The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, April, 1862

Of the motives of the philanthropists, we have little to say. They are always respectable, and it is a pity that the world should be too wicked to appreciate them. But those of the economists are open to remark, and the more so because there has been so much claimed for them. They reduced everything to a matter of interest. Peace, they reasoned, is for the welfare of all men; and, if an enlightened self-interest could be made to prevail the world over, war would be rendered an impossibility. Wars between civilized countries have mostly grown out of mistaken views of interest on the part of governments and peoples. Once enlighten both rulers and ruled, and make them understand that war can not pay, and selfishness will accomplish what religion, and morality, and benevolence, and common sense have failed to accomplish. Cutting throats may be a very agreeable pastime; but no man ever yet paid for anything more than it was worth, with his eyes wide open to the fact that he was not buying a bargain, but selling himself. Nations would be as wise as individuals, unless it be true that the sum of intelligence is not so great as the items that compose it; and when it should have been made indisputably clear that to make war was to make losses, while peace should be as indisputably profitable, there would be no further occasion to expend, annually, immense sums upon the support of great armaments, such as were not kept up, even in times of war, by the potentates of earlier days. The reason of mankind was to be appealed to, and they were to be made saints through the use of practical logic. Neighborhood, instead of being regarded as cause for enmity, was to be held as ground for good feeling and liberal intercourse. Under the old system it had been the custom to call France and England 'natural enemies,' words that attributed to the Creator the origin of discord. Under the new system, those great countries were to become the best of friends, as well as the closest of neighbors; and one generation of free commerce was to do away with the effects of five centuries of disputes and warfare. England was to forget the part which France took in the first American war, and France was to cease to recollect that there had been such days as Crécy and Agincourt, Vittoria and Waterloo; and also that England had overthrown her rule in North America, and driven her people from India. But it was not France and England only that were to enter within the charmed circle; all nations were to be admitted into it, and the whole world was to fraternize. It was to be Arcadia in a ring-fence, an Arcadia solidly based upon heavy profits, with consols, rentes, and other public securities—which in other times had a bad fashion of becoming very insecure—always at a good premium. Quarter-day was to be the day for which all other days were made, and it would never be darkened by the imposition of new taxes, by repudiation, or by any other of those things that so often have lessened the felicity of the fund-holder.

That the new Temple of Peace might be enabled to rise in proper proportions, it became necessary to destroy some old edifices, and to remove what was considered to be very rubbishy rubbish. Protection, tariffs, and so forth, once worshiped as evidences of ancestral wisdom, were to be got rid of with all possible speed, and free trade was to be substituted, that is, trade as free as was compatible with the raising of enormous revenues, made necessary by the foolish wars of the past. In due time, perfect freedom of trade would be had; but a blessing of that magnitude could not be expected to come at once to the relief of a suffering world. England, which had taken the lead in supporting protection, and whose commercial system had been of the most illiberal and sordid character, became the leader in the grand reform, pushing the work vigorously forward, and, with her usual consideration for the feelings and rights of others, ordering the nations of Europe and America to follow her example. She had discovered that she had been all in the wrong since the day when Oliver St. John's wounded pride led him to the conclusion that it was the duty of every patriotic Englishman to do his best to destroy the commerce of Holland. She was very impatient of those peoples who were shy of imitating her, forgetting that her conduct through six generations had made a strong impression on the world's mind, and that her sudden conversion could not immediately avail against her long persistence in sinning against political economy, if indeed she had so sinned; and the question was one that admitted of some dispute, free trade being but an experiment. Gradually, however, men came round to the British view, in theory at least; and among the intelligent classes it was admitted that commerce without restriction was the true policy of nations, which must be gradually adopted as the basis of all future action, due regard to be paid to those potent disturbing forces, vested interests. France was slow to yield in practice, though she had produced some of the cleverest of economical writers; for she is as little given to change in matters of business as she is ready to rush into political revolutions. But even France at last gave signs of her intention to abandon her ancient practice in deference to modern theories; and Napoleon III. and Mr. Cobden laid their wise heads together to form plans for the completion of the 'cordial understanding,' on the basis of free trade. Less than forty years had sufficed to effect a gradual change of human opinion, and protection seemed about to be sent to that limbo in which witchcraft, alchemy, and judicial astrology have been so long undisturbedly reposing.

