as not combed out;" "his fetlocks had not been
properly trimmed;" something was always wrong. Listening to complaints,
however groundless, Barney must stand, hat in hand, lips sealed, never
answering a word. He must make no reply, no explanation; the judgment
of the master must be deemed infallible, for his power is absolute
and irresponsible. In a free state, a master, thus complaining without
cause, of his ostler, might be told--"Sir, I am sorry I cannot please
you, but, since I have done the best I can, your remedy is to dismiss
me." Here, however, the ostler must stand, listen and tremble. One of
the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes I ever witnessed, was
the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself. Here were two men,
both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of Col. L., and
there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney; master and slave;
superior and inferior here, but _equals_ at the bar of God; and, in the
common course of events, they must both soon meet in another world, in
a world where all distinctions, except those based on obedience and
disobedience, are blotted out forever. "Uncover your head!" said the
imperious master; he was obeyed. "Take off your jacket, you old rascal!"
and off came Barney's jacket. "Down on your knees!" down knelt the old
man, his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in the sun, and
his aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble and debasing
attitude, the master--that master to whom he had given the best years
and the best strength of his life--came forward, and laid on thirty
lashes, with his horse whip. The old man bore it patiently, to the last,
answering each blow with a slight shrug of the shoulders, and a groan.
I cannot think that{89} Col. Lloyd succeeded in marring the flesh of Old
Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light, riding whip; but the
spectacle of an aged man--a husband and a father--humbly kneeling before
a worm of the dust, surprised and shocked me at the time; and since I
have grown old enough to think on the wickedness of slavery, few facts
have been of more value to me than this, to which I was a witness. It
reveals slavery in its true color, and in its maturity of repulsive
hatefulness. I owe it to truth, however, to say, that this was the first
and the last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other slave, compelled
to kneel to receive a whipping.

I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will relate, as