CHAPTER III.

        THE ESCAPE—PURSUED BY BLOOD HOUNDS—THE CAPTURE—THE PUNISHMENT.

        THIS was the night I selected to start on my journey to that free land of Canada, which I knew was somewhere under the North Star. About ten o'clock at night I selected the swiftest mule on the plantation and started for Lake Providence, which is about ninety miles north-east of Monroe, and situated on the Mississippi River.

        My intentions were to ride that mule until nearly day light, and then turn him loose and let him go back to the plantation as he often did when taken from home and turned loose. And then my intentions were to secrete myself in the swamp during the day, and resume my journey at night.

        The mule traveled like a deer for more than four hours, and it must have been very near three o'clock in the morning, (for the roosters were crowing) when the old mule changed his mind. All at once he stopped, and I kept straight on over his head for about ten feet, and landed on my stomach in six inches of mud and water.

        When I regained my footing he was standing just where I had left him when I went over his head. I again climbed on to his back and told him to go ahead, but he never moved no more than if he had been a dead mule. I patted him on the neck awhile and then again urged him to go ahead, and he turned around and looked me in the face, as if to say:

        "I know just what you are doing; you are running away,"

and all at once he turned around in a perfect circle for about five minutes and then started like the wind.

        I have often believed that mule circled around in order to make me lose my bearing, for it had been running for some time before I was aware he was carrying me back over the same road which I had come; and I never saw any living animal run as that mule was running, and all my endeavors to check his speed were of no avail; so I leaped from his back and I have never spoken to a mule since, and I do not care to have anything to do with mules again.

        Dear reader, you cannot even imagine what a predicament I was in. To return to my cabin before the blowing of the horn was impossible, for I was more than thirty miles away. It was Fallon's edict that every slave that failed to form in line ten minutes after the sounding of the horn, at four o'clock, should receive one hundred lashes.

        My clothing was completely saturated with mud and water, which made me look more like a big mud turtle than a human being. I was in a land where every white man was a Negro catcher, and every black man was worth his weight in gold.

        But something was to be done, and at once, for the rain had ceased to fall and the clouds were scattering in every direction; and by the morning star that was slowly moving up the horizon I knew day was breaking. I left the highway and waded through mud and swamp land until I reached the dense forest, and then continued my journey for a mile or two back in the forest and climbed a cypress tree. The fringe on a cypress tree is sufficient to make it impossible to discover a man except by close observation, after he has climbed twenty-five or thirty feet from the ground.

        I was not afraid of being captured that day, unless by mere accident, for I was satisfied that the rain had not only made it impossible for the hounds to follow my trail, but it had also erased my foot prints on the main highway. I selected the forks of a tree and lashed myself to the limbs with cypress bark and was soon fast asleep. In my dreams I was again with my father and mother in my log cabin 'way up in old Virginia.

        During the day I remained in my hiding place and I was greatly refreshed by my day's rest, and the dry atmosphere had

completely dried my clothing, and it was an easy matter for me to rid my clothing of the greater part of the mud and dirt, by pounding and shaking them, and as soon as darkness began to settle over the forest I cautiously began to look around for a sweet potato patch, or some other means to satisfy my stomach. And after having filled up on googer nuts (or peanuts) and sweet potatoes, I re-filled my water bottle and started on my journey toward the town of Lake Providence, but my progress was very slow, as well as irksome, for I was compelled to keep clear of the highway, and traveled across fields and swamps that were filled wit insects and poisonous serpents. Compelled to travel under the cover of darkness, with no guide except the Mississippi River, and no light but the North Star. I did not dare to venture near a habitation of any kind, for fear of arousing all the blood hounds in the neighborhood, and I was also aware that Dick Fallon and his man eaters were at that very hour scouring the country for my capture. You who live in palaces and sleep in a feather bed, can never imagine the hardships of the man who is traveling through mud and swamps in the dead hours of night, with no shelter but the canopy of heaven, and was startled at the rustle of every leaf, and the chirping of every cricket seemed to cry out "Stop him, there he goes!" and imagine he could hear voices whispering in the still midnight air. I knew it was useless for me to think of venturing near the public road, before I reached Lake Providence, which was the safest place for me to cross the river, and get out of the State of Louisiana. It was a beautiful starlight night, not a cloud was visible, and I traveled as rapid as possible, until the morning star arose high in the heavens. Then I again retreated to the forest, and selected the forks of a tree for my hiding place during the day. On the third night of my escape I arrived at Lake Providence about one o'clock in the morning, and securing a row boat, I safely crossed the river into the State of Mississippi, and continued my journey a few miles along the banks of the river, and then, concealed myself in the swamp.