Death, we are told, found his way into Arcadia; and disappointment was not long in coming to disturb the modern Arcadians, who had as much to do with cotton as their predecessors with wool. The dream of universal peace, a peace that was to endure because based on enlightened selfishness,—that is to say on buying in cheap markets and selling in dear ones,—was as rudely dispelled as had been all earlier dreams of the kind. Interest, it was found, could no more make men live lovingly together than principle could cause them to do so in by-gone times. If there were two nations that might have been insured not to fight each other, because interest was sufficient to prevent men from having resort to war, those nations were Russia and England. They were in no sense rivals, according to the definition of rivalry in the circles of commerce. Between them there was much buying and selling, to the great profit of both. England is an old nation, with the arts of industry developed among her people to an extent that is elsewhere unknown. The division of labor that prevails among her working people is so extensive and so minute, that in that respect she defies comparison. Other countries may have as skillful laborers as she possesses, but their industry is of a far less various character. Russia is a new country, and she requires what England has to dispose of; and England finds her account in purchasing the raw materials that are so abundantly produced in Russia. Commercially speaking, therefore, these two nations could not fall out, could not quarrel, could not fight, if they would. In all other respects, too, they could be counted upon to set a good example to all other communities. They had more than once been allies, each had done the other good services at critical tunes, and they had had the foremost places in that grand alliance which had twice dethroned Napoleon I. The exceptions to their general good understanding belong to those exceptions which are supposed to be useful in proving a given rule. When the tory rulers of England became alarmed because of the success of Catharine II. in her second Turkish war, and proposed doing what was done more than sixty years later,—to assist the Osmanlis,—the opposition to their policy became so powerful that even the strong ministry of William Pitt had to listen to its voice; which shows that the tendency of English opinion was then favorable to Russia. The hostility of Czar Paul to England, in his last days, is attributed to the failure of his mind; and the immediate resumption of good relations between the two countries after his death, establishes the fact that the English and the Russians were not sharers in the Czar's feelings. During the five years that followed Tilsit, Russia appeared to be the enemy of England, and war existed for some time between the two empires; but this was owing to the ascendency of the French, Alexander having to choose between England and France. The nominal enemies did each other as little injury as possible; and, in 1812, they became greater friends than ever. Most Englishmen were probably of Lord Holland's opinion, that England's interest dictated a Russian connection; and in the eighteenth century England was, in some sense, the nursing mother of the new empire, though once or twice she was inclined to do as other nurses have done,—administer some punishment to the rude and healthy child she was fostering, and not without reason. So harmonious had been the relations of these two magnificent states, that an eminent Russian author, Dr. Hamel, writing in 1846, could say: 'Nearly three hundred years have now elapsed since England greeted Muscovy at the mouth of the Dwina. So great have been the benefits to trade, the arts, and industry in general, arising from the friendly relations between England and Russia, which, in 1853, will have completed the third century of their continuance, that one might expect to see this period closed, in both countries, with a jubilee to commemorate so remarkable an example of uninterrupted amicable intercourse between nations.' The year 1853 came; but, instead of being a jubilee to the old friends of three centuries' standing, it brought the beginning of that contest which is known as the Russian war. That was a proper way, indeed, to notice the happy return of the three-hundredth anniversary of the establishment of 'uninterrupted amicable intercourse' between the nations, whose soldiers were soon slaughtering each other with as much energy as if they had been 'natural enemies' from immemorial time. Interest had no power to turn aside the storm of war. The English people were angry with Russia because the iron-willed Czar had carried matters in Europe with a very high hand, and was, in fact, virtually master of the Old World, and suspected of being on uncommonly good terms with the masters of the New World. Nicholas had succeeded to the place of Napoleon in their ill graces. They liked the Cossackry of the one as little as they had liked the cannonarchy of the other. It was a case of pure jealousy. Russia was too powerful to suit the English idea of the fitness of things, and therefore it was necessary that she should be chastised and humbled. Fear of Russia there could have been none in the English mind. It has been thought that England contended for the safety of her Eastern dominions; but then the Czar offered her Egypt and Candia, possession of which would not only have much strengthened her Indian empire, but have been the means of making her more powerful at home. Nothing better could have been offered for her acceptance, if valuable territories would have satisfied her feelings; and much praise has been bestowed upon her because she did not close with the Czar's proposition 'to share and share alike' the lands of the House of Othman; but that praise is not quite deserved, the desire not to see Russia aggrandized being a stronger sentiment with her than was the desire to aggrandize herself. Had the question been left for British statesmen alone to settle,—had the British premier been as free to act for England as the Czar was for Russia,—poor, sick Turkey would have been cut and carved most expeditiously and artistically; she would have been partitioned as perfectly as Poland, and Abdul Medjid would have experienced the fate of Stanislaus Poniatowski. But English ministers hold power only on condition of doing the will of the English nation, and that nation had contracted an aversion to Russia that was uncontrollable, and before its hostility its ministers had to give way, slowly and reluctantly; and the half-measures they adopted, like the half-measures of our own government toward the secessionists, explain the disasters of the war. The English people were determined that there should be an end, for the time at least, to the Russian hegemony, and threw themselves into the arms of France with a vivacity that would have astonished any other French ruler but Napoleon III., who had lived among them, and who knew them well. The war was waged, and, when over, what had England gained? Nothing solid, it must be admitted. The territory of Russia remained unimpaired, and there is not the slightest evidence that her influence in the East was lessened by the partial destruction of Sebastopol. The Russian navy of the Euxine had ceased to exist; but as it consisted principally of vessels that were not adapted to the purposes of modern warfare, the loss of the Russians in that respect was not of a very serious character. Russia's European leadership was suspended; but her power and her resources, which, if properly employed, must soon reinstate her, were not damaged. England had fought for an idea, and had fought in vain.

