A conspiracy, secret, and dreadful in its consequences, broke out in the plantation among the slaves, who rose in the dead of the night, to revenge the sufferings they had endured. About a dozen of these ill-used people entered the house of Mrs. Dormer, and murdered the overseer and whipper-in, and then proceeded to search for their mistress, who had retreated for safety, from her own apartment to Miss Melville’s.
“Oh, save me, save me!—the slaves have mutinied—they have killed the overseer and whipper-in, and are now searching for me—What shall I do?—Where shall I conceal myself?” cried Mrs. Dormer.
Clariſsa Dormer.
“Hush! hush, madam!” said Miss Melville; “I beseech you be quiet.”—She had just time to squeeze herself between the bed and the wainscot, before the slaves entered, brandishing weapons of different kinds, and enquiring for Mrs. Dormer.
Dinah was compelled to attend them, and to give them all the information they required.
“Who be dat lady?” said the ringleader to Dinah, pointing to Miss Melville.
“She be good lady,” said Dinah; “she pity poor blacky man and woman—she never get poor slave beat, but cry, cry, weep, weep, to see dem hurt.”
“We no killy you, Missy—we only fight wid dem dat use poor black ill—get him beat—order bad Jackson to flog, flog, flog, till poor slave fall down, almost dead.”