        I was unaware of the vigilance kept along the banks of the Mississippi river between Vicksburg and Memphis for the capture of runaway slaves. I was not aware that both sides of the

river was being patrolled night and day by those who made their livelihood by capturing escaped slaves, and thereby securing the rewards, which were frequently as high as five hundred dollars if captured alive, and one-half that sum for their dead bodies.

        I did not know that blood hounds were let loose at all the accessible places of crossing in order to scent the tracks of any one who might have crossed the river during the night unobserved. But I was soon made aware of these facts. About nine o'clock in the morning, while snugly perched in the forks of a tree, I heard the old familiar howl of hounds, and although the sound was a long distance from me, yet I was sure a human being was being pursued.

        But whether it was myself or some one else I was not able to determine. Blood hounds are not fleet until within a few rods of their game. About five miles an hour is their ordinary gait when following a cold trail, or when their game is two or three miles ahead of them; but as they draw nearer they double their speed, and they never tire and are as unerring as time itself. I have known them to follow a trail for five consecutive days and win their game. The owners of them generally follow on horseback and about a mile in the rear.

        About ten minutes after hearing the first echos of their howls it was repeated, but was much nearer and more distinct; and then I knew that it was myself that was being pursued, and I determined to foil them if possible. I at once left my hiding place and started for the river, which was about a mile away, and when having run about two-thirds of the distance they gave me another one of their terrible warnings that they were not more than a half mile behind me.

        The thoughts of freedom and the dread of Dick Fallon renewed my energy and doubled my speed in my superhuman efforts to reach the river. It was a race against time, a run for my life. I knew that if I could reach the river it was possible to elude them by wading into the water along the bank, and then retracing a few miles of my journey. The canebrake and underbrush that grew along the banks would conceal me, and the water would cover my trail. But it was a task beyond human strength and human speed to execute, for as I neared the river the ground would not bear my weight only by slow and

cautious tread. I was wading in six inches of mud and water, and the bogs and mounds were trembling and sinking beneath my feet, and another tremendous howl from a score of those pursuing man eaters made my blood run cold; for they were not more than one hundred rods behind me, while twice that distance must be traveled ere I could reach the river. It was sure death for me to be run down by that swarm of hunting tigers, for the men on horseback were perhaps a mile away, and I knew I would be torn limb from limb before they could possibly arrive.

        I knew I must leave the ground, and very speedly, for as I cast one backward glance, I saw the grass swaying and splitting and the canebrake was cracking and falling, as the hounds came rushing after me, and not more than fifty rods away. A small cypress tree stood about ten rods to my left and my life depended on my ability to reach it.

        Reader, picture the scene, if possible, of a man running for his life and a score of mad hounds pursuing him to drink his blood. There were no chasms, no cliffs, no places of concealment, no possible chance of escape, except by reaching that cypress tree and ascending beyond their reach ere they came sweeping down upon me. It was the crisis of my life, and although it happened nearly fifty years ago, yet it startles me, even now in my old age.

