Walking for a stroll, a day or two after, in the vicinity of the
Marine-promenade, I saw a strange-looking cavalcade approaching. Two
armed overseers were escorting five negroes, recently captured, to the
city gaol. The poor creatures were so heavily shackled, that they could
walk but slowly, and their brutal conductors kept urging them on,
chiefly by coarse language and oaths, now and then accompanied by a
severe stroke with a slave-whip carried by one of them. The recovered
fugitives looked very dejected, and were, no doubt, brooding over the
consequences of their conduct. The elder of the party, a stout fellow of
about forty-five years old, of very sullen look, had a distinct brand on
his forehead of the initials S.T.R. I afterwards inquired what these
brand-marks signified, supposing, naturally, that they were the initials
of the name of his present or former owner. My informant, who was a
by-stander, stated that he was, no doubt, an incorrigibly bad fellow,
and that the initials S.T.R. were often used in such cases.
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