Her dress was hanging in tatters, and
the blood trickling down her cheeks had a horrifying effect. As soon as
the ruffian was tired, he bid the woman get down stairs and wash
herself. The miserable creature arose with difficulty, and picking up
her apron and turban, which were in different parts of the room, she
hobbled out crying bitterly. As soon as she was gone, the major pointed
to the blood, and said, "If we did not see that sometimes, there would
be no living with the brutes;" to which I replied in terms he could not
misunderstand, and at once left the house, determined never again to
enter it--a resolution I religiously kept. I afterwards heard that this
miserable creature was pregnant at the time, a circumstance that would
have induced at least some regard to leniency in any man not utterly
debased.
Those who are acquainted with southern scenes will see nothing
extraordinary in this recital, for they are every-day occurrences, and
scarcely elicit a remark, unless the perpetrator should happen to be a
slave-holding Wesleyan or Whitfieldite, when, perhaps, he would be
called to some account--his own version of the affair being of course
admitted _in limine_.
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