“I think,” replied I, “that the slaves in general appear happy and well cared for.”
“Yes, yes,” said she, “it may seem, but—” and she gave a very significant glance, as if to say, “All is not gold that glitters.”
“You do not consider them to be well treated, then?” asked I.
“Some are, certainly,” said she, “but—” and again she gave a significant glance.
I could have wished that she had said more, but as she belonged to the vessel I could not ask any questions. I would not become a spy; that is against my nature, and anything which I could not become acquainted with by my own experience, or by my own direct ability, that—I would not know. Scarcely in any case could the mulatto woman have told me anything which I did not already know: there are good and there are bad masters; happy and unhappy slaves; and the institution is—a great lie in the life of human freedom, and especially in the New World.
There were on board the steamer, some persons with whom I was acquainted, among them Miss Mary P., a lively, intelligent young girl from the State of New York, who was spending the winter in Savannah on account of her health. She had a pulmonary affection, and suffered greatly from the winters of the Northern States; but with the southern air, especially the air of Savannah, and homœopathic treatment, she was recovering. I associated with people as little as possible; enjoyed the silence and the river-journey, the beautiful day, the quiet delicious scenery, so unlike the occurrences of the preceding day. When the sun went down, and the evening suddenly became dusk—as is always the case in these latitudes, I saw a clear white light ascend from the southern heavens to the zenith. They told me it was the zodiacal light. It was not flashing, coloured and brilliant, as our northern lights are most frequently, but calm, soft
