Finding, on inquiry, that my patient had that morning started to work in that part of the plantation, I readily surmised that the blanket aforesaid contained my case of fits. Asking the overseer to accompany me, we advanced to meet the negroes, who seemed to have great difficulty in keeping the object in the blanket; we met them just as they reached the centre of the bridge, the water under neath being some eight or ten feet deep. “Who have you got there?” I asked. “Hannah, sir, has got another of her fits,” replied one of the negroes. “Put her down on the bridge and let me examine her.” It was done; it required the united strength of the four negroes to hold her still whilst I made the necessary examination, the result of which confirmed my impression that she was simulating. I thundered almost in her ears, but she gave no answer, and I determined to put in execution my new plan of treatment. “Pick her up and throw her in the bayou,” I said, very clearly and precisely. Knowing I rarely said what I did not mean, the negroes yet hesitated somewhat at the singular command, afraid either to obey or refuse. “Throw her in!” I yelled, giving a thundering stamp on the bridge. No longer in doubt, the negroes picked up the blanket, and giving it a few preliminary swings, to acquire momentum, were about to cast away, when, with a loud yell, the case of fits burst from their hold and made tracks for the cotton-field. I am pretty fleet myself, as were the negroes, but that _poor diseased invalid_ beat us all, and had hoed considerably on a row before we reached her. A liberal flagellation completed the cure, and she has never been troubled with fits since! A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. |It was the spring of 183-, the water from the Mississippi had commenced overflowing the low swamps, and rendering travelling on horseback very disagreeable. The water had got to that troublesome height, when it was rather too high for a horse, and not high enough for a canoe or skiff to pass easily over the submerged grounds. I was sitting out under my favourite oak, congratulating myself that I had no travelling to do just then,--it was very healthy--when my joy was suddenly nipped in the bud by a loud hallo from the opposite side of the bayou. Looking over, and answering the hail, I discerned first a mule, and then something which so closely resembled an ape or an ourang outang, that I was in doubt whether the voice had proceeded from it, until a repetition of the hail, this time coming unmistakeably from it, assured me that it was a human. “Massa doctor at home?” yelled the voice. “Yes, I am the doctor; what do you want?” “Massa sent me with a letter to you.” Jumping in the skiff, a few vigorous strokes sent me to the opposite shore, where the singular being awaited my coming.