To the right of us lay a berry and wild-fruit tract, on our left was a large village, and our farm was in a certain portion skirted by an old field, through which the negroes had discovered the most direct path to market. At dawn they could be seen winding around the brow of the hill, men, women and children, with baskets on their heads and buckets on their arms, singly and in couples, sometimes three, four or a half dozen together. And how they stole from us! It seemed impossible to prevent, or even limit, their depredations. One evening Mr. Smith said to me, "The man Tony is sentenced to be hung." Tony was a village negro accused of murder, and as he had been confined in the village jail and tried at the village court-house, the case naturally created some excitement in our quiet neighborhood. "Oh, I am so sorry!" I exclaimed. "Yes, poor devil!" said Mr. Smith. "But it was a clear case. He belonged to Mr. Lamkin before the surrender, and the old man made every effort to get him off--employed the very best counsel. I am sorry for him, but the wind which is so ill for him will blow us good. He is to be hung in the old field that edges our farm, and after the execution takes place we shall have no more negro trespassers in that quarter. I very much doubt whether I shall be able to obtain hands to work that portion of the land." It would require a psychological study of the negro character to enable one to explain the spirit in which they flocked to the execution of their comrade, their friend, in some instances their kinsman. They came in holiday attire and with hurrying steps, and long before the hour appointed the adjoining fence was crowded with eager spectators, and, like flocks of blackbirds, they had filled every tree within five hundred yards, chatting and bustling and moving around with no apparent emotion except the desire to see.