was so
faint with loss of blood, he thought he was dying. He had a wife, and he
longed to see her once more. Too sick to walk, he crept back that long
distance on his hands and knees. When he reached his master's, it was
night. He had not strength to rise and open the gate. He moaned, and tried
to call for help. I had a friend living in the same family. At last his cry
reached her. She went out and found the prostrate man at the gate. She ran
back to the house for assistance,