France had as little interest in the Russian war as England, and the French people had no wish to fight the Czar. They would have preferred fighting the English, in connection with the Czar,—an arrangement that would have been more profitable to their country. But the emperor had a quarrel with his arrogant brother at St. Petersburgh, and he availed himself of the opportunity afforded by that brother's obstinacy to teach him a lesson from which he did not live to profit. Nicholas had cut the new emperor, and had caused him to be taboo'd by most of the sovereigns of Europe; and the Frenchman determined to cut his way to consideration. This he was enabled to do, with the aid of the English; and ever since the war's close he has held the place which became vacant on the death of Nicholas—that of Europe's arbiter. The French fought well, as they always do, but their heart was not in the war. The emperor had the war party pretty much to himself. Exactly the opposite state of things existed in France to that which existed in England. In the former country, the government was for war, and the people were for peace; in the latter, the government was for peace, and the people were for war. In each country power was in the hands of the war party, and so war was made, in spite of the wishes of the French people and of English statesmen. When Napoleon III. had accomplished his purpose, he ordered the English to make peace, and peace was made. In this way he satisfied his subjects, showing them that he had no intention of making England more powerful than she had been, or Russia weaker. He had prevented Russia from extending her dominion, but he had also prevented England from lessening that dominion.

The Italian war was waged in opposition to the sentiments of the French people, which was one of the leading causes of its sudden termination, with its object, only half accomplished, and much to the damage of the emperor's reputation for statesmanship and courage. Whether, in a comprehensive sense, that war was entered upon for purposes adverse to the interests of France, may well be doubted; but it is certain that it was an unpopular measure in that country. The French had no objection to the humiliation of Austria; but it would be a grave error to suppose that they have any wish to behold Italy united and powerful. The kingdom of Italy, should it become all that is desired for it by its friends in this country, would be to France a source of annoyance, and probably of danger. The emperor's power was shaken by his Italian policy, and hence it was that he played the confederature game so long, to the astonishment of foreigners, and got possession of Savoy and Nice, to the astonishment and anger of England; and hence it is that he is seeking Sardinia and other portions of Italy. Thus, the Italian war was begun against the interests of the French people, or what that people believe to be their interests, though this is the age in which there is to be peace, because that is not to be broken except when popular interests require that it shall no longer be preserved.