        I succeeded in reaching the cypress tree, and had not a minute to spare, for before I was ten feet from the ground I was surrounded by twenty-one of the largest and most ferocious looking blood hounds I ever saw; and I was still in great danger, for the tree was not more than six inches in diameter, and I was afraid of its being uprooted or torn down before the men on horseback could arrive. They would have succeeded in doing this had I not begun to throw my clothing among them. First I threw my hat and coat, which they tore into shreds in less time than I could relate it. Then I hurled my old shoes at them, which only deterred some of them for perhaps a minute; and at last I hurled my pants among them, which they consumed as speedily as they had the rest of my clothing. And then they at once began digging and tearing at the roots of the tree. Then I began to realize that the end was near, for the tree had begun

to reel and totter just as the men on horses hove in sight; and one shrill sound of the bugle was sufficient to cause those well-trained animals to cease their efforts to devour me, and it also caused them to form a complete circle at the root of the tree. It may not be generally known that well-trained blood hounds can be called from the chase by the sounding of the bugle in the hands of their owner, and the same means is also used as a signal for them to renew the chase, and they will readily obey the bugle at any distance within its sound.

        When they were within a few rods of me I observed they were seven in number, and I was greatly relieved to see that Dick Fallon was not among them; but, as I have previously stated, it was a party of men that make their living by catching runaway Negroes.

        They all dismounted and the one that seemed to be the leader of the party thus addressed me:

        "Hello! up there, you black gorrilla; what are you doing up there? Don't you know that cocoanuts don't grow on cypress trees? Come down from there, d—n quick, too."

        And I immediately obeyed them.

        When I had descended to the ground the following conversation passed between us:

        "Where is your clothing?"

        "The dogs tore them up, master."

        "Yes, and you are d—d lucky they did not tear you up. Who are you anyhow? Who's nigger are you? Why, you look like Adam in the garden of Eden. Where do you hail from, and where were you heading to?"

        I replied that my home was in old Virginia and I was on my way to Canada, for I did not want them to know that I belonged to Dick Fallon and I was in hopes they would send me back to old Virginia.

        I was asked a great many questions concerning Virginia; all of which I was able to answer, for it was the land where I was born and nurtured; but when I was asked why I was in Mississippi if I belonged in Virginia and on my way to Canada I could not make a satisfactory reply.

        It was only a matter of time for them to find my owner, for it was customary with them, when they captured a runaway

slave, to advertise for the owner and also give a general description of the captured Negro, a process which made it almost impossible for the master not to know the whereabouts of his property.

        Of course I was to be kept in jail during the time of the inquiry. They were somewhat puzzled in regards how to supply me with clothing suitable to convey me through the streets of Lake Providence, for the dogs had torn my clothing so fine that there was not enough left to cover the back of a good-sized rabbit, and one of the men suggested that it would be well to take enough skin off my back to make a suit of clothes for me. Finally I was supplied with a horse blanket and was commanded to wrap it around my body in true Indian style, and we all began to retrace our journey toward Lake Providence, which was perhaps some five or six miles away.

        I was confined in jail at Lake Providence, with twenty-three other runaways that were held for identification by their owners and the offering of a satisfactory reward, and all of them had been captured by the same party that captured me.

        There was one man held in confinement, of whom I will relate a circumstance that happened while I was in jail and of which I was an eye witness. He had escaped from a planter in the northwestern part of Louisiana by the name of Robert Johnson, and was captured while crossing the Mississippi river at Lake Providence and was jailed at that place. His master had seen the advertisement and had come after him. I had frequently heard him say that he would never be carried back alive; and surely he was justified in his declaration, for from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet it would have been impossible to have found a square inch that was not gashed with the lash, and his clothing was glued to his flesh with the exudation from running sores.

        About three weeks after I had been confined in jail I was standing at the grated window talking to him. It was just before twelve o'clock noon, when we observed two men coming up the street toward the jail. One of the men was the Sheriff of the jail and the other was his old master; and the minute he saw his master a stream of a fire seemed to leap from his eyes, and he said to me: "Yonder comes Master Roberts after me and he

will take his dinner in h—l; for I shall kill him the minute he steps inside of this door;" and as he spoke he seized one of the railings of the bunk on which we slept and with the strength of a tiger he wrenched the solid scantling from its place and glided behind the door, which swung inward when opened.

