“He does not see,” said the neighbour; “the one is quite out of its socket, and Joe was obliged to carry him home.”
“Why, the seconds are wonderfully lovely fellows, I warrant you; they did not spoil the sport with interfering.”
“Yes, they bore John an old grudge.”
“Oh, certainly—it was a mighty fine sport; I would not for the world have missed it. G—d d—n! Dick is a fine gouger—the second turn—John down—and both thumbs in his eyes.—I presume you have races in Pennsylvania?” turning to me.
“Yes, sir.”
“And fightings and gougings?”
“No, sir.” With an expressive look towards his neighbour, he continued: “Yes, the Pennsylvanians are a quiet, religious sort of people; they don’t kill anything but their hogs, and prefer giving their money to their parsons.” The evening passed in these and similar conversations, of which the above are mere specimens; and it was eleven o’clock before the interesting pair separated.
Some miles below Mr. White’s farm, the road divides into two, the one leading to Newcastle, the other to the Ohio. I stopped at a farm fifteen miles from my former night’s lodging. The landlord was mounting his horse for Newcastle; his wife sat in the kitchen, surrounded by eight negro girls, all busy knitting and sewing. The girls seemed to be in excellent spirits, and were tolerably well dressed; the house rather indicated affluence, though it was far from possessing the order and cleanliness of a few of only half its value in Ohio. It was a simple brick house; but constructed without the least attention to the rules of symmetry. The fields were in a very indifferent state. Behind the dwelling, were seen some negro infants at play, while an old negro woman was preparing my breakfast. The family had thirty-five slaves, both young and old, forming a capital of at least 10,000 dollars. “Was not I a fool?” asked the open-hearted landlady, “to marry Mr. Forth, who had but twelve slaves, and a plantation, with seven children; but they are provided for;—whereas I had fourteen slaves, and a plantation too, after my first husband’s decease, and no children at all.”—“I don’t know,” was my reply, afraid of engaging the old lady in further discussion. While descanting upon this theme, and on the advantages resulting to her happy husband from a match so disparaging on her part, I was allowed to take my breakfast, when some yells and hallooing called us to the door. A troop of horsemen were passing. Two of the party had each a negro slave running before him, secured by a rope fastened to an iron collar. A tremendous horsewhip reminded them at intervals to quicken their pace. The bloody backs and necks of these wretches, bespoke a too frequent application of the lash. The third negro had, however, the hardest lot. The rope of his collar was fastened to the saddle string of the third horseman, and the miserable creature had thus no alternative left, but to keep an equal pace with the trotting horse, or to be dragged through ditches, thorns, and copsewood. His feet and legs, all covered with blood, exhibited a dreadful spectacle. The three slaves had run away two days before, dreading transportation to Mississippi or Louisiana. “Look here,” said Mrs. Forth, calling her black girls, “what is done with the bad negroes, who run away from their good masters!” With an indifference, and a laughing countenance, which clearly shewed how accustomed these poor children were to the like scenes, they expressed their sentiments at this disgusting conduct.
The road from Mr. Forth’s plantation runs a considerable distance along ridges, descending finally into the bottom lands along the Ohio. These are exceedingly fertile. The growth of timber is extremely luxuriant. I measured a sycamore of common size, and found it seventeen feet in diameter; their height is truly astonishing. The soil is of a deep brown colour, and where it is turned up, proves to be blackish. The stratum is generally limestone. I crossed the Ohio at Ghent, in Kentucky, opposite to Vevay, in Indiana.