After washing her thoroughly with this， I was told to takeher to her cabin. Untying the ropes， I raised her in myarms. She was unable to stand， and as her head restedon my shoulder， she repeated many times， in a faintvoice scarcely perceptible， “Oh， Platt—oh， Platt！” butnothing further. Her dress was replaced， but it clung toher back， and was soon stiff with blood. We laid her onsome boards in the hut， where she remained a long time，with eyes closed and groaning in agony. At night Phebeapplied melted tallow to her wounds， and so far as we were able， all endeavored to assist and console her. Dayafter day she lay in her cabin upon her face， the sorespreventing her resting in any other position.
A blessed thing it would have been for her—days andweeks and months of misery it would have saved her—had she never lifted up her head in life again. Indeed，from that time forward she was not what she had been.
The burden of a deep melancholy weighed heavily on herspirits. She no longer moved with that buoyant and elasticstep—there was not that mirthful sparkle in her eyes thatformerly distinguished her. The bounding vigor—thesprightly， laughter-loving spirit of her youth， were gone.
She fell into a mournful and desponding mood， and oftentimes would start up in her sleep， and with raised hands，plead for mercy. She became more silent than she was，toiling all day in our midst， not uttering a word. A careworn，pitiful expression settled on her face， and it was herhumor now to weep， rather than rejoice. If ever there wasa broken heart—one crushed and blighted by the rudegrasp of suffering misfortune—it was Patsey’s.
She had been reared no better than her master’sbeast—looked upon merely as a valuable and handsomeanimal—and consequently possessed but a limitedamount of knowledge. And yet a faint light cast its raysover her intellect， so that it was not wholly dark. Shehad a dim perception of God and of eternity， and a stillmore dim perception of a Saviour who had died even forsuch as her. She entertained but confused notions of a future life—not comprehending the distinction betweenthe corporeal and spiritual existence. Happiness， in hermind， was exemption from stripes—from labor—fromthe cruelty of masters and overseers. Her idea of the joyof heaven was simply rest， and is fully expressed in theselines of a melancholy bard：
“I ask no paradise on high，
With cares on earth oppressed，
The only heaven for which I sigh，
Is rest， eternal rest.”
It is a mistaken opinion that prevails in some quartersthat the slave does not understand the term—doesnot comprehend the idea of freedom. Even on BayouBoeuf， where I conceive slavery exists in its most abjectand cruel form—where it exhibits features altogetherunknown in more northern States—the most ignorantof them generally know full well its meaning. Theyunderstand the privileges and exemptions that belong toit—that it would bestow upon them the fruits of their ownlabors， and that it would secure to them the enjoymentof domestic happiness. They do not fail to observe thedifference between their own condition and the meanestwhite man’s， and to realize the injustice of the laws whichplace it in his power not only to appropriate the profitsof their industry， but to subject them to unmerited andunprovoked punishment， without remedy， or the right toresist， or to remonstrate.
Patsey’s life， especially after her whipping， was one longdream of liberty. Far away， to her fancy an immeasurabledistance， she knew there was a land of freedom. Athousand times she had heard that somewhere in thedistant North there were no slaves—no masters. In herimagination it was an enchanted region， the Paradise ofthe earth. To dwell where the black man may work forhimself—live in his own cabin—till his own soil， was ablissful dream of Patsey’s—a dream， alas！ the fulfillmentof which she can never realize.
The effect of these exhibitions of brutality on thehousehold of the slave-holder， is apparent. Epps’ oldestson is an intelligent lad of ten or twelve years of age. It ispitiable， sometimes， to see him chastising， for instance，the venerable Uncle Abram. He will call the old man toaccount， and if in his childish judgement it is necessary，sentence him to a certain number of lashes， which heproceeds to inflict with much gravity and deliberation.
Mounted on his pony， he often rides into the field withhis whip， playing the overseer， greatly to his father’sdelight. Without discrimination， at such times， he appliesthe rawhide， urging the slaves forward with shouts， andoccasional expressions of profanity， while the old manlaughs， and commends him as a thorough-going boy.
“The child is father to the man，” and with such training，whatever may be his natural disposition， it cannot wellbe otherwise than that， on arriving at maturity， thesufferings and miseries of the slave will be looked upon with entire indifference. The influence of the iniquitoussystem necessarily fosters an unfeeling and cruel spirit，even in the bosoms of those who， among， their equals， areregarded as humane and generous.
Young Master Epps possessed some noble qualities， yetno process of reasoning could lead him to comprehend，that in the eye of the Almighty there is no distinction ofcolor. He looked upon the black man simply as an animal，differing in no respect from any other animal， save inthe gift of speech and the possession of somewhat higherinstincts， and， therefore， the more valuable. To worklike his father’s mules—to be whipped and kicked andscourged through life— to address the white man with hatin hand， and eyes bent servilely on the earth， in his mind，was the natural and proper destiny of the slave. Broughtup with such ideas—in the notion that we stand withoutthe pale of humanity—no wonder the oppressors of mypeople are a pitiless and unrelenting race.
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