        The keys rattled, the heavy door swung on its rusty hinges and his master stepped inside the jail without the least suspicion of harm or that death was at hand. Why, there crouched near Robert Johnson a human lion, with the scorching thoughts of wife and babe, who had been sold only a few days before.

        There was a man near him whom he had robbed of his wife and child, robbed of his freedom, robbed of his God-given rights; yes, and even robbed him of the skin that covered his back, and then had come to return him to that caldron of misery that was boiling with the white flame of despair. What comes next? Why, what do you expect to hear?

        Like a lion that springs from the mountain cliff, the slave leaped from his hiding place and a trail of smoke seemed to follow his uplifted club as it came rushing down upon the head of his cruel master. It was an awful blow. I don't believe so powerful a blow was ever struck before or since by any man. The solid beam, or club, was torn into shavings, and Robert Johnson was a headless man, for his head had been swept from his shoulders as completely as if struck by a solid rock shot from the mouth of a volcano.

        There was more sympathy manifested in behalf of the Negro than might be expected, considering the crime and place and the vast distinction between slave and master. But it must be remembered that, with the exception of Dick Fallon, Robert Johnson was the most inhuman Negro driver in all the Southern States, and had incurred the ill-will of many of the surrounding planters by his cruel treatment of his Negroes, for his cruelty was the cause of frequent escapes of his slaves and thereby inciting the slaves of surrounding planters to follow their example, and living in the northern part of the State and near the line made it possible for many of their escapes to prove successful. Therefore when he was slayed by one of his own Negroes there was an unusual amount of sympathy manifested in behalf of the slave; and at his trial he was stripped of his clothing in

order to impress upon the jurymen the justification for the deed.

        And surely he was a pitiable sight to behold. In many places on his back the bare bones were glistening, for his skin was entirely flayed from his body. One of the jurymen exclaimed: "Why! that Negro must surely be Lazarus raised from the grave.

        But public opinion was too strong against the Negro those days to let a slave slay his master and then go unpunished. It made no difference in regard to the justification of the act in behalf of the slave.

        The jury concluded that if they exonerated the Negro in this case it would be the cause of inciting others to follow his example. He was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged.

        There was a very strong petition presented to Governor Palmer, who was then Governor of the State, for the commutation of the sentence to life imprisonment. The petition was formulated and presented by many of the most influential planters in the State. It was finally successful and the Governor commuted the sentence. But when the documents arrived that was to save the life of the condemned man, John Knox, who was then jailor and sheriff, had hanged the Negro just twenty-one minutes before the messenger came.

        I was in jail nearly two months before my master was aware of my whereabouts, although I was less than one hundred miles from him. The facilities for conveying news throughout the Southern States were not so great fifty years ago as they are to-day. But at last the advertisement had the desired effect, and two months after my confinement in jail I heard the hoofs of a horse rattling in the street, and on looking out of the window I saw Dick Fallon dismount.

        My identification by Fallon and his men was speedy and complete, and I was brought back to the same old home of misery and distress. I was well aware there was a terrible punishment in store for me, and my only desire was to have it over with as soon as possible, but the thought of it was neither alarming nor frightening. Even death itself would have been a cherished friend. For the gaunt specter of disasters and misfortunes had haunted my path until their horrible appearance had become familiar, and I no longer had either fear or trembling while crossing their dismal plain.

        We arrived at Monroe about three o'clock Sunday afternoon, and in less than an hour thereafter I was chained to a post a few feet from a bee-hive and given one hundred and twenty-five lashes, then I was blindfolded in order to protect my eyesight, and the swarm of bees was irritated by throwing sand upon them and immediately my bare and bleeding back was completely punctured by their stings. The pain was terrible; it was as though my whole body was on fire; I was in more torment than Dante ever depicted in his frightful illustration of Inferno. My pain was beyond mortal endurance and human strength had forsaken me, and I became insensible to pain or torture.

