'I don't think he means to ill-treat them; he's a kind-hearted man.'
'Wal, he ar' sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d—d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs.'
'Hogs!' I exclaimed, laughing; 'I supposed you didn't feed hogs in these diggings. I supposed you 'let 'em run.''
'I doan't; an' I've got th' tallest porkys 'round har.'
'I've been told that they get a good living in the woods.'
'Wal, p'raps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum. They clean up a place like, eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du.'
'It seems to me,' I said, resuming the previous thread of the conversation, 'that overseers are a necessity on a large plantation.'
'Wal, the' ar', an' thet's why thar ortent ter be no big plantations; God Almighty didn't make human bein's ter be herded togethar in th' woods. No man orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em—he can't look arter no more himself, an' it's agin natur' ter set a feller over 'em what han't no int'rest in 'cm, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' who'll drive 'em round like brutes. I never struck one on 'em in my life, an' my ten du more'n ony fifteen th' Cunnel's got.'
'I thought they needed occasional correction. How do you manage them without whipping?'
'Manage them! why, 'cordin' ter scriptur'—do ter 'em as I'd like ter be dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one on 'em knows I'd part with my last shirt, an' live on taters an' cow-fodder, 'fore I'd sell 'em; an' then I give 'em Saturdays for 'emselfs; but thet's cute dealin' in me, (tho' th' pore, simple souls doan't see it,) fur ye knows the' work thet day fur 'emselfs, an' raise nigh all thar own feed, 'cept th' beef and whisky, an' it sort o' makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef the' war free—the' work th' better fur it all th' week.'