All persons, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living (after 156 years !) or dead, places, or events is wholly coincidental.

Author's Note: The "N-word" is used repeatedly in this story because it was routinely and casually used in the mid-19th century to refer to the black race, with no thought or concern given to whether it might offend.

Dr. Jeremiah Thornbush having recently received his M.D. from Hayward University and completed his internship, had serious reservations about practising medicine. He was far more inclined toward medical research. Being of independent means, he needed not concern himself with whether one could earn a living pursuing such study.

His advisor at Hayward, Dr. Francis Boose, had an interesting theory and needed someone to do the field work to obtain evidence to support or refute it. His theory was that the nervous system of the Negro was coarser and tougher than that of the white man, and that, therefore, it was able far better to withstand the pernicious effects of sexual excess, especially excessive masturbation.

There were too few Negroes in the North engaged in such strenuous labour as were the plantation workers in the South. Therefore, Dr. Boose needed a researcher who would visit the southern plantations , ascertain whether and how much the male labourers masturbated, and what effects the practise had on their health.

This project would have been of little interest to Dr. Thornbush were it not that it could serve another cause dear to his heart. For the past five years, Jeremiah Thornbush had been an active member of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery. The opportunity to travel through the deep South and interview the male slaves on a number of plantations was too useful to his cause to pass it up.

It was obvious to him that Dr. Boose was making a tacit assumption that the Negro race was more animal-like and less human than the white race, hence the assumed coarseness of the nervous system. Dr. Thornbush did not accept this assumption, but he was perfectly willing to pursue Dr. Boose's line of inquiry while availing himself of the opportunity to observe at first hand how the slave labourers were treated.

Dr. Boose had laid the groundwork for the project by writing to a number of slave-owners known to him in one way or another and inquiring whether they would mind if a colleague of his asked some of the male slaves questions about their sexual practises for the purpose of medical research. Only two had refused, probably more because Drs. Boose and Thornbush were Yankees than because of the nature of the inquiry.

The nearest plantation to which Dr. Boose had obtained a letter of introduction for Dr. Thornbush, Beauxchamps, was in Alabama. The journey from Boston was an arduous one, by train, river boat, and carriage. The rails were poorly spiked, so that the train lurched from side to side and, though designed to achieve a speed of 40 miles per hour under ideal conditions, was actually hard-pressed to reach 25 miles per hour most of the way. Sleep was impossible. The cars were insufferably stuffy, but opening the windows merely let in smoke and cinders.

Jeremiah was so exhausted that he fell asleep on the steamboat landing whilst awaiting the arrival of the Henry Clay. Fortunately, the whistle woke him in time to board the riverboat for what was to prove the most enjoyable leg of the journey.

Too soon for his taste, Jeremiah had to leave the Henry Clay for a stage coach which would stop a few miles from Beauxchamps [locally pronounced "Bucks-champs"], where he could hire a hackney to bring him to the plantation. The coach ride was, if anything, worse than the train ride and MUCH slower on rutted unpaved roads. Jeremiah felt as if he had been transported in a wheelbarrow.

It had been a journey of over 1000 miles and had required a week including stops and layovers. By the time he reached Beauxchamps. Jeremiah Thornbush was, as the natives put it, "wore to a frazzle." Setting down his carpet bag, Jeremiah knocked on the door with the great brass knocker. Immediately, the door was opened by a pear-shaped Negro with an extremely high voice.

"Please bring this letter to your master, Mr. Beaumarchais." said Jeremiah, handing his letter of introduction to the butler. Startled, the butler looked closely on the address on the letter. "Oh, it fo' Mr. Boomsha. Yes, suh, raht away. Please come in."

Jeremiah did, setting down his valise, which the butler did not pick up inasmuch as he was uncertain how welcome this obviously Yankee visitor would be. "Bucks-champs" ? "Boomsha" ? Jeremy decided that he might as well forget his French. It would obviously be of no use here.

