I was there, at work, feeding the
"fan," or rather bringing wheat to the fan, while Bill Smith was
feeding. Our force consisted of Bill Hughes, Bill Smith, and a
slave by the name of Eli; the latter having been hired for this
occasion. The work was simple, and required strength and
activity, rather than any skill or intelligence, and yet, to one
entirely unused to such work, it came very hard. The heat was
intense and overpowering, and there was much hurry to get the
wheat, trodden out that day, through the fan; since, if that work
was done an hour before sundown, the hands would have, according
to a promise of Covey, that hour added to their night's rest. I
was not behind any of them in the wish to complete the day's work
before sundown, and, hence, I struggled with all my might to get
the work forward. The promise of one hour's repose on a week
day, was sufficient to quicken my pace, and to spur me on to
extra endeavor. Besides, we had all planned to go fishing, and I
certainly wished to have a hand in that. But I was disappointed,
and the day turned out to be one of the bitterest I ever
experienced.
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