“The Teacher called again, and then I heard the voice of old Grizzly’s son George tell the man to hush or he would blow his brains out.
LOOK ON THE HILL YONDER
“‘But I have done nothing to you, gentlemen,’ said the Teacher. ‘I have not harmed you in the least. What have you seized me for, and where are you taking me?’
“‘Hush, you sniveling wretch!’ said old Grizzly’s son George. ‘You’ve been colloguing with the niggers, and telling them about freedom. You want to raise an insurrection, and you’ll have to pay for it!’
“After that the Teacher said no more, and the patrol rode on. I could see, dark as it was, that they had the Teacher riding behind Old Grizzly’s son George. The Teacher was tied with a rope, and the rope was fastened to Old Grizzly’s son. All this I saw, and I saw guns—gooft—the things that burn and sting you from afar. It was well that my eyes were fitted for the dark, otherwise the Son of Ben Ali would have been riddled. But I ran and met him, and told him of the guns. He wanted to slip among the horses, cut the ropes that bound the Teacher, and carry him out of hearing among the bushes. But there were the guns!
“Then the Son of Ben Ali wanted me to run ahead, get in the road and rush out at the horses when they came up, while he cut the ropes from the Teacher. Gooft! But there were the guns! We heard the men talking, and found that they were going to take the Teacher to a cross-roads store, called Harmony, seven miles away, and there hang him.”
Sweetest Susan shuddered. Drusilla cried, “Well, suh!” Buster John pulled up a big bunch of grass and threw it away from him. His face was red with anger or excitement.
“Humph! Hang him to a limb!” grunted the White Pig. “Ooft! There was a bridge a quarter of a mile ahead. It was long and narrow and low—just wide enough for a wagon and not higher from the shallow creek than a man’s head. Over this bridge the men had to go, and the Son of Ben Ali wanted me to run ahead, get on the further end of the bridge, charge the horses when they reached the middle, and then jump off and get under the bridge before the men could make their guns talk. It was not to my taste. If I had had to choose between charging the horses on that bridge and a mess of ripe persimmons—humph—I think I would have taken a few of the persimmons. But what could I do? Gooft! The Son of Ben Ali had his mind made up.