Omnes. Guilty!
Scud. And what is to be his punishment?
Omnes. Death! [All advance.]
Wahnotee. [Crosses to M'Closky.] Ugh!
Scud. No, Injiun; we deal out justice here, not revenge. 'Tain't you he has injured, 'tis the white man, whose laws he has offended.
Ratts. Away with him—put him down the aft hatch, till we rig his funeral.
M'Closky. Fifty against one! O! if I had you one by one, alone in the swamp, I'd rip ye all. [He is borne off in boat, struggling.]
Scud. Now then to business.
Pete. [Re-enters from boat.] O, law, sir, dat debil Closky, he tore hisself from de gen'lam, knock me down, take my light, and trows it on de turpentine barrels, and de shed's all afire! [Fire seen, R.]
Jackson. [Re-entering.] We are catching fire forward; quick, set free from the shore.