His clothes were nearly torn from his back,
besmeared with mud, from head to foot, and his face cut and mangled
in the most shocking manner. His head, neck, and shoulders, were
covered with a gore of blood, and still it kept oozing from his
mouth and the cuts on his head. They dragged him in as if he was a
dying dog that had been beaten with a club, and threw him into a
corner, upon the floor, with just about as much unconcern.
"Oh! massa! massa! kill me, massa, den 'em stop sufferin'!" said the
poor fellow, in a painful murmur, raising his shackled hands to his
head, and grasping the heavy chain that secured his neck, in the
agony of pain.
"What has he done?" inquired the officer.
"Resisted the guard, and ran when we told him to stop!" responded a
trio of voices. "Yes, and attempted to get into a house. Ah! you
vagabond you; that's the way we serve niggers like you!--Attempt to
run again, will you? I'll knock your infernal daylights out, you
nigger you," said one of the party.
"It does seem tome that you might have taken him, and brought him up
with less severity," said the officer.
"What else could we do, sure? Didn't we catch him prowling about
with a white fellow, and he runn'd till we couldn't get him. Indeed
it was nothing good they were after, and it's the like o' them that
bees doing all the mischief beyant the city.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229