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During slavery every estate had its dungeon for refractory slaves. Just as we were leaving Miller's, me asked Mr. B. what had become of these dungeons. He instantly replied, "I'll show you one," In a few moments we stood at the door of the old prison, a small stone building, strongly built, with two cells. It was a dismal looking den, surrounded by stables, pig-styes, and cattlepens.
"I am sent to invite you to come to the Weiss Thor immediately, on business which deeply concerns you." "That is not enough for me," said I. "Who sends for me?" "Let me come in out of the hearing of this moon-faced idiot," said he, pointing contumeliously to Peter of the Pigs, "and I will tell you. I am not bidden to proclaim my business in the market sties and city cattlepens!"
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