But the most remarkable instance of the fallacy of the idea that regard for the true interests of nations must banish hostilities from the world, is afforded by the coarse of France and England toward this country since the beginning of the secession war. Both those countries have great interest not only in the preservation of peace with the United States, but in the preservation of peace in the United States; and yet they have done all that it lies in their power to do to encourage our rebels, and have been on the verge of war with us: and war with them, and with Spain, is exported by many Americans, who judge of the future by the present and the past. England had a vast trade with the American Union, buying at the South, and selling to the North, and hence any disturbances here were sure to operate adversely to her interests; but no sooner had it become apparent that our troubles were to be of a serious character, than her weight was thrown on to the side of the rebels, who never would have been able to do much but for the encouragement they have received from abroad. The trade of France was not so great with America as that of England; yet it was valuable, and the French have suffered much from its suspension, perhaps we should say its loss. The North has purchased but little from Europe for a year, and the South has sold less to Europe in that time. There has been a trade in food between the North and some European countries, in which grain has been exchanged for gold, though it would have been better for both parties could anything else than gold have been brought to America, true commerce consisting in the interchange of commodities. For all the sufferings that have been experienced by Englishmen and Frenchmen, they have none but themselves and their governments to censure. That peace has not been preserved is not our fault; and the war that has been blown into so fierce a flame has been fed from Europe; it has been fanned by breezes from France and England. When it was first seen that there was danger of civil war, the governments of those countries, if they had really had any regard for the true interests of their countries, would have discouraged the rebels in the most public and pointed manner imaginable, not because they cared for us, but for the simple reason that they were bound so to act as should best promote the welfare of their own peoples. War in America meant suffering to the artisans and laborers of Europe, who, thus far, have suffered more from the war than have any portion of the American people, except the residents of Southern cities. Napoleon III. and Lord Palmerston should have said to the agents of the Confederacy, and have taken care to publish their words, 'We can afford you neither aid in deeds nor encouragement in words. Our relations with both sections of the American nation are such, that our respective countries must suffer immensely from the course which you are about to pursue, not because you have been oppressed, or fear oppression, but because you have been beaten in an election, and power, for the time, has been taken from your hands. You ask us to act hostilely against the established government of the United States, that government having given us no cause of offense,—to become the patrons of a revolution that has no cause, but the consequences of which may be boundless. To revolutions we are averse; and one of our governments exists in virtue of opposition to the party of disorder in Europe. You ask us to do that which would lessen the means of livelihood to millions of our people; for, granting that you should succeed, still there would necessarily be so great a change produced by your action, and by our intervention in American affairs, that for years America would not be the good customer to France and England that she has been for a generation. With the merits of your cause we can have nothing to do, our true interests pointing to the maintenance of the strictest neutrality in the contest between you and the federal government; and the dictates of interest are fortified by the suggestions of principle. Your movement is essentially disorderly in its character, and it is undertaken avowedly in the interest of slavery; and not only are we the supporters of the existing order of things the world over, but we are hostile to slavery, having abolished it in all parts of our dominions. Our advice to you is, to submit to the federal government, and to seek for the redress of your grievances, if such you have, by means recognized in the constitution and laws of your country. From us you can receive no aid, and you should dismiss all expectation of it from your minds at once and forever. We are indifferent to the form of the American government, and its internal policy can not concern us; but the interests of our peoples require that we should live in peace with the people of America, whether they be of the South or of the North, slave-holders or abolitionists; and we shall not quarrel with any portion of them for the sake of facilitating the erection of a republic to be founded on the basis of the divine nature of slavery, the first time that so preposterous a pretension was ever put forward by the audacity or the impudence of men.' Had something like this been said to the agents of the rebels, and had the English press supported the same views, the rebellion would have been at an end ere this, and the commercial relations of America and Europe would have experienced no sensible interruption. English interests, in an especial sense, demanded that the rebels should be discouraged, and discouragement from London would have rendered rebellion hopeless, and have promoted peace in Savannah and New Orleans.

