“‘In the scrub-oaks, out there; and I b’lieve I _killed_ him, tu.’
“‘Killed him? you black puppy; go and git t’other rifle, and load it.’ And I goes. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘start back for your bear; and if you han’t shot any, I’ll shoot _you_.’ And so back I goes; and master follows along behind me, half scared to pieces, for fear my _dead_ bear would bite him.
Well, come to the scrub-oaks, there lay my bear a strugglin’, with his fore-paws hold on a scrub-oak, a twistin’ it round and round, and _then_ master steps up, as resolute as an Ingen warrior, to shoot him, and he first made me fire into his head, and then he fired into his heart; and when we’d killed him _dead_, we draws him to the house and skins him; and I think ’twas the fattest bear I ever see in all my life.
Well, that fall master went to Philadelphia, and he takes that skin with five others I’d killed, that he’d already got the premium on, and sold ’em in Philadelphia—and in all, they come to over one hundred dollars, bounty, skins, and all, to say nothin’ at all ’bout _meat_; and he never gin me a Bungtown copper out of the whole. _No_, not enough to buy a pinch of snuff, or a chew of tobacco.”[7]
Another exemplification of the abominable doctrine of the right of property in man! Concede this right, and his master did right, and Peter ought not to complain.
A. “Were there any churches in that region?”
P. “Yis, Sir; there was two of our gals belonged to the Methodist meetin’—Julia and Polly, and I used to have to drive them to meetin’ every other Sunday, to a place about four or five miles off, towards Auburn, called Plane Hill. Every season we used to have a Camp meetin’, at what’s called Scipio Plains, and used to have to go and strike a tent and carry down the family, and wait on ’em till the meetin’ was over. Well, the most I can recollect about them meetin’s was, they used to make a despod hollerin’ and shoutin’. Some would sing ‘glory hallelujah,’ and ‘amen,’ and some, ‘I can see Jesus Christ, I see him a comin’, I see him a comin’,’ and I was jist fool enough to look and see if I could see him, but I never see anything.
“One Camp meetin’ we had I went to, and paid strict ‘tention, and it seemed to me that a part of the sarmint was aimed at me, _straight_, but I was so ignorant that I didn’t take the sense on it. In what they calls their ‘prayin’ circles,’ there was a colored man—quite an old man, but mighty good, for he made a great prayer; and while he prayed, a good many old and young cried, and shed a good many tears. Well, seein’ them cry, made me cry, I ‘spose, for I can’t assign any other reason; and this colored man see me cryin’ and he comes to me and says he, ‘my son, do you want religion?’ ‘Yis, Sir,’ says I, ‘what is religion?’ He speaks in a kind of a broken language, and says, ‘Religion is to do as we do—sing and shout and pray, and call on God; and don’t you want us to pray for you?’