“Who kilt them?”
“De Injuns, dem as war paint’d red, an white, an’ ebery colour—dey come gallop up on da hosses jess as our folks wa ’bout to git breakfass; an’ ’fore we know what we doin’ dey fire dar gun, an’ run dar long ’pears troo de people. O, massa! I’se sure ebbery body gone killed.”
“Wharfor de ye think thet?”
“Kase I see ole massa fall down an’ de blood ’treaming out o’ him face, and den I see de obasseah fire shot from his gun, and den de young missa she holler out, an’ so did all de ress ob de women an’ chilren, boaf de bracks an’ de whites. Gorramity! how dey did ’cream!”
“What war the name o’ yur ole massa, as ye call him? Kin ye tell us that?”
“Law, boss, sartin I kin tell dat. Ebbery body know de name ob ole massa. He call de Squiah Brackedder.”
“Squire Brackedder!”
“Squire Blackadder?” asked O’Neil, listening with intense anxiety for the answer.
“Ya, massa; dat am de name.”
“Whar did ye come from? Kin ye tell thet, darkey?”