But it was not in England's nature to pursue a course that would have been as much in harmony with her material interests as with that high moral character which she claims as being peculiarly her own. There appeared to have presented itself an opportunity to effect the destruction of the American Republic, and England could not resist the temptation to strike us hard: and, for almost a year, she has been to the Union a more deadly foe than we have found in the South. We do not allude to the Trent question, for in that we were clearly in the wrong, and Mason and Slidell should have been released on the 16th of November, and not have been detained in captivity six weeks. Secretary Seward has placed the point so emphatically beyond all doubt, that we must all be of one mind thereon, whether in England or America. England might have been moderate in her action, in view of her repeated outrages on the rights of neutrals, but no intelligent American can condemn her position. It is to other things that we must look for evidence of her determination to effect our extinction as a nation. She has, while dripping with Hindoo blood, and while yet men's ears are filled with accounts of the blowing of sepoys from the muzzles of cannon by her military executioners, absolutely demanded of us an acknowledgment of the Southern Confederacy's independence, on the ground that it is inhuman to wage war for the maintenance of our national life. She has compared our mild and forbearing government with the savage proconsulate of Alva in the Netherlands! She has charged us with waging war against civilization, because we have employed stone fleets to close entrances to the harbor of Charleston, though her own history is full of instances of their employment for similar purposes! She has encouraged her traders and seamen to furnish the rebels with arms of all kinds, and stores of every description! She has excluded our ships-of-war from her ports, refusing to allow them to coal at places at which she had granted us the privilege, in time of peace, of establishing stations for fuel! She has given shelter and protection to the privateers of the rebels, vessels that had violated her own laws almost within sight of her own shores, and certainly within the narrow seas! She has acknowledged the belligerent character of the South, which is virtually an acknowledgment of its independence, for none but nations can lawfully wage war. She has, through her Minister for Foreign Affairs, declared that our war with the secessionists is of the same character as the war which the Spaniards carried on with their American colonists, and that there is no difference between it and the attempt of the Turks to subdue the Greeks! Monstrous perversions of history for even Earl Russell to be guilty of! Her leading periodicals and journals, with few exceptions, have denounced our country, our course, and our government in the bitterest language, and to the manifest encouragement of the rebels, who see in their language the rapid growth and prompt exhibition of a sentiment of hostility to this country, and which must, sooner or later, end in war; and war between England and America would be sure to lead to the success of the Confederates, even if we should come out of it victoriously.