        It is a blessing that human beings are so constructed that when being tortured they are only sensible to pain until it reaches a certain degree of severity, and when that limit is reached they elapse into a comatose state, and for the time being they are invulnerable to pain.

        I must have remained in a state of insensibility for hours, for when I aroused from my stupor the night was far spent and I was lying in my cabin, having been carried there soon after dark by Fallon's command. I was in a horrible state; my back was swollen until I looked as if my stomach was on the wrong side of me and gave me the appearance, when moving around my cabin, as though I was continually walking backward.

        More than a month elapsed before I was capable of performing any kind of manual labor, and during all of those days of my confinement and torture I never relinquished my desire and intentions to escape at the first opportunity that was offered me. But time doth glide so swiftly by that to-day and to-morrow seems only to change their places. To-day we are born and to-morrow we are buried. Having lived our three score years and ten, in one swing of the pendulum of time, and only one glance at eternity's dial. From the day of our birth it seems as if the thought of the cradle and the grave have been our only companions.

* * * * * * *

        Ten months swept by, which were more perplexing to Fallon than all the previous years of his life; for from the

very day he committed that inhuman and bloody act, gloom and disasters began to hover around the old plantation; his own soil frowned on him and refused to pursue its natural productiveness. One-half of the cotton seed, when planted, refused to spring into life and would remain in the same condition as though it had not been sown. It was like sowing pebbles; and that portion of the seed that sprung up might just as well have remained in the ground, for all the cotton worms in the State left their accustomed places of destruction and congregated in Fallon's cotton field, while premature frosts and whirlwinds would play havoc with his cotton and leave adjoining plantations undisturbed.

        His plantation could justly boast of possessing a thousand head of the finest blooded stock that could be found in all the Southern States; but they seemed to wither away and die, and in less than one year nearly one-third of his stock died from disease or accident.

        During this grand carnival of just retribution he was in a terrible rage. There is no mode of expression known among men that could possibly portray his acts or definitely express his disregard of the warnings of God. He was simply a demon roaming the earth, with the huge billows of his coming destruction lashing around him. Thus it is that men go rushing on to sure death, deceived by the very prudential warnings that speak with all the voices in nature's chest and whispers in our ear.

        The thought never occurred to him that he was in the red channel of the long prepared destiny of his own construction. The thought never entered his mind that the All Seeing Eye is ever discerning the affairs and acts of men. He believed the affairs of the world to be abandoned to chance, and all his hopes and meditations were centralized in accumulating wealth and recreation. He delighted in tears and groans and immolated human beings without mercy. He was beyond the voice of his own conscience and was incapable of seeing the limits of the acts of men and the mercy of God. His religion was that men could only be governed by fear and cruelty; it is a wicked and terrible opinion and is sure to recoil with a tremendous force on those by whom they are diffused or executed.

        The cabins were built on three sides of the plantation, thus

forming a complete hollow square around it. There were about three hundred cabins all told and each of them contained two or three rooms, with an average of ten inhabitants per cabin; and for years it had been a practice to congregate at different places on the plantation in the evening and enjoy themselves, as is customary with the black race under all circumstances. There were frequently as many as eight or ten different dances in progress the same night. These dances were called "dusty shuffles," for they were usually performed on the ground in the open air. Where they were held the ground had become beaten as hard as a rock and smooth as glass. They were usually held on moonlight nights, although frequently held on dark nights by the aid of the lights from pine tree knots fixed to an iron rod driven in the ground.

        There were many fiddles, banjos and tamborines on the place, all of which were made by the Negroes themselves; bone players were numerous and in great demand, and scarcely was life extinct in an ox or horse before their ribs would be hanging up to dry for the bone players.