In a moment, the pear-shaped butler waddled back into the foyer, followed by a tall, slim, white man with greying black hair and beard and an aquiline nose. While the butler picked up Jeremiah's bag and scuttled off with it, Mr. Beaumarchais advanced, took Jeremiah's hand and shook it vigourously.

"Welcome, Suh, to mah humble home." ["Humble" ? it looked like Buckingham Palace to Jeremiah.] "Please be so kahnd as to join me on the verandah fo' some refreshment." Jeremiah, hot and tired, was delighted to be so kind.

When they were ensconced on the cool shady verandah, sipping mint juleps, Mr. Beaucharchais remarked "Ah trust that you had a pleasant journey south, Doctor."

"Ah, would that it had been, Sir." replied Jeremiah. "In fact, though, it was arduous. The railroad is a wonderful thing, but in practise, it falls far short of its potential."

"The reason fo' that, Suh, is economic. The passenguh suhvice does not pay fo' itself. When theah is money to be spent on the railroad, the bulk of it goes into carryin' freight and the passenguh suhvice gets sho't shrift.

Paradoxically, the only solution is fo' the passenguh suhvice, poor as it is to be used more, either until it brings in enough revenue to pay fo' itself or until enough wealthy and influential passenguhs complain long and loudly enough to fo'ce the railroad to make improvements."

Just then, the pear-shaped butler came out onto the verandah to tell Dr. Thornbush that his room was ready any time he wished to rest. "Very well, Melchizedek. I'll show him the way when he wishes to rest." replied Mr. Beaumarchais.

"Melchizedek ? Are you, then 'a priest forever' ?"

"Oh no Suh" said the butler with a high girlish laugh. "But mah fathuh loved the sound of "A priest fo'evuh aftuh the o'duh of Melchizedek."

After Melchizedek had left, I asked Mr., Beaumarchais "Is he, by any chance, an eunuch ?

"Of Co'se, all the male house nigguhs are. It's fo' the protection of the womenfolk, and, ah assure you, a necessary precaution. You Yankees have too little experience with nigguhs to know their true natchuh.

The lust of the ruttin' male nigguh is beyond anything y'all have evuh seen or experienced. It's insatiable and theyuh's nuthin' he desires mo' than a white woman.

He'll cast caution to the winds and risk life itself to have his way with her. No white woman is safe in the same house with intact male nigguhs. Ah dayuh say you'll fahnd this on all plantations you visit: The male house nigguhs have been gelded.

Now, the field han's are all intact because geldin' a man weakens him and they need their stren'th. If a field nigguh is gelded, it's fo' disciplinary reasons, an' he's no use as a field nigguh any mo'.He's usually sold to somebody else fo' a house nigguh."

This was certainly the sort of thing which the Society for the Abolition of Slavery would want to know. Admittedly, the castration of slaves was not unknown even in the North, though it was rare. The first issue of The Connecticut Courant had carried an advertisement for the return of a slave "recently castrated and not yet fully heal'd."

On the next day, Mr. Beaumarchais set up a shed-like shelter for Dr. Thornbush in which he could ask questions of the male slaves privately and out of the Sun. Jeremiah made a special point of the fact that the slave's name was unknown to him and that nothing he told Dr. Thornbush could ever be used against him in any way.

As it might be significant, he did ask the slave's age. The first one he interviewed opened his eyes.

"How old are you ?"

"Twenty-three, suh."

"Do you play with or stroke or pull or rub your prick? [Jeremy disliked vulgarity, but he had to make himself understood to the slave.]

"Oh no, suh. Ah never does none of them things."

" Are you married ?"

"No, suh."

"Well, what do you do when you get horny ?"

"Ah has fun wid boys, suh."

"Exactly how do you 'have fun' with boys ?"

"Ah puts mah prick up his ass, an' then ah sucks his prick."

"I see. Thank you. NEXT " It had never occurred to Jeremy to wonder how common sodomy might be among the slaves.

