their power,
and then whipping them for not having done more.

"But suppose that they run away--what is to become of them in the
forest? If they cannot steal they must perish of hunger--if the nights
are cold, their feet will be frozen; for if they make a fire they may
be discovered, and be shot at. If they attempt to leave the country,
their chance of success is about nothing. They must return, be
whipped--if old offenders, wear the collar, perhaps be branded, and
fare worse than before.

"Do you believe it, sir, not six months since, I saw a number of my
_Christian_ neighbors packing up provisions, as I supposed for a deer
hunt; but as I was about offering myself to the party, I learned that
their powder and balls were destined to a very different purpose: it
was, in short, the design of the party to bring home a number of
runaway slaves, or to shoot them if they should not be able to get
possession of them in any other way.

"You will ask, Is not this murder? Call it, sir, by what name you
please, such are the facts:--many are shot every year, and that too
while the masters say they treat their slaves well.

"But let me turn your attention to another species of cruelty. About a
year since I knew a certain slave who had deserted his master, to be
caught, and for the first time fastened to the stocks. In those same
stocks, from which at midnight I have heard cries of distress, while
the master slept, and was dreaming, perhaps, of drinking wine and of
discussing the price of cotton. On the next morning he was chained in
an immovable posture, and branded in both cheeks with red hot stamps
of iron. Such are the tender mercies of men who love wealth, and are
determined to obtain it at any price.

"Suffer me to add another to the list of enormities, and I will not
offend you with more.

"There was, some time since, brought to trial in this town a planter
residing about fifteen miles distant, for whipping his slave to death.
You will suppose, of course, that he was punished. No, sir, he was
acquitted, although there could be no doubt of the fact. I heard the
tale of murder from a man who was acquainted with all the
circumstances. 'I was,' said he, 'passing along the road near the
burying-ground of the plantation, about nine o'clock at night, when I
saw several lights gleaming through the woods; and as I approached, in
order to see what was doing, I beheld the coroner of Natchez, with a
number of men, standing around