The negro relinquished his hold, and, without saying a word, walked slowly away.
"Jim, you—rascal," said the Colonel to that courageous darky, who was skulking off, "raise every nigger on the plantation, catch Moye, or I'll flog you within an inch of your life."
"I'll do dat, Cunnel; I'll kotch de ole debble, ef he's dis side de hot place."
His words were echoed by about twenty other darkies, who, attracted by the noise of the fracas, had gathered within a safe distance of the cabin. They went off with Jim, to raise the other plantation hands, and inaugurate the hunt.
"If that — nigger hadn't held me, I'd had Moye in — by this time," said the Colonel to me, still livid with excitement.
"The law will deal with him, my friend. The negro has saved you from murder."
"The law be d—; it's too good for such a—hound; and that the d— nigger should have dared to hold me—by—he'll rue it."
He then turned, exhausted with the recent struggle, and, with a weak, uncertain step, entered the cabin. Kneeling down by the dead body of the negro, he attempted to raise it; but his strength was gone. He motioned to me to aid him, and we placed the corpse on the bed. Tearing open the clothing, we wiped away the still flowing blood, and saw the terrible wound which had sent the negro to his account. It was sickening to look on, and I turned to go.
The negro woman, who was weeping and wringing her hands, now approached, and, in a voice nearly choked with sobs, said:
"Massa, oh massa, I done it! it's me dat killed him!"