The next slave was an uncommonly healthy-looking muscular young man who was uncertain of his age but guessed it to be around twenty-five or twenty-six.

When asked if he ever stroked, pulled, rubbed, or fondled his prick, he grinned broadly and said. 'Oh, yassuh, ah sho' does."

" How often do you do that ?"

The slave wrinkled his brow with thought and finally replied "Ah guess about nahn tahms a day. "

"How do you feel after doing it ?"

"Except fo'bein' a li'l bit sleepy, jes' fahn.

Dr. Thornbush found the frequencies of masturbatory indulgence reported by the

slaves almost incredible. He had had no idea that it was even possible to masturbate

so frequently. He was also surprised to learn that young married slaves masturbated only slightly less often than the unmarried ones. Never did he encounter a slave who felt bad after masturbating. Where were the haggard, emaciated. tremulous wrecks of men whom he had expected to encounter among the frequent masturbators ?

He also encountered a kind of sexual activity with which he was unfamiliar.

"How old are you ?"

"Thutty-two, suh"

"Are you married ?"

"Yassuh, fo' twelve years."

" How often do you 'give it' to your wife ?"

"Once a week, suh."

"Is that enough for you ?"

"No, suh."

"Well, what do you do the rest of the time ?" [hoping to get him to admit masturbating]

" Well, Doctuh, mah prick belong to mah wahf, but mah ass belong to mah bes' frien' an' he fuck me when she don'wan' me t'fuck her."

Jeremy was astonished. He had never heard of such a thing nor could he imagine that a married man could also be a catamite.

Because it would make percentages easy to calculate, Jeremy confined his inquiries to questioning one hundred slaves of various ages. He found that,except for a handful (6) who regarded it as sinful, all of the male slaves masturbated, most of them frequently. None of the masturbators showed any evidence of ill effects. It began to look as if Dr. Boose's theory might be valid.

Jeremiah did not want it to be because he did not want to have to regard the Negroes as sub-human, though, even if they were, it would be wrong to enslave them.

Surprising also was the fact that out of the 100 slaves questioned, sixteen admitted to unnatural practises: sodomy and catamitism. Dr. Thornbush wondered to what extent this might reflect the unavailability of mates resulting from the high ratio of males to females, 5:2, among the field slaves.

When he had interviewed 100 slaves, Jeremiah, felt justified in relaxing and enjoying the hospitality of Mr. Beaumarchais , his charming wife, Margaréthe, and their children, Jules and Marie-Claire.

Just before he was about to leave to continue his travels and researches, Mr. Beaumarchais handed Jeremiah an envelope and said. "You really must visit the adjoining plantation, Connemara. It is run by an Irishman named Patrick Flannigan.

You will find it most informative. This is a letter of introduction which explains your mission.

Please use my carriage. You should be there late in the morning or shortly after noon for Connemara is not far."

So, Jeremiah set out for Connemara in the Beaumarchais family's carriage. All went well until he was about halfway to his destination when the right rear wheel dropped into a pothole in the road and was broken. Jeremiah could see that the damage was serious and despaired of having it repared for several days.

However, there was a tiny village, actually no more than a hamlet, nearby called Rowanville which, to his great surprise, had a smithy. Indeed, except for a tavern, that was all it had.

The blacksmith came out at his convenience, that is, about an hour later, bringing two sturdy young men with him, to view the wreck. He opined that the wheel could be repaired by late afternoon and said. " 'Twon't look very nice, but 'twill be strong" .

That was as much as Jeremiah wanted. The two strong young men lifted the corner of the carriage while the smith removed the wheel and rested the axle on a sawhorse. Jeremiah accompanied them to the village and sought refreshment at the tavern. Two ponts of ale later, he felt much better about the whole matter.

Jeremiah sat on a bench under a chestnut tree in front of the tavern to watch the repairs being made across the street. He was awakened by the smith shaking his shoulder. When he rose to accompany the smith across the street to the smithy, he noticed that the shadows were long. Surprised that he had slept so long, Jeremiah consulted his pocket watch [which he was relieved to find that he still had as he could have been robbed blind while he slept] and found that the time was 4:00 P.M. By the time he arrived at Connemara, it would surely be after 5:00 P.M.

