Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden.  His chief boast was his ability to manage slaves.  The peculiar feature of his government was that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it.  He always managed to have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning.  He did this to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.  His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the commission of large ones.  Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for whipping a slave.  It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to make occasion to whip a slave.  A mere look, word, or motion,—­a mistake, accident, or want of power,—­are all matters for which a slave may be whipped at any time.  Does a slave look dissatisfied?  It is said, he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out.  Does he speak loudly when spoken to by his master?  Then he is getting high-minded, and should be taken down a button-hole lower.  Does he forget to pull off his hat at the approach of a white person?  Then he is wanting in reverence, and should be whipped for it.  Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct, when censured for it?  Then he is guilty of impudence,—­one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty.  Does he ever venture to suggest a different mode of doing things from that pointed out by his master?  He is indeed presumptuous, and getting above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him.  Does he, while ploughing, break a plough,—­or, while hoeing, break a hoe?  It is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must always be whipped.  Mr. Hopkins could always find something of this sort to justify the use of the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities.  There was not a man in the whole county, with whom the slaves who had the getting their own home, would not prefer to live, rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins.  And yet there was not a man any where round, who made higher professions of religion, or was more active in revivals,—­more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,—­that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,—­than this same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his employment.  He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals.  He worked us hard, but always between sunrise and sunset.  He required a good deal of work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work.  His farm was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease, compared with many of his neighbors.  My treatment, while in his employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves.  Their names were Henry Harris and John Harris.  The rest of his hands he hired.  These consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Caldwell.