TREATMENT OF SLAVES. 101 



The land near the river was very swampy, and over- 

 grown with thick canes, but the wood became more 

 open and the ground dryer as 1 left the river. On the 

 evening of the third day, I again slept at a plantation, 

 and this was the last night I passed in a house for some 

 time to come. The overseer lived in a block-house, 

 and all around stood the smaller huts of the slaves, one 

 for each family. During the hours of labor, he car- 

 ried a heavy whip to keep the blacks in order ; yet he 

 did not seem to feel quite safe amongst these poor, ill- 

 treated people, for he had a pair of pistols in his saddle 

 holsters. 



An overseer once assured me that the whip was the 

 best doctor for the slaves, and that when any one of 

 them fell sick, he was flogged till he was well again. 

 It might sometimes happen that a poor negro pretended 

 to be sick to get a day or two's rest ; but how often 

 must the really sick slave be most atrociously treated 

 by the inhuman overseer ! 



From these quarters I marched along fresh and in 

 good spirits into the forest, which already began to 

 look green. The birds sang so sweetly on the branches, 

 that my heart was joyful and mournful at the same 

 time ; I longed in vain for a companion, with whom 

 I could exchange thoughts. A shot echoed from the 

 plantation, and innumerable wild geese rose from the 

 cotton-fields behind me; with a deafening noise they 

 formed their usual triangle, and flew all in the same 

 direction. 



Luckily for me, I had in my bag a couple of wild 

 ducks that I had killed and roasted the day before. 

 The forest was mortally dull, and the march began to 

 9* 



