The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862 / Devoted to Literature and National Policy

'My God! drowned herself and her child!' exclaimed the Colonel, with deep emotion.
'Come, my friend, let us go to them at once,' I said, laying my hand on his arm, and drawing him unresistingly away.
A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large turpentine-wagon, and the horses we had ridden the day before were soon at the door. When the Colonel, who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam P—, came out of the house, we mounted and rode off with the 'corn-cracker.'
The native's farm was located on the stream which watered my friend's plantation, and was about ten miles distant. Taking a by-road which led to it through the woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon.
'Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she?' remarked the turpentine-maker, after a while.
'Yes, she was,' replied the Colonel, in a half-abstracted manner, ' very likely.'
'Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som overseer uv yourn?'
'Not altogether for that, I reckon,' replied my host,' I fear the main reason was her being put at field-work, and abused by the driver.'
'Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cunnel. I 'tend ter my niggers parsonally, and they keer a durned sight more fur this world then fur kingdom-cum. Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no price.'
'Well,' replied the Colonel, in a low tone, 'I did look after her. I put her at full field-work myself.'
'By—!' cried the native, reining his horse to a dead stop, and speaking in an excited manner; 'I doan't b'lieve it, 'taint 't all like ye; yer a d—d seceshener—thet comes uv yer bringin'-up; but ye've a soul bigger'n a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weakly gal inter th' woods, no how!'