My toil will do ME
no good." Oh, how would freedom, kindness, and good wages spur up
those unwilling toilers! How would the bright faces, the cheerful
words and songs of independent, self-interested, intelligent laborers,
make those fields to rejoice, almost imparting vigor and growth
to the cotton itself! But, alas! it is a sad place, a valley
of sighs and groans and tears and blood, a realm of hate and malice,
of imprecation and wrath, and every fierce and wicked passion.
A "water-toter" follows each gang with a pail and calabash;
and the negro-driver stands among them with a long whip in his hand,
which he snaps over their heads continually, and lets the lash fall,
with more or less severity, on one and another, shouting and yelling
meanwhile in a furious and brutal manner, as a boisterous teamster
would do to his unruly oxen.
If the season is wet, the danger to the crop being greater, there is
more necessity for constant toil, and the poor slaves are whipped,
pushed, and driven to the very utmost, and allowed no time to rest.
It is no matter if the old are over-worked, or the young too
hardly pressed, or the feeble women faint under their burdens.
So that a good crop is produced, and the planter can enjoy his luxuries,
it is no consideration that tools are worn out, mules are destroyed,
or the slaves die; more can be bought for next year, and the slaveholder
says it pays to force a crop, though it be at the expense of life
among the hands.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115