"
"Shut up, you black rascal, you; you musn't talk that way in South
Carolina; we'll have you stretched on the frame and paddled for
insolence to a white man. D--n me, if you're in such a hurry for it,
just come along," said Dusenberry; and reaching his hand over to
Dunn, took the handcuffs from him and attempted to put them on
Manuel's wrists. The poor fellow struggled and begged for more than
ten minutes, and was wellnigh overpowering them, when Dusenberry
drew a long dirk-knife from his bosom, and holding it in a
threatening attitude at his breast, uttered one of those fierce
yells such as are common to slave-hunters, whose business it is to
hunt and run down runaway niggers with bloodhounds. "Submit, you
black villain, or I'll have your heart's blood; bring a rope, and
we'll trise him up here. Jump, be quick, Swizer!" said he,
addressing himself to the Dutchman. The Dutchman ran into the front
apartment; brought out a cord similar to a clothes-line; and
commenced to undo it.
"Do you give up now?" said Dusenberry, still holding the knife
pointed at him. Manuel was in the habit of carrying a poniard when
on shore in foreign countries, and put his hand to his breast-pocket
to feel for it. He remembered that he had left it in his chest, and
that resistance would be useless against a posse giving expression
to such hostility to him.
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