The repaired wheel, the spokes mended by iron straps bolted through the broken wood, and the rim, welded and re-forged into a semblance of circularity, was slightly out of round making the last part of his journey by carriage rougher than the morning leg of the trip. There was no danger of his falling asleep again.

Arrived at the manor house of Connemara, Jeremiah knocked on the massive live-oak door which was answered immediately by a very tall Negro butler who asked Jeremiah in a boyish treble voice what he might do for him.(Obviously another eunuch.) Jeremiah handed the letter of introduction to the butler and said" Please deliver this to your master, Mr. Flannigan."

A few minutes later, it was not the butler but the said Mr. Flannigan who came to the door and said "Come in, come in. Alcibiades, be so kind as to take this gentleman's bag up to the guest room at the top of the stairs, there's a good boy. Dr. Thornbush, Jean-Pierre Beaumarchais is having some fun with us, you especially. I won't spoil his little joke, though.

Now, then, What'll ye have ? I've Irish whisky and water or mint julep to offer ye right now. There'll be wine or beer with dinner. "

"I'd really welcome whisky and water" replied Jeremiah who had got deucedly thirsty.

"Then, that ye shall have. Agamemnon, AGAMEMNON ! Ah, there ye are. Be a good boy now and bring two whisky-and-waters down to the Overlook for me guest and meself, and don't ye be mixin'one for yerself, now. [He wouldn't and he knows that I know it.]. Now, let's toddle on down to a shady little nook overlookin' the river."

Agamemnon had the "daddy long legs" physique which Dr. Thornbush had come to expect of young eunuchs, ungainly, with very long limbs, short trunk, round head and boyish facial features, so, Jeremiah was not surprised to hear Agamemnon reply in a soprano voice like that of a girl of, perhaps, 16, "Yes, master." It was evident that here, as at Beauxchamps, the male household Negroes were all eunuchs.

The Overlook was like a verandah without a house. It commanded a fine vew across the river and of what appeared to be a bathing area directly below it with a tethered float. Here, Agamemnon had set out glasses of whisky and water on a small table with a pair of fauteuils beside it.

Jeremiah and Mr. Flannigan had been enjoying their drinks and admiring the view of the river for a few minutes when a deep-toned bell sounded. "Ah, that's the sunset bell," commented Mr. Flannigan, "signalling the field hands that their labors are at an end for the day. Soon, they'll be comin' down to bathe in the river. While they're takin' their dinner in the Refectory, I'll show ye their quarters."

A moment later, Jeremy heard what sounded like a gaggle of schoolgirls. Down a path to the right of the Overlook strode a line of naked eunuchs laughing playfully.

The path ended at the river's edge and, arrived there, they leaped in, more of them arriving by the moment. Two slaves stood at the water's edge, one bearing towels and the other distributing clean, white, cotton tunics to the workers after they had dried themselves.

"Are all of your field hands eunuchs ?" asked Jeremiah in astonishment.

"Yes, and that's Jean-Pierre's little jest. There's no point asking them about their sexual practises because they haven't got any."

"But why do you have nothing but eunuchs working on your plantation ?" asked

Jeremiah.

"Several reasons" replied Mr. Flannigan. "They're docile and tractable. They're very well-behaved. They never fight with each other, for example, excluding boyish horseplay, of course. Being, perforce, bachelors, they don't need individual cabins and can be housed in barracks like soldiers. Instead of hundreds of wives cookin' hundreds of meals, they all eat together in a large Refectory. By the way, there bein' no pickaninnies, there are no unproductive mouths to feed."

Shortly after the field hands had finished bathing, another bell, much higher in pitch, was rung. "That's the dinner bell." explained Mr. Flannigan. "We'll give 'em a few minutes to get into the Refectory and then I'll show ye the barracks."

