A Southern jail was not
only the place of detention of offenders against social justice, but of
slaves waiting for the next market-day, of recaptured fugitives waiting
for their owners to reclaim them. Here they were huddled and caged,
pitiful and despairing in their misery. Such scenes sickened the young
reformer every day. God had opened to him the darkest chapter in the
book of the negroes' wrongs. Here is a page from that black volume of
oppression and cruelty, the record of which he has preserved in the
following graphic narrative: "During my late incarceration in Baltimore
prison, four men came to obtain a runaway slave. He was brought out of
his cell to confront his master, but pretended not to know him--did not
know that he had ever seen him before--could not recollect his name. Of
course the master was exceedingly irritated. 'Don't you remember,' said
he, 'when I gave you not long since thirty-nine lashes under the
apple-tree? Another time when I gave you a sound flogging in the barn?
Another time when you was scourged for giving me the lie, by saying that
the horse was in a good condition?' 'Yes,' replied the slave, whose
memory was thus quickened, 'I do recollect. You have beaten me cruelly
without cause; you have not given me enough to eat and drink; and I
don't want to go back again. I wish you to sell me to another master. I
had rather even go to Georgia than to return home!'
"'I'll let you know, you villain,' said the master, 'that my wishes and
not _yours_, are to be consulted.
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