Buried Alive Behind Prison Walls. Thomas S. Gaines

to France six or eight years prior to this time. Then began Dick Fallon's complete reign of terror.

      If it is possible for a human being to foresee the arrow of coming doom, then Dick Fallon must have foreseen even the shadow of his own death. In the afternoon of the day to which I now refer Fallon was standing on the west veranda gazing at the threatening clouds, before starting to Monroe on business connected with the coming sale. During the day he had not tasted a morsel of food, and for one day during his life he had refused to taste of liquor, and perhaps this was the first day since he left the cradle that burning oaths had not escaped from his lips. Since early morning his conversation had been conducted in whispers; his very looks presented grief and woe, and misery was strongly depicted in his countenance.

      Surely Dick Fallon was shivering under the cold and puny shadows of his coming death. With all of his undaunted courage he was aware that he was marching just in front of his own funeral procession. He was standing upon the veranda examining the storm-threatening clouds, when all at once a long flame of fire leaped from the clouds and volumes of smoke seemed to form a circle in the air and a white streak of lightning came rushing downward and illuminated the granite building. Dick Fallon made one step backward, reeled and fell dead.

      The lightning flash that killed Dick Fallon forged another link in the mysterious chain of circumstances that was so rife on the plantation, on account of the fact that on either side of the granite column against which he was leaning the initial of his name was indelibly carved in the solid rock. The bolt of fire, in its zigzag course, burned the letters "D. F." in the stone from the top to the bottom of the building.

      The sale of the plantation was delayed one week, during which time many of the dark methods of Dick Fallon's financial squanderings came to light. For five years Purgoo had given the control of the place into the overseer's hands, and also the conducting of the financial and agricultural transactions. He had the power of buying and selling slaves, stock, etc., and the legal right, just the same as though he was the sole owner. During the week prior to the sale it was found out that there was an indebtedness upon almost every thing on the kingdom. All of the stock and more than two-thirds of the slaves were covered with mortgages, and the most of them were due, and his creditors came in swarms.

      This was supposed to be the largest cotton farm in the world. All the leading manufacturers of goods in Europe was supplied with cotton from this plantation, and when the Purgoo cotton crop was light and insufficient for their annual supply, then enough was purchased by the agents at New Orleans to fill the yearly orders.

      The year previous to this time Fallon claimed that his cotton crop was light and gave his note for thousands of bales of cotton which he secured from surrounding planters on pretext of being short on his foreign orders; but the purchased bales never reached Paris, for they were sold at New Orleans and the money was squandered by him.

      The damage to the plantation wrought by the cyclone and the many mortgages and bills of credit made it impossible for Purgoo to realize from the sale more than enough to satisfy his creditors. The plantation was purchased by John Lynden and William Perry, two well-known planters from New Orleans.

      Most of the slaves were purchased by Lynden & Perry and retained on the place. Only those that were considered as incorrigibles and had manifested a disposition to make their escapes were sold.

      The law required all slave owners to keep a record of those who had made, or attempted to make, their escapes. A heavy fine was imposed upon any one who sold a slave without disclosing all the prior attempts to run away. It was an old and well-founded proverb among slave owners that "a nigger that had runaway once would try it again;" and it had a depreciative effect upon the value of the slave, for he was liable to instill the love of freedom in the minds of the others.

      My previous record was made known, and although I was young and endowed with wonderful strength and was one of the swiftest workers on the place, yet I was rejected by Lynden & Perry and was sold for six hundred dollars, which was three hundred and fifty dollars less than Dick Fallon paid for me.

I was purchased by Stephen Cary. He was a planter from Missouri, who had been in New Orleans to dispose of his cotton and was returning to his home at Booneville, Missouri, and stopped over at Monroe to attend the sale. He also purchased another slave by the name of Tom.1 We were confined in jail at Monroe until our new master was ready to continue his journey home.

      I was not at all discomforted by being sold, for I had not relinquished my desire for freedom and was unshaken in my opinion that Missouri would confer upon me better opportunities of escape than Louisiana.

      On the 10th of January, 1849, Purgoo started for New Orleans, on his way to Paris, and was a passenger on that ill-fated boat "Senegal," which foundered in the Bay of Biscay within five hours of its destination. And thus ended the career of two men that had enjoyed more unmerited pleasure and squandered more ill-gotten gold than any other two men connected with all slave history.

      Nancy (the Octoroon) was retained on the plantation, and I will ever remember the words spoken to me by her on the day I was sold. She was an extraordinary domestic and was frequently employed at the Purgoo mansion. On great occasions, such as banquets, balls, etc., Nancy's aid was indispensible. Since Fallon's death she had been steadily employed at the mansion, and during the week prior to the sale, the Purgoo mansion was overrun with transient visitors; and all manner of discussions and arguments were rife in regard to the final end of the threatening attitude then existing between the Northern and Southern States. They were almost unanimous in the opinion that a conflict was focusing in the camera of time, and during the coming melee thousands of slaves would make their escape, and perhaps Negro slavery would receive its final overthrow.

      Nancy overheard many of their discussions, and on the day I was sold I bade many of the old plantation slaves a long good bye; and when I came to shake hands with Nancy she whispered in my ear these words: "We will all soon be free." I never had the least idea that her prediction would ever be fulfilled; neither was I aware of the source of her invisible hope upon which were founded her words of encouragement.

      The unnatural tone of her voice and the stealthy manner in which she spoke was convincing proof that there was a basis for her information. But I could not believe it was possible for us to be free; for I thought our freedom was the result of our escapes, and it was useless for us to even think of making such an effort.

      But I was not aware that we were yet to meet again, and in a strange land. Many years after our cruel servitude was dead and buried. I was yet to learn that the kernel of our freedom was swelling in the bosom of the future, and our hope, long buried, was peering over the brink of time.

      I was unconscious of the upheaval of coming events.

      * * * * * * *

      Years elapsed before we met again, and the virtue of her words had long been graven in the hearts of every Southern slave.

1 It will be remembered that slaves only had their first name; the last was the same as their master's name and always changed when sold.