        The favorite dances were the "Old Virginia Reel" and "Old Jim Crow," and frequently the music would be furnished by many horny hands patting and singing something like this:

                         "When I lay down to take a little snoot,
                         A flea and bull frog slid in my boot;

                         Quick time—
                         Bull frog holler, flea he sting;
                         Den I rise and cut the pijin wing.

                         Chorus—
                         Den hustle and shuffle and sift, sift, sift!
                         Den hustle and shuffle and sift, sift, sift!

                         Den I lay down in de middle of de night,
                         'Long come a skeeter and take one bite,
                         He wipe him lips and begin to sing,
                         Den I rise and cut the pijin wing."

        Dick Fallon delighted in having such sports among his slaves, for it gave the impression to the score of his contemporaries,

whom he brought to see them, that he was just and kind to them.

        Some of his serfs would congregate in sacred worship, and they were imperatively commanded not to forget to pray "O Lord, make us obedient servants," a command which they strictly obeyed, not only to satisfy the demand of their rulers, but to satisfy the demand of their consciences. Filial duty was born in them, and human affection had been taught them from the lips of babbling brooks and from the fragrant smell of lilies and roses. To them all nature was a prayer-book and every day an eternal sermon.

        Wherever they were, whether in the fields or in their cabins or hanging to the whipping posts, they raised toward heaven innocent hands and pure hearts, filled with the love that makes the whole world kin.

        They followed the golden rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." All their study was how to please and assist all of those around them, whether master or slave, and they did solemnly kneel in prayer for those who were spitefully using them. Mutual affection was the anchor of their hopes and the pillar of their soul. These sentiments were the guiding star of their fathers and had been transmitted to them from time immemorial.

        They knew no other philosophy but universal beneficence and resignation to their fate, which seems to be the will of God. But during the last year all of their evening sports and hilarity had disappeared and their religious meetings seemed to be on the wane. There was less fervency in their prayers and vacancy in their numbers. Their nights of worship became scarce and unwelcome. Like the children of Israel they began to wander away and worship strange gods.

        The natural and inevitable result followed. They became morose and even suspicious of each other, and many of them were contemplating whether a providence ever existed at all. Their actions were neither strange nor inconsiderate, for there are times in this life that our adversities seem so dreadful and unmerited, that the confidence, even of the wisest, is frequently staggered. They no longer looked to nature and surrounding scenes for their guide and sympathy. Sleep was no longer their

balm. Food neither revived their decaying hopes nor stimulated their vanishing pleasure.

        It is not surprising that those illiterate people, who were born and raised on the plantation, and many of them never were beyond its limits, should become spiritually depressed until they were atheistical in their opinions and beliefs; and being naturally superstitious, all manner of horrible imaginations took possession of their brain. Superstition is diffused all over the world; but it is more prevalent among the atheistical and illiterate masses than in the intellectual lands of Bibles and spelling books.

        Religious opinions and beliefs are an absolute necessity in order to make men strong, vigorous and intelligent, as well as courageous. If it was possible to make all men in civilized America forsake their beliefs in a deity, then every mother's babe that now sleeps in its crib would be weighted with charms to scare away witches and magpies, and every school urchin would see ghosts and hobgoblins lurking in every corner.

        Before the days of Wesley, Guttenberg and Luther all Europe was overrun with witches and fairies.

        These facts were verified among Fallon's slaves. Their superstitious thoughts augmented in their minds until they became veritable facts; and at last horrible sights were so numerous that none would venture out after nightfall, but would huddle together in their cabins and converse in whispers, and the whole plantation became as silent as the grave.

        Many of the slaves began to believe that Dick Fallon was not an ordinary being, and verified their beliefs with many fabulous sights and tales concerning him. There was a magnificent fountain on the place and at its base there was a small-sized lake or pool, and if the plantation tradition concerning its waters were true, then it must have possessed the most miraculous qualities known since the days of the famous pool of Siloam and other Oriental places of bathing; or else Dick Fallon possessed the power of bodily transformation.

