In the mean time the recaptured negro was taken to the guard-house. There he found a sympathizing companion. It was Carl. To him he told his story, and showed his wounds, the sight of which filled the heart of the lad with rage, and pity, and grief.
"Vot sort of Tutchmen vos they?" Toby described them. Carl's eyes kindled. "I shouldn't be wery much susprised," said he, "if they vos—no matter!"
Lieutenant Ropes arrived, bringing into the guard-house a formidable cat-o'-nine-tails.
"String that nigger up," said Silas.
Ropes was not the man to await patiently the issue of the woman-whipping, while here was a chance for a little private sport. He remembered how Toby had got away from him once—that he too owed him a flogging. Debts of this kind, if no others, Silas delighted to pay; and accordingly the negro was strung up. It was well for the lieutenant that Carl had irons on his wrists.
The sound of the poor old man's groans,—the sight of his gashed, oozing, and inflamed back, bared again to the whip,—was to Carl unendurable. But as it was not in his power to obey the impulse of his soul, to spring for a musket and slay that monster of cruelty, Ropes, on the spot,—he must try other means, perhaps equally unwise and desperate, to save Toby from torture.
"Vait, sir, if you please, vun leetle moment," he called out to Silas. "I have a vord or two to shpeak."
He had as yet, however, scarcely made up his mind what to propose. A moment's reflection convinced him that only one thing could purchase Toby's reprieve; and perhaps even that would fail. Regardless of consequences to himself, he resolved to try it.
"I know petter as he does about the cave; I vos there," he cried out, boldly.
"Hey? You offer yourself to be whipped in this old nigger's place?" said Ropes.