The weeding season of 1836, was marked by repeated acts of cruelty on the part of Huckstep. One of the hands, Priscilla, was, owing to her delicate situation, unable to perform her daily task. He ordered her to be tied up against a tree, in the same manner that I had been. In this situation she was whipped until _she was delivered of a dead infant, at the foot of the tree_! Our men took her upon a sheet, and carried her to the house, where she lay sick for several months, but finally recovered. I have heard him repeatedly laugh at the circumstance. Not long after this, we were surprised, one morning about ten o'clock, by hearing the horn blown at the house. Presently Aunt Polly came screaming into the field. "What is the matter, Aunty?" I inquired. "Oh Lor!" said she, "Old Huckstep's pitched off his horse and broke his head, and is e'en about dead." "Thank God!" said little Simon, "The devil will have him at last." "God-a-mighty be praised!" exclaimed half a dozen others. The hands, with one accord dropped their hoes; and crowded round the old woman, asking questions. "Is he dead?"--"Will he die?" "Did you feel of him--was he cold?" Aunt Polly explained as well as she could, that Huckstep, in a state of partial intoxication, had attempted to leap his horse over a fence, had fallen and cut a deep gash in his head, and that he was now lying insensible. It is impossible to describe the effect produced by this news among the hands. Men, women and children shouted, clapped their hands, and laughed aloud. Some cursed the overseer, and others thanked the Lord for taking him away. Little Simon got down on his knees, and called loudly upon God to finish his work, and never let the overseer again enter a cotton field. "Let him die, Lord," said he, "let him. He's killed enough of us: Oh, good Lord, let him die and not live." "Peace, peace! it is a bad spirit," said Uncle Solomon, "God himself willeth not the death of a sinner." I followed the old woman to the house; and found Huckstep at the foot of one of those trees, so common at the South, called the Pride of China. His face was black, and there was a frightful contusion on the side of his head. He was carried into the house, where, on my bleeding him, he revived. He lay in great pain for several days, and it was nearly three weeks before he was able to come out to the cotton fields. On returning to the field after Huckstep had revived, I found the hands sadly disappointed to hear that he was still living. Some of them fell to cursing and swearing, and were enraged with me for trying to save his life. Little Simon said I was a fool; if he had bled him he would have done it to some purpose. He would at least, have so disable his arm that he would never again try to swing a whip. Uncle Solomon remonstrated with Simon, and told that I had done right.