While down, in this sad condition, and perfectly helpless, the merciless Negro breaker took up the hickory slab, with which Hughes had been striking off the wheat to a level with the sides of the half bushel measure (a very hard weapon) and with the sharp edge of it, he dealt me a heavy blow on my head which made a large gash, and caused the blood to run freely, saying,{175} at the same time, "If _you have got the headache, I'll cure you_." This done, he ordered me again to rise, but I made no effort to do so; for I had made up my mind that it was useless, and that the heartless monster might now do his worst; he could but kill me, and that might put me out of my misery.

Finding me unable to rise, or rather despairing of my doing so, Covey left me, with a view to getting on with the work without me.

I was bleeding very freely, and my face was soon covered with my warm blood.

Cruel and merciless as was the motive that dealt that blow, dear reader, the wound was fortunate for me.

Bleeding was never more efficacious.