There were four two-story barracks buildings, each with 80 beds. The section they visited of the first building impressed Jeremiah as tidy, cosy, and spotlessly clean. Mr. Flannigan pointed out that this section was typical of the others.

"Now, the field hands have enough work to do in the fields without having to do household chores, so I have a crew of domestic slaves whose duty is to change the bedding, make the beds, and clean the barracks. Once their work in the fields is done, the field hands' time is their own. They may amuse themselves however they please."

"What happens to the field slaves who become too old to do such strenuous work ?" inquired Dr. Thornbush.

"Many of them work in the barracks as long as they're able. I seldom have to hire new slaves to do that work. Once even that is too demandin' for them, they go over to the fourth barracks to live and they have no further duties. They eat with the others at the Refectory and enjoy their well-earned leisure."

As the workers were returning from the Refectory, Mr. Flannigan and Jeremiah walked over to it and watched the last of the field workers at their dinner.

"The food is nourishin', palatable, and abundant. I make sure that it's palatable by visitin' the kitchen unexpectedly and samplin' it. It'd better be savoury enough fer me own table or the cooks will hear from me. The slaves may eat as much as they want, as long as they don't waste any food.

Our own dinner will be ready in about an hour. Ye'll be wantin' to freshen up, no doubt. A servant'll call ye when it's time for dinner an' lead ye down to the dining room."

The dinner was excellent, though, perhaps a bit heavy for hot weather. It comprised roast loin of pork, yams with brown sugar, mashed boiled turnips, boiled collard greens with crumbled bacon, hush puppies, and, for dessert, chess pie.

Present at the table were Mr. Flannigan, his wife, Bridget, their son, Michael (15), and their daughter, Catherine (16). The children, being well-bred, spoke only when spoken to, except to ask that something be passed to them.

His curiosity piqued by the strange name, Jeremiah asked Mrs. Flannigan "Why are these little balls of fried cornmeal mush called "hush puppies." ?

Bridget Flannigan laughed and said ' La, I don't know the true answer to that. There's a story about them, but I don't believe it." Seeing Jeremiah's puzzled expression, she went on. "It's said that they were originally a treat for hunting dogs.

If they began to whine for food, their master would throw them a handful of these and say 'Hush, puppies.' Now, if you want to believe that, you've a right to, but I think it's silly."

Jeremiah laughed and said, "Well, as we've no better explanation, I suppose that one will have to do." Dinner ended with chess pie, also unfamiliar to Jeremiah. It reminded him of pecan pie without the pecans. He asked Mrs. Flannigan what the filling was made of. She answered with a smile, "Unless you want to feel guilty about eating something that will quickly undo your youthful slimness, perhaps you'd be better off ignorant of that."

"Oh, come now" replied Jeremiah it can't be that fattening, surely."

"Well, then, I'll let you judge that for yourself. It's made mostly of butter and brown sugar."

"Ah," sighed Jeremiah, "No wonder it's so rich."

"Mrs. Flannigan, Dr. Thornbush and I are going to retire to the library for whisky and cigars." This sort of formality between husband and wife was dying out in the North although it could still be heard among the elder generation.

Jeremiah mentioned this fact to Mr. Flannigan who responded, "I'm not sure that that is a good thing. You may call it 'formality' but, to us, it is courtesy , of which there can never be too much.

I'm sure that you're curious as to why I employ only eunuchs who have been castrated in boyhood. As I mentioned before, eunuchs are very well-behaved. They are docile and tractable, and they do not fight with each other. What do men fight among themselves most about ?"

Without even pausing to think, Jeremiah replied "Women."

"Precisely. There are no black women here. They are not needed inasmuch as I am not breeding slaves. In fact, the manor house of Connemara is so far from the fields and the workers' barracks that they never see a white woman either, though it is almost unimaginable that they would be aroused or disturbed by the sight.

