So it happened that, thanks to her son's presence, the screeching victim got two "smart ones" additional.
"Now uncover her face. Ease away on her thumbs a little. I'll question her mys—Good Lucifer!" exclaimed the captain, finding himself face to face with his own mother.
Twenty-two lashes and the torture of the strung-up thumbs had proved too much even for the strong nerves of Widow Sprowl. She fell down in a swoon.
Lysander, furious, whipped out his sword, and turned upon the soldiers. They quietly stepped back, and took their guns from the corner. He would certainly have killed one of them on the spot had he not seen by the glance of their eyes that the other would, at the same instant, as certainly have killed him.
"You scoundrels! you have whipped my own mother!"
"Captain," they calmly answered, "we opey orders."
"Fools!"—and Lysander ground his teeth,—"you should have known!"
"Captain," they replied, "if you not know, how should we know? We never see dis woman pefore. We come. We find her taking prowisions from de house. We say, 'She take dem to her husband in de mountains.' We say, 'You Mrs. Stackridge?' She say yes to everyting. We not know she lie. We not know she steal. We not say, 'You somepody else.' We opey orders. We take and we whip her. You come in and say, 'Whip more.' We whip more. Now you say to us, 'Scoundrels!' You say, 'Fools!' We say, 'Captain, it was your orders; we opey.'"
Having by a joint effort at sententious English pronounced this speech, the brothers stood stolidly awaiting the result; while the captain, still gnashing his teeth, bent over the prostrate form of his mother.
"Bring some water and throw on her! you idiots!" he yelled at them. "Would you see her die?"