“You must remember, sir, you are in the office of the sheriff of the county-parish, I mean,—and I am, sir, entitled to proper respect. Begone!—avaunt! you have no right to come here and traduce my character in that way. You musn't take me for a parish beadle,” said Grimshaw, contorting the unmeaning features of his visage, and letting fly a stream of tobacco juice in his excitement.
“If you have no laws to give me justice, you have my opinion of your wrongs,” returned the Captain, and taking his hat, left the office with the intention of returning to the jail. On reflection, he concluded to call upon Colonel S—, which he did, and finding him in his office, stated the circumstances to him.
“These things are the fruits of imbecility; but I am sorry to say there is no relief from them. We are a curious people, and do a great many curious things according to law, and leave a great many things undone that the law and lawmakers ought to do. But I will go with you to the jail, and whatever my influence will effect is at your service,” said the Colonel, putting on his hat, and accompanying the Captain to the jail.
Mr. Grimshaw had forestalled them, and after having given the jailer particular instructions to lock Manuel up if he made any further complaint, and to carry out his orders upon the peril of his situation, met them a few steps from the outer gate, on his return. “There, Captain!” said Grimshaw, making a sort of halt, “I have given the jailer particular orders in regard to your grumbling nigger!”
Neither the Captain nor Colonel S—took any notice of his remarks, and passed on into the jail. Colonel S—interceded for the man, explaining the circumstances which had unfortunately brought him there, and begged the jailer's kind consideration in his behalf. The jailer told them what his orders had been, but promised to do as far as was in his power, and to see any thing that was sent to him safely delivered.
After leaving the jail, Colonel S—proposed a walk, and they proceeded along a street running at right angles with the jail, until they came to a corner where a large brick building was in process of erection. The location was not in what might strictly be called “the heart of the city,” nor was it in the suburbs. Carpenters and masons, both black and white, were busily employed in their avocations, and from the distance all seemed fair and moving with despatch. As they approached nearer, cries and moans sounded upon the air, and rose high above the clatter of the artisans' work. The Captain quickened his pace, but the colonel, as if from a consciousness of the effect, halted, and would fain have retraced his steps. “Come!” said the Captain, “let us hasten-they are killing somebody!” They approached the building, and entered by an open door in the basement. The passage, or entry-way, was filled with all sorts of building materials; and on the left, another door opened into a long basement apartment, with loose boards laid upon the floor-joists overhead. Here in this dark apartment was the suffering object whose moans had attracted their attention. A large billet of wood, about six feet long and three feet square, which had the appearance of being used for a chopping-block, laid near. A poor negro man, apparently advanced in years, was stripped naked and bent over the block, in the shape of a horse-shoe, with his hands and feet closely pinioned to stakes, driven in the ground on each side. His feet were kept close together, and close up to the log, while he was drawn over, tight by the hands, which were spread open. Thus, with a rope around his neck, tied in a knot at the throat, with each end carried to the pinion where his hands were secured, his head and neck were drawn down to the tightest point. The very position was enough to have killed an ordinary human being in less than six hours. His master, a large, robust man, with a strong Irish brogue, started at their appearance, as if alarmed at the presence of intruders, while holding his hand in the attitude of administering another blow. “There! you infernal nigger; steal again, will you?” said he, frothing at the mouth with rage—with his coat off, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and his face, hands, arms and shirt-bosom so bespattered with blood, that a thrill of horror ran through the Captain. On the ground lay several pieces of hoop, broken and covered with blood, while he held in his hand another piece, (which he had torn from a lime-cask,) reeking with blood, presenting the picture of a murderer bestained with the blood of his victim. But the poor sufferer's punishment had wasted his strength,—his moans had become so faint as to be scarcely perceptible. His posteriors were so cut and mangled that we could compare them to nothing but a piece of bullock's-liver, with its tenacity torn by craven dogs. His body was in a profuse perspiration, the sweat running from his neck and shoulders, while the blood streamed from his bruises, down his legs, and upon some shavings on the ground. Just at this moment a boy brought a pail of water, and set it down close by the tyrant's feet. “Go away, boy!” said he, and the boy left as quick as possible. The Captain stood dismayed at the bloody picture.
“Unmerciful man!” said the colonel in a peremptory tone; “what have you been doing here? You fiend of hell, let the man up! You own slaves to bring disgrace upon us in this manner! Epithets of contempt and disgust are too good for you. It is such beasts as you who are creating a popular hatred against us, and souring the feelings of our countrymen. Let the man up instantly; the very position you have him in is enough to kill him, and, if I'm not mistaken, you've killed him already.”
“Indeed, he's me own property, and it's yerself won't lose a ha'penny if he's kilt. An' I'll warrant ye he's cur't of stalin' better than the man beyant at the wurk'o'se would be doin' if. Bad luck to the nager, an' it's the second time he'd be doin' that same thing,” said he, as unconcernedly as if he had just been killing a calf.
“I'll 'your own' you, you miserable wretch! Your abuse and cruel treatment of your slaves is becoming a public thing; and if you a'n't very careful, something will be done about it before council. If they are your own, you must not treat them worse than dogs; they have feeling, if you have no compassion. Be quick! release him at once!” demanded the colonel, feeling the man's wrist and head.
The tyrant vent deliberately to work, unloosing the cords. This provoked the colonel still more, and taking his knife from his pocket, he severed the cords that bound his hands and feet, while as suddenly the Captain sprang with his knife and severed those that bound his hands and neck. “Stop, Captain, stop! take no part,” said the colonel, with a significant look.