I have never had a nigger castrated and I never will. I buy them already gelded in boyhood from the slave dealers. I try to find eunuchs who have not been buggered by the damned Ayrabs. I want them to be as innocent as possible. I've had to reject many a fine-looking lad because he has an arse like the bell of a trumpet and I know that he has been used and corrupted by the Ayrabs over in Africa.

Bear in mind that they're the ones who conduct slaving raids into the interior of Africa south of the Sahara, not Americans or Europeans. All of the slave traders buy their slaves from the Ayrabs.

I used to worry that, by buying eunuchs, I was creating a market for them and thus supporting an evil practise. Since I learned more about the damned Ayrabs and their nasty practises , I realised that, if I never bought another eunuch, they'd go on producing them for domestic use as harem slaves and to satisfy the lust of sheiks and other rich men who have a taste for the bottoms of eunuch boys.

I hope I'm not shocking you. This is all well-documented fact, not the figment of a sick imagination. And, I'm not being a religious fanatic when I tell you that the Moslems are among the nastiest, most disgusting people I've ever met. All I'm trying to do is to explain why I have so much difficulty finding innocent uncorrupted nigrah eunuchs.

I don't want debauched catamites telling nasty tales to the decent eunuchs here.

You'll see these boys [I call them all boys, regardless of age because none of them have ever matured into men] showing affection for each other, holding hands, even kissing, but it's all innocent; there's no lust involved. They're all harmless children.

But, who knows what kind of indecency they might be enticed into by a eunuch catamite who's been buggered by Ayrab men ?

You've seen that I treat them as well as I can. They're well-fed, they have clean clothes daily, they have clean quarters to live in. They lack nothing they need or which is good for them. They are denied alcohol and tobacco, which is no deprivation, for they know nothing of them.

They are NOT sub-human. They may be of a low order of humanity (though I'm not even sure of that) but they deserve decent treatment and kindness as much as any white man."

"If you feel this way, why do you employ slaves ?"

"Because I must. If I were to pay my labourers a decent wage, I would have to so increase the prices of my produce that I could not sell anything in competition with the slave-owners whose cost of labour is so much less. Yet, farming is all I know. Me father came over to this country from potato farming in Ireland. I was brought up as a farm boy. It's in me blood for about five generations and I've never learned anything else."

But, you mark me words: slavery will be a major problem in this country in years to come. There are some 'plantations' that plant nothing and raise only slaves. In fact, there's one nearby where all the slaves he breeds are the owner's own bastards !" Jeremiah was horrified. You mean that he sells his own children into slavery ?"

"That he does. Though he's not as cruel, he's even more evil than Grobian Eisenherz, whom ye'll be meetin' soon.

Niggers are more fertile than white men and, even left to their own devices, they'll out-breed the white race. The time will come, not in my lifetime nor probably in yours, but eventually, when they come to outnumber us. Once they become the majority, how will it be possible to keep them in subjugation ?

The Abolitionists want to abolish slavery, NOW. I don't disagree with this in principle, but how is it to be accomplished ? Ideally, it should be by an act passed by the Congress of the United States and signed into law by the President. Can ye imagine such a thing ? It could never get a majority vote in Congress.

Well, then, how about one of these unconstitutional Executive Orders ? I see ye raisin' yer eyebrows. What ? Unconstitutional ? YES ! Have ye read the Constitution ?" Jeremiah nodded. "Well, so have I and I can find not one single word authorisin' the President to issue orders to civilians.

I've also read dozens of Executive Orders. Every one begins with the same language: 'By the authority vested in me by the Constitution of the United States and by the laws of the several states.........' There is no such authority vested in the President by the Constitution and the laws of the several states can't empower him to do nor restrain him from doing a damned thing.

Does the President, then, have the authority to abolish slavery with a stroke of the pen ? I say 'NO' and , if tried, 'twould be widely recognised as an outrageous abuse of presidential power. So, to return to the Abolitionists, their goal is a commendable ideal, but how it is to be accomplished, I can't imagine."

