第51章 Chapter XIV.(4)
Thus a mine was opened—a new resource was developed，hitherto unthought of by the enslaved children of Africa，who toil and hunger along the shores of that sluggish， butprolific stream.
About the time of which I am now writing， an eventoccurred in our immediate neighborhood， which made adeep impression upon me， and which shows the state ofsociety existing there， and the manner in which affrontsare oftentimes avenged. Directly opposite our quarters，on the other side of the bayou， was situated the plantationof Mr. Marshall. He belonged to a family among the mostwealthy and aristocratic in the country. A gentleman fromthe vicinity of Natchez had been negotiating with him forthe purchase of the estate. One day a messenger came ingreat haste to our plantation， saying that a bloody andfearful battle was going on at Marshall’s—that blood hadbeen spilled—and unless the combatants were forthwithseparated， the result would be disastrous.
On repairing to Marshall’s house， a scene presenteditself that beggars deion. On the floor of one of therooms lay the ghastly corpse of the man from Natchez，while Marshall， enraged and covered with woundsand blood， was stalking back and forth， “breathing outthreatenings and slaughter.” A difficulty had arisen inthe course of their negotiation， high words ensued， when drawing their weapons， the deadly strife began thatended so unfortunately. Marshall was never placed inconfinement. A sort of trial or investigation was had atMarksville， when he was acquitted， and returned to hisplantation， rather more respected， as I thought， thanever， from the fact that the blood of a fellow being was onhis soul.
Epps interested himself in his behalf， accompanyinghim to Marksville， and on all occasions loudly justifyinghim， but his services in this respect did not afterwardsdeter a kinsman of this same Marshall from seeking hislife also. A brawl occurred between them over a gamblingtable，which terminated in a deadly feud. Riding up onhorseback in front of the house one day， armed withpistols and bowie knife， Marshall challenged him to comeforth and make a final settlement of the quarrel， or hewould brand him as a coward， and shoot him like a dogthe first opportunity. Not through cowardice， nor fromany conscientious scruples， in my opinion， but throughthe influence of his wife， he was restrained from acceptingthe challenge of his enemy. A reconciliation， however，was effected afterward， since which time they have beenon terms of the closest intimacy.
Such occurrences， which would bring upon the partiesconcerned in them merited and condign punishment inthe Northern States， are frequent on the bayou， and passwithout notice， and almost without comment. Every mancarries his bowie knife， and when two fall out， they set to work hacking and thrusting at each other， more likesavages than civilized and enlightened beings.
The existence of Slavery in its most cruel form amongthem has a tendency to brutalize the humane and finerfeelings of their nature. Daily witnesses of humansuffering—listening to the agonizing screeches of theslave—beholding him writhing beneath the mercilesslash—bitten and torn by dogs—dying without attention，and buried without shroud or coffin—it cannot otherwisebe expected， than that they should become brutified andreckless of human life. It is true there are many kindheartedand good men in the parish of Avoyelles—suchmen as William Ford—who can look with pity upon thesufferings of a slave， just as there are， over all the world，sensitive and sympathetic spirits， who cannot look withindifference upon the sufferings of any creature whichthe Almighty has endowed with life. It is not the fault ofthe slaveholder that he is cruel， so much as it is the faultof the system under which he lives. He cannot withstandthe influence of habit and associations that surroundhim. Taught from earliest childhood， by all that he seesand hears， that the rod is for the slave’s back， he will notbe apt to change his opinions in maturer years.
There may be humane masters， as there certainly areinhuman ones—there may be slaves well-clothed， wellfed，and happy， as there surely are those half-clad， halfstarvedand miserable； nevertheless， the institution
that tolerates such wrong and inhumanity as I have witnessed， is a cruel， unjust， and barbarous one. Menmay write fictions portraying lowly life as it is， or as itis not—may expatiate with owlish gravity upon the blissof ignorance—discourse flippantly from arm chairs ofthe pleasures of slave life； but let them toil with him inthe field—sleep with him in the cabin—feed with him onhusks； let them behold him scourged， hunted， trampledon， and they will come back with another story in theirmouths. Let them know the heart of the poor slave—learnhis secret thoughts—thoughts he dare not utter in thehearing of the white man； let them sit by him in thesilent watches of the night—converse with him in trustfulconfidence， of “life， liberty， and the pursuit of happiness，”
and they will find that ninety-nine out of every hundredare intelligent enough to understand their situation，and to cherish in their bosoms the love of freedom， aspassionately as themselves.