even in his presence. They told him that they would give a thousand
dollars for my wife and child, or any thing in reason. But no! he
would sooner see me to the devil than indulge or gratify me after my
having run away from him; and if they did not remove me from his
presence very soon, he said he should make them suffer for it.

But all this, and even the gory lash had yet failed to break the grasp
of poor Malinda, whose prospect of connubial, social, and future
happiness was all at stake. When the dear woman saw there was no help
for us, and that we should soon be separated forever, in the name of
Deacon Whitfield, and American slavery to meet no more as husband and
wife, parent and child--the last and loudest appeal was made on our
knees. We appealed to the God of justice and to the sacred ties of
humanity; but this was all in vain. The louder we prayed the harder he
whipped, amid the most heart-rending shrieks from the poor slave
mother and child, as little Frances stood by, sobbing at the abuse
inflicted on her mother.

"Oh! how shall I give my husband the parting hand never to meet
again? This will surely break my heart," were her parting words.

I can never describe to the reader the awful reality of that
separation--for it was enough to chill the blood and stir up the
deepest feelings of revenge in the hearts of slaveholding black-legs,
who as they stood by, were threatening, some weeping, some swearing
and others declaring vengeance against such treatment being inflicted
on a human being. As we left the plantation, as far as we could see
and hear, the Deacon was still laying on the gory lash, trying to
prevent poor Malinda from weeping over the loss of her departed
husband, who was then, by the hellish laws of slavery, to her,
theoretically and practically dead. One of the black-legs exclaimed
that hell was full of just such Deacon's as Whitfield. This occurred
in December, 1840. I have never seen Malinda, since that period. I
never expect to see her again.

The sportsmen to whom I was sold, showed their sympathy for me not
only by word but by deeds. They said that they had made the most
liberal offer to Whitfield, to buy or sell for the sole purpose of
reuniting husband and wife. But he stood out against it--they felt
sorry for me. They said they had bought me to speculate on, and were
not able to lose what they had paid for me. But they would make a
bargain with me, if I was willing, and would lay a plan,