d man fall from the table and break his neck, and so have an end of
"nigger preaching." On getting up from his knees he went to the
cupboard, poured out a glass of brandy for himself, and brought another
to the table. "James," said he, addressing me, "Uncle Solomon stands
there, for all the world, like a Hickory Quaker. His spirit don't move.
I'll see if another spirit wont move it." He compelled the old preacher
to swallow the brandy; and then told him to preach and exhort, for the
spirit was in him. He set one of the Bibles on fire, and after it was
consumed, mixed up the ashes of it in a glass of water, and compelled
the old man to drink it, telling him that as the spirit and the word
were now both in him, there was no longer any excuse for not preaching.
After tormenting the wearied old man in this way until nearly midnight
he permitted him to go to his quarters.

The next day I saw Uncle Solomon, and talked with him about his
treatment. He said it would not always be so--that slavery was to come
to an end, for the Bible said so--that there would then be no more
whippings and fightings, but the lion the lamb would lie down together,
and all would be love. He said he prayed for Huckstep--that it was not
he but the devil in him who behaved so. At his request, I found means to
get him a Bible and a hymn-book from the overseer's room; and the old
man ever afterwards kept them concealed in the hen-house.

The weeding season of 1836, was marked by repeated acts of cruelty on
the part of Huckstep. One of the hands, Priscilla, was, owing to her
delicate situation, unable to perform her daily task. He ordered her to
be tied up against a tree, in the same manner that I had been. In this
situation she was whipped until _she was delivered of a dead infant, at
the foot of the tree_! Our men took her upon a sheet, and carried her to
the house, where she lay sick for several months, but finally recovered.
I have heard him repeatedly laugh at the circumstance.

Not long after this, we were surprised, one morning about ten o'clock,
by hearing the horn blown at the house. Presently Aunt Polly came
screaming into the field. "What is the matter, Aunty?" I inquired. "Oh
Lor!" said she, "Old Huckstep's pitched off his horse and broke his
head, and is e'en about dead."

"Thank God!" said little Simon, "The devil will have him at last."

"God-a-mighty be praised!" exclaimed half a dozen others.

The hands, with one accord dropped thei