The little fellow was
so frightened, that he burst into an excitement of tears. The room
was dark, and as gloomy as a cavern. He could neither lie down,
sleep, nor console himself. He thought of Manuel, only to envy his
lot, and would gladly have shared his imprisonment, to be relieved
from such a horrible situation. Morning was to bring, perhaps, worse
terrors. He thought of the happy scenes of his rustic home in
Dunakade, and his poor parents, but nothing could relieve the
anguish of his feelings. And then, how could he get word to his
Captain? If they were so cruel to him now, he could not expect them
to be less so in the morning. In this manner, he sat down upon the
floor with the poor negro, and, if he could do nothing more,
sympathized with his feelings. The poor negro murmured and groaned
in a manner that would have enlisted the feelings of a Patagonian;
and in this way he continued until about three o'clock in the
morning, when his moaning became so loud and pitiful, that the
officer of the guard came to the door with an attendant, and
unbolting it, entered with a lantern in his hand. He held the light
toward his face, and inquired what he was making such a noise about?
"Oh! good massa, good massa, do send for docta; ma head got a pile
o' cuts on him," said he, putting his hand to his head.
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