under the bow of the steamboat Trenton. They got a pike-pole,
and tried to drive him from his hiding place. When they would strike at
him, he would dive under the water. The water was so cold, that it soon
became evident that he must come out or be drowned.

While they were trying to drive him from under the bow of the boat or
drown him, he would in broken and imploring accents say, "I did not
steal the meat; I did not steal the meat. My master lives up the river.
I want to see my master. I did not steal the meat. Do let me go home to
master." After punching him, and striking him over the head for some
time, he at last sunk in the water, to rise no more alive.

On the end of the pike-pole with which they were striking him was a hook
which caught in his clothing, and they hauled him up on the bow of the
boat. Some said he was dead, others said he was "_playing possum_" while
others kicked him to make him get up, but it was of no use--he was dead.

As soon as they became satisfied of this, they commenced leaving, one
after another. One of the hands on the boat informed the captain that
they had killed the man, and that the dead body was lying on the deck.
The captain came on deck, and said to those who were remaining, "You
have killed this nigger; now take him off of my boat." The captain's
name was Hart. The dead body was dragged on shore and left there. I went
on board of the boat where our gang of slaves were, and during the whole
night my mind was occupied with what I had seen. Early in the morning, I
went on shore to see if the dead body remained there. I found it in the
same position that it was left the night before. I watched to see what
they would do with it. It was left there until between eight and nine
o'clock, when a cart, which takes up the trash out of the streets, came
along, and the body was thrown in, and in a few minutes more was covered
over with dirt which they were removing from the streets. During the
whole time, I did not see more than six or seven persons around it, who,
from their manner, evidently regarded it as no uncommon occurrence.

During our stay in the city, I met with a young white man with whom I
was well acquainted in St. Louis. He had been sold into slavery, under
the following circumstances. His father was a drunkard, and very poor,
with a family of five or six children. The father died, and left the
mother to take care of and provide for the children as best she might.
The eldest