The planter led the way into the yard from which the children had entered. It was a square, of about two roods of ground, three sides of which were enclosed by rows of small houses, of two rooms each; and most of them were occupied by female slaves, either nursing children at the breast, or expecting very soon to have that duty to perform. They received their master with a smiling face, as he addressed a question to each of them when he entered their abode.
“Now these are all my breeding women; they do no work, only take care of the children, who remain here until they are eight or nine years old. We have a surgeon on the estate, who attends them as well as the other slaves when they are sick. Now, if you feel inclined, we will go round the works.”
The old planter, in a few minutes’ walk, brought them to an extensive row of detached cottages, each centred in a piece of garden-ground, well stocked with yams, sweet potatoes, bananas, and other tropical productions. Poultry of all descriptions were scattered in profusion about the place, and pigs appeared to be abundant.
“Now, captain, these are the cottages of the working slaves. The garden-ground is allowed to them; and whatever they can make by its produce, or by their pigs and their poultry, is all their own.”
“But how are they subsisted?”
“By rations, as regularly served out as yours are on board of your vessel, and they have as much as they can consume.”
“Are they all single men?”
“No, mostly married to slave girls on the estate: their wives live with them, unless they breed, and then they are removed up to the nurseries.”
“And what work do you exact from them?”
“Eight hours a day—except in cropt-time, and then we are very busy; so that they have plenty of leisure to look after their own interests if they choose.”