Jeremiah took advantage of the pause to ask a question which had been bothering him for a long time. "I've heard that there is talk in the South of possible secession of the southern slave-owning states from the Union. Do you think it likely that this would actually be attempted, and, if it were, could it succeed ?"

"I've read the Constitution carefully on connexion with this very matter and I can find no wording that I would interpret as forbidding secession. That does not mean that it's a good idea.

Take these cigars that we're smokin'; they have a filler of Virginia tobacco and a wrapper of Connecticut tobacco. Virginia tobacco is too porous to use for a wrapper. The cigar won't stay lit. Connecticut tobacco makes a horrible cigar when used as a filler. It takes both to make a good cigar.

It takes northern industry and southern agriculture to make a sound country.In any case, I doubt that the slave-owning states would be allowed to secede. If, as they surely would, they resisted, it could well lead to civil war, which would truly be disastrous. The South could not win such a war. It lacks the resources to pursue a war. They would fight valiantly, I have no doubt, in a hopeless cause.

The South lacks heavy industry, it lacks manufactories producing arms. It has no iron and steel industry. It lacks iron ore and coal deposits rich enough to meet the needs of wartime industry. There are no textile mills such as you have in Connecticut and Massachusetts. There are no manufactories of clothing. Courage, alone, cannot win a war, yet that is all we have.

Suppose, by some weird quirk of fate, that the South should win its independence from the Union. What kind of government and society would it have ? Some kind of federation, as an alternative to the Union would be necessary for the states to have enough unity to act as a whole for their own defense and benefit. The worst thing that could happen would be for the South to degenerate into a congeries of fiercely independent sovereign states, like the Balkans.

England would be waiting to gobble them up, one at a time. Weakened by the war, the Union would be unable to enforce the Monroe Doctrine and nearly half of the United States would revert to being English colonies.

But, enough of gloomy speculations concerning the future. You must be concerned about the next plantation which you plan to visit: Strafenburg. If, in terms of the treatment of the slaves, Connemara might be considered close to heaven, Strafenburg would surely qualify as Hell.

The owner, Herr Grobian Eisenhertz, is a Prooshian. I hardly need to say more.

He is arrogant, cold, hard, cruel, heartless, harsh, and lacking in mercy and compassion. Curiously enough, he does acknowledge that niggers are human. I once heard him say that, inasmuch as they walk upright, speak, and can understand commands, they must be human, though of a very low order.

He works his slaves from the first light of morning twilight to the last light of evening twilight. He owns racing horses and has a horse-doctor for them, so, if a slave is very ill or badly hurt, he is treated by the horse-doctor. Only those slaves who he deems likely to beget strong hard workers are allowed to mate (There is no marriage among the slaves). Single slaves either live together and try to cook for each other or are assigned to live with the mated ones if there are not too many children.

There are a few unmated women and the males fight for their attentions. If they are caught fighting or if they resort to rape, they are severely punished. Punishment

is the province of the overseer, Dämon Ungeheuer . If Herr Eisenhertz is a harsh cruel master, and he is, Dämon Ungeheuer is the devil incarnate. His master is only cruel, the overseer is fiendishly cruel. He always carries a bullwhip and he punishes the most trivial misdeeds with somewhere from twenty to forty lashes on the slave's bare back.

He also carries a pruning hook which he uses to geld slaves who misbehave with women or resort to buggery. Given that there are six or seven unmated males to each unmated woman, unnatural vice can be expected to be rampant, but I doubt you'll get them to talk about it no matter how much confidentiality you promise. I'm sure that Herr Eisenhertz won't let them take time off from work to answer your questions . All their free time is after dark, but, in the summer when the days are short, they need all that time for sleep, eating, and breeding.

The only thing your visit will really accomplish is that you'll get to see the worst treatment that slaves receive that I know of. The last two plantations which you propose to visit, Arcadia and Matapunxett, will teach you the depths of depravity to which slave owners can descend."