        By the aid of science and experience we are forced to believe there are times when the air possesses mirrorizing qualities or power of reflecting different objects. Navigators on a large body of water have frequently seen cities that were hundreds of

miles away distinctly photographed in the clouds over their heads. Perhaps it is an inexplicable phenomena, and is simply called a mirage.

        Many of us have frequently noticed, when standing on a river's bank alone, that a perfect double mirage, or two shadows of ouselves were distinctly visible in the water's depths. These facts just related, may somewhat clear up the mystery concerning the pool, for it was customary with Fallon to bathe in this pool, and it was a prevalent belief on the plantation that when the fog was rising from the fountain at a certain hour in the morning that he was frequently seen floating in mid-air in the center of the fog, and his face was often seen reflecting on the surface of the water, when he was known to be miles away. The plantation was ten miles long, and Fallon was frequently seen at either end of it at the same time. Many other such stories were whispered in the cabins in the evening, and they were told with true sincerity and candor. Although the tales were all ignisfatuus and unfounded.

        The dimensions of this gigantic plantation called the Purgoo Kingdom have frequently been stated in this book; and all over its vast domain Fallon's iron hand was felt. In order to make the governing process systematic and complete, Purgoo, the owner of the plantation, had four large bells manufactured. These bells were made in Paris, the planter's home, and were of the finest quality and had been used on the plantation for nearly a quarter of a century. They were so located as to be in hearing distance of each other; and at the necessary time, such as working and meal hours, etc., the overseer that lived near the first bell would signal for the ringing of it by blowing a silver whistle, and immediately the man selected for that purpose would ring bell No. 1, and it was a signal for the next one to it to ring, and in this manner only a few seconds elapsed between the first stroke of the bells on either end of the Purgoo Kingdom that they all seemed to ring together, and three thousand human beings moved around the farm as though they were only one. They all dropped their hoe or bundle of cotton at the same time and filed into line and went marching to their cabins.

        All four of the bells had in the course of time received a nickname applicable to some peculiarity connected with them. Hence one of the bells was known by the name of "Weeping

Mary," simply because it had such a lamentable sound. Another was called "Whistling Dick," deriving its name from its keen and piercing tone which was so keen and clear it was frequently heard all over the Purgoo Kingdom. But the most comical name among the bells was the one called "Stuttering Tom." This name had been applied to the bell from its peculiar sound caused by a split near its base and gave a suppressed or a smothered sound. But the last bell and the sweetest sounding bell in the State of Louisiana was called "Singing Nancy;" it had derived its name from the fact of its being situated near Nancy's cabin and its charming sound; it was surely a musical sounding bell, and was worthy of performing a more sacred mission. It was somewhat amusing to hear the many jests made concerning these bells just prior to meal time.

        At one end of the plantation some weary and hungry soul would cry out, "Oh, weep Mary, weep," and away in the distance could be heard another voice shouting, "Oh, whistle Dick, whistle," "Oh, stutter Tom, stutter," "Oh, sing Nancy, sing." Echos from such voices could be heard ringing over fourteen square miles.

        Old Uncle Joe, was the most aged human being on the plantation, and perhaps the oldest in the State, his age was not accurately known, but he was certainly an octogenarian, if not a centenarian. His flesh had entirely withered away until there was nothing left of him but shriveled skin and bone. But his hearing and eyesight were clear and unclouded, although the many years of his life had annihilated him physically. His daily labor consisted in ringing and polishing "Whistling Dick," the first bell, and by his occupation he had gained the sobriquet or nickname of "Bell Ringing Joe," a title he considered as eulogistic as that of General in the army.

        "Bell Ringing Joe" was a very devout and a conscientious man, and unshaken in his belief of immortality. But his theory of life in the next world was that all mankind will pursue occupations in the next life which will correspond with their general pursuits in this life. And when questioned in regard to what occupation he expected to pursue in the next world, he was sure to reply: "Ise gwine to polish and ring Whistling Dick," and by what followed many were forced to believe his prophecy was correct and fulfilled.