I gave the spur to my horse, and galloped in the direction of the cabins.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Devil’s Douche.
In a few seconds I entered the wide avenue between the cabins, and drawing bridle, sat glancing around me.
My patriarchal dreams vanished at the sight that met my eyes. Before me was a scene of tyranny, of torture—a scene from the tragedy of slave-life!
At the upper end of the quarter, and on one side of the overseer’s house, was an enclosure. It was the enclosure of the sugar-mill—a large building which stood a little further back. Inside the fence was a tall pump, rising full ten feet in height, with the spout near its top. The purpose of this pump was to yield a stream of water, which was conducted to the sugar-house by means of a slender trough, that served as an aqueduct.
A platform was raised a few feet above the ground, so as to enable the person working the pump to reach its handle.
To this spot my attention was directed by seeing that the negroes of the quarter were grouped around it, while the women and children, clinging along the fence, had their eyes bent in the same direction.