William Hepworth Dixon, White Conquest: Volume 1

Such ills as fell on the Red savage fell with sevenfold fiury on his slave. A Negro was no better in an Indian's eyes than a mule. In rain and wind he had to lie outside the tent. When game ran short he had to feed on garbage and to starve. All base and menial offices were thrust on him. A squaw is seldom kind to any creature weaker than herself, and every Negro slave was governed by a squaw. With gibe and curse she sent him to his task; with pinch and cuff she lashed him to his yoke. Herself a beast of burden, she had no compassion for the servile drudge who, bought or stolen like herself, could hardly say his lot was heavier than her own. She made him moil and sweat. In her poetic idiom he had to march in his sleep, and bruise his feet against flint and rock. If he rebelled in either word or glance, a cudgel made him leap and grin. If he returned the blow a hatchet sliced his poll. A White man rarely killed his slave. A Redskin, when his anger rose,