Exceptionally, the relation is worse. There are white my in the southern States who hold the life of a black at but slight value—just the value of his market price. An incident in the history of young Ringgold helps me to an illustration. But the day before, my “squire,” Black Jake had given me the story.
This youth, with some other boys of his acquaintance, and of like dissolute character, was hunting in the forest. The hounds had passed beyond hearing, and no one could tell the direction they had taken. It was useless riding further, and the party halted, leaped from their saddles, and tied their horses to the trees.
For a long time the baying of the beagles was not heard, and the time hung heavily on the hands of the hunters. How were they to pass it?
A negro boy chanced to be near “chopping” wood. They knew the boy well enough—one of the slaves on a neighbouring plantation.
“Let’s us have some sport with the darkie,” suggested one.
“What sport?”
“Let us hang him for sport.”
The proposal of course produced a general laugh.
“Joking apart,” said the first speaker, “I should really like to try how much hanging a nigger could bear without being killed outright.”
“So should I,” rejoined a second.