''Tain't fur a darky to say dat, massa,' said the negro, evidently unaccustomed to the rude administration of justice which the Colonel was about to inaugurate; 'he did wuss dan dat to Sam, mass—he orter swing for shootin' him.'
'That's my affair; we'll settle your account first,' replied the Colonel.
The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the Overseer, who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. The little humanity in him was evidently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his desire of revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd, 'Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den you wash him down.[13] Be a man, Jake, and say dat.'
Jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to speak, the eye of the octoroon woman caught his