Thus we see that the attempt to establish peace on the basis of the true interests of nations has not only failed, but that it has failed signally and deplorably. The solid Doric Temple of Mammon has no more been able to stand against the storms of war than has the Crystal Palace of Sentiment. The fair fabric which was the type of materialism has fallen, and it would be most unwise to seek its reconstruction. That which was to have stood as long and as firmly as the Pyramids has fallen before the first moss could gather upon it. Nor is the reason of this fall far to seek, as it lies upon the surface, and ought to have been anticipated—would have been, only that men are so ready to believe in what they wish to believe. England, as a nation, has two interests to consult, and which do not always accord. She has her commercial interest and her imperial interest; and, when the two conflict, the last is sure to become first. Her position as a nation was threatened only by the United States and Russia. The dynastic disputes of France, which are far from being at an end, and the generally unsettled character of French politics, must long prevent that country from becoming the permanent rival of England. France is great to-day, and England acts wisely in preparing to meet her in war; but to-morrow France may become weak, and her voice be feeble and her weight light in Europe and the world. Three houses claim her throne, and the Republicans may start up into active life again, as we saw they did in 1848. Neither Austria nor Prussia can ever furnish England cause of alarm. With Russia the case is very different, as her government is solidly established; her resources are vast, and in the course of steady development, and her desire to establish her supremacy in the East is a fixed idea with both rulers and ruled. Unchecked, she would have thrown England into the background, and supposing that she had resolved not to allow that country a share of the spoil of Turkey. The hard character and harsh policy of Nicholas ended in furnishing to England an opportunity to throw Russia herself into the background for the time, and that opportunity she made use of, but not to the extent that she had determined upon, owing to her dependence upon France, which became the shield of Russia after having been the sword of England. The United States were a formidable rival of England; and, but for the breaking out of our troubles, we should have been far ahead of her by 1870, and perhaps have stripped her of all her American possessions. When those troubles began, she proceeded to take the same advantage of them that she had taken of the Czar's blunder. To sever the American nation in twain is her object, as some of her public men have frankly avowed; and she believes that the disintegrating process, once commenced, would not stop with the division of the country into the Northern Union and the Southern Confederacy. She expects, should the South succeed, to see half a dozen republics here established, and is not without hope that not even two States would remain together; and for this hope she has very good foundation. The American nation destroyed, England would become as great in the West as she is in the East, and would hold, with far greater means at her command, the same position that was hers in the last days of George II., when the French had been expelled from America and India. She would have no commercial rival, and there would no longer be an American navy susceptible of gigantic increase. She would be truly the sea's sovereign; and whoso rules the sea has power to dictate to the land. 'Whosoever commands the sea,' says Sir Walter Raleigh, 'commands the trade of the world; whosoever commands the trade of the world, commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.' England never would have gone to war with the United States to prevent their growth; but, now that they have instituted civil war, it is certain that she will do all that lies in her power to prevent the reconstruction of the Union. The war of words has been begun, and it is but preliminary to the war of swords. The savage music of the British press is the overture to the opera. The morality of England may be neither higher nor lower than that of all other countries,—may be no worse than our own,—but there is so much that is offensive in her modes of exhibiting her destitution of principle, that she is more hated than all other powerful countries that ever have existed. She not only sins as badly as other nations, but manages to make herself as odious for her manner of sinning as for the sins themselves. There is no crime that she is not capable of, if its perpetration be necessary to promote her own power. When Sir William Reid was governor of Malta, he said to Mr. Lushington, 'I would let them (i.e. the heathen) set up Juggernaut in St. George's Square (in Edinburgh), if it were conducive to England's holding Malta.' And as this time-blue Presbyterian was ready to allow the solemnization of the bloodiest rites of paganism in the most public place of the Christian city of Edinburgh, if that kind of tolerance would be conducive to England's retention of Malta,—of which she holds possession, by the way, in consequence of one of the grossest breaches of faith mentioned even in her history,—so do we find the Christian people, peers, and priests of England ready to become the allies of slave-holders and the supporters of slavery, if thereby the American Republic can be destroyed, as they believe that its existence may become the source of danger to the ascendency of their country.

The last intelligence from England allows us to believe that that country has adopted a more liberal policy, and that her government will do nothing to aid the rebels. Some of the language of Ministers is friendly, and altogether the change is one of a character that can not be otherwise than agreeable to us. France, too, has declared her neutrality as strongly as England. These declarations were made before intelligence of our military and naval successes had reached Europe, which renders them all the more weighty. Peace between America and Europe may, therefore, be counted upon, unless some very great reverses should befall our arms.

Among The Pines

The 'Ole Cabin' to which Jim had alluded as the scene of Sam's punishment by the Overseer, was a one-story shanty in the vicinity of the stables. Though fast falling to decay, it had more the appearance of a decent habitation than the other huts on the plantation. Its thick plank door was ornamented with a mouldy brass knocker, and its four windows contained sashes, to which here and there clung a broken pane, the surviving relic of its better days. It was built of large unhewn logs, notched at the ends and laid one upon the other, with the bark still on. The thick, rough coat which yet adhered in patches to the timber had opened in the sun, and let the rain and the worm burrow in its sides, till some parts had crumbled entirely away. At one corner the process of decay had gone on till roof, superstructure, and foundation had rotted down and left an opening large enough to admit a coach and four horses. The huge chimneys which had graced the gable-ends of the building were fallen in, leaving only a mass of sticks and clay to tell of their existence, and two wide openings to show how great a figure they had once made in the world. A small space in front of the cabin would have been a lawn, had the grass been willing to grow upon it; and a few acres of cleared land in its rear might have passed for a garden, had it not been entirely overgrown with young pines and stubble. This primitive structure was once the 'mansion' of that broad plantation, and, before the production of turpentine came into fashion in that region, its rude owner drew his support from its few surrounding acres, more truly independent than the present aristocratic proprietor, who, raising only one article, and buying all his provisions, was forced to draw his support from the Yankee or the Englishman.

Only one room, about forty feet square, occupied the interior of the cabin. It once contained several apartments, vestiges of which still remained, but the partitions had been torn away to fit it for its present uses. What those uses were, a moment's observation showed me.

In the middle of the floor, which was mostly rotted away, a space about fifteen feet square was covered with thick pine planking, strongly nailed to the beams. In the centre of this planking an oaken block was firmly bolted, and to it was fastened a strong iron staple that held a log-chain, to which was attached a pair of shackles. Above this, was a queer frame-work of oak, somewhat resembling the contrivance for drying fruit I have seen in Yankee farm-houses. Attached to the rafters by stout pieces of timber, were two hickory poles, placed horizontally, and about four feet apart, the lower one rather more than eight feet from the floor. This was the whipping-rack, and hanging to it were several stout whips with short hickory handles, and long triple lashes. I took one down for closer inspection, and found burned into the wood, in large letters, the words 'Moral Suasion.' I questioned the appropriateness of the label, but the Colonel insisted with great gravity that the whip is the only 'moral suasion' a darky is capable of understanding.

When punishment is inflicted on one of the Colonel's negroes, his feet are confined in the shackles, his arms tied above his head, and drawn by a stout cord up to one of the horizontal poles; then, his back bared to the waist, and standing on tip-toe, with every muscle stretched to its utmost tension, he takes 'de lashes.'

A more severe but more unusual punishment is the 'thumb-screw.' In this a noose is passed around the negro's thumb and fore-finger, while the cord is thrown over the upper cross-pole, and the culprit is drawn up till his toes barely touch the ground. In this position the whole weight of the body rests on the thumb and fore-finger. The torture is excruciating, and strong, able-bodied men can endure it but a few moments. The Colonel naively told me that he had discontinued its practice, as several of his women had nearly lost the use of their hands, and been incapacited for field labor, by its too frequent repetition. 'My – drivers,'[12 - The negro whippers and field overseers.] he added, 'have no discretion, and no humanity; if they have a pique against a nigger, they show him no mercy.'

The old shanty I have described was now the place of the Overseer's confinement. Open as it was at top, bottom, and sides, it seemed an unsafe prison-house; but Jim had rendered its present occupant secure by placing 'de padlocks on him.'

'Where did you catch him?' asked the Colonel of Jim, as, followed by every darky on the plantation, we took our way to the old building.

'In de swamp, massa. We got Sandy and de dogs arter him—dey treed him, but he fit like de debil.'

'Any one hurt?'

'Yas, Cunnel; he knifed Yaller Jake, and ef I hadn't a gibin him a wiper, you'd a had anudder nigger short dis mornin'—shore.'

'How was it? tell me,' said his master, while we paused, and the darkies gathered around.

'Wal, yer see, massa, we got de ole debil's hat dat he drapped wen you had him down; den we went to Sandy's fur de dogs—dey scented him to onst, and off dey put for de swamp. 'Bout twenty on us follored 'em. He'd a right smart start on us, and run like a deer, but de hounds kotched up wid him 'bout whar he shot pore Sam. He fit 'em and cut up de Lady awful, but ole Caesar got a hole ob him, and sliced a breakfuss out ob his legs. Somehow, dough, he got away from de ole dog, and clum a tree. 'T was more'n an hour afore we kotched up; but dar he war, and de houns baying 'way as ef dey know'd wat an ole debil he am. I'd tuk one ob de guns—you warn't in de hous, massa, so I cudn't ax you.'

'Never mind that; go on,' said the Colonel.

'Wal, I up wid de gun, and tole him ef he didn't cum down I'd gib him suffin' dat 'ud sot hard on de stummuk. It tuk him a long w'ile, but—he cum down.' Here the darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a fair capital for a metropolitan dentist.

'Wen he war down,' he resumed, 'Jake war gwine to tie him, but de ole 'gator, quicker dan a flash, put a knife enter him.'

'Is Jake much hurt?' interrupted the Colonel.

'Not bad, massa; de knife went fru his arm, and enter his ribs, but de ma'am hab fix him up, and she say he'll be 'round bery sudden.'

'Well, what then?' inquired the Colonel.

'Wen de ole debil seed he hadn't finished Jake, he war gwine to gib him anoder dig, but jus den I drap de gun on his cocoa-nut, and he neber trubble us no more. 'Twar mons'rous hard work to git him out ob de swamp, 'cause he war jes like a dead man, and we had to tote him de hull way; but he'm dar now, massa (pointing to the old cabin), and de bracelets am on him.'

'Where is Jake?' asked the Colonel.

'Dunno, massa, but reckon he'm to hum.'

'One of you boys go and bring him to the cabin,' said the Colonel.

A negro-man went off on the errand, while we and the darkies resumed our way to the Overseer's quarters. Arrived there, I witnessed a scene that words can not picture.

Stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes torn to shreds, his coarse carroty hair matted with blood, and his thin, ugly visage pale as death, lay the Overseer. Bending over him, wiping away the blood from his face, and swathing a ghastly wound on his forehead, was the negress Sue; while at his shackled feet, binding up his still bleeding legs, knelt the octoroon woman.

'Is she here?' I said, involuntarily, as I caught sight of the group.

'It's her nature,' said the Colonel, with a pleasant smile; 'if Moye were the devil himself, she'd do him good if she could; another such woman never lived.'

And yet this woman, with all the instincts that make her sex angel-ministers to man, lived in daily violation of the most sacred of all laws,—because she was a slave. Will Mr. Caleb Cushing or Charles O'Conner please tell us why the Almighty invented a system which forces his creatures to break the laws of His own making?

'Don't waste your time on him, Alice,' said the Colonel, kindly; 'he isn't worth the rope that'll hang him.'

'He was bleeding to death; he must have care or he'll die,' said the octoroon woman.

'Then let him die, d– him,' replied the Colonel, advancing to where the Overseer lay, and bending down to satisfy himself of his condition.

Meanwhile more than two hundred dusky forms crowded around and filled every opening of the old building. Every conceivable emotion, except pity, was depicted on their dark faces. The same individuals whose cloudy visages a half-hour before I had seen distended with a wild mirth and careless jollity, that made me think them really the docile, good-natured animals they are said to be, now glared on the prostrate Overseer with the infuriated rage of aroused beasts when springing on their prey.

'You can't come the possum here. Get up, you – hound,' said the Colonel, rising and striking the bleeding man with his foot.

The fellow raised himself on one elbow and gazed around with a stupid, vacant look. His eye wandered unsteadily for a moment from the Colonel to the throng of cloudy faces in the doorway; then, his recent experience flashing upon him, he shrieked out, clinging wildly to the skirts of the octoroon woman, who was standing near, 'Keep off them cursed hounds,—keep them off, I say—they'll kill me!—they'll kill me!'

One glance satisfied me that his mind was wandering. The blow on the head had shattered his reason, and made the strong man less than a child.

'You shan't be killed yet,' said the Colonel. 'You've a small account to settle with me before you reckon with the devil.'

At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and Jake entered, his arm bound up and in a sling.

'Jake, come here,' said the Colonel; 'this man would have killed you. What shall we do with him?'

''Tain't fur a darky to say dat, massa,' said the negro, evidently unaccustomed to the rude administration of justice which the Colonel was about to inaugurate; 'he did wuss dan dat to Sam, mass—he orter swing for shootin' him.'

'That's my affair; we'll settle your account first,' replied the Colonel.

The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the Overseer, who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. The little humanity in him was evidently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his desire of revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd, 'Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den you wash him down.[13 - Referring to the common practice of bathing the raw and bleeding backs of the punished slaves with a strong solution of salt and water.] Be a man, Jake, and say dat.'