_He was dead in the stocks_! The overseer on seeing him seemed surprised, and, I thought, manifested some remorse.

Four of the field hands took him out of the stocks and buried him: and every thing went on as usual.
It is not in my power to give a narrative of the daily occurrences on the plantation.

The history of one day was that of all.

The gloomy monotony of our slavery, was only broken by the overseer's periodical fits of drunkenness, at which times neither life nor limb on the estate were secure from his caprice or violence.
In the spring of 1835, the overseer brought me a letter from my wife, written for her by her young mistress, Mr.Gateweed's daughter.

He read it to me: it stated that herself and children were well--spoke of her sad and heavy disappointment in consequence of my not returning with my master; and of her having been told by him that I should come back the next fall.
Hope for a moment lightened my heart; and I indulged the idea of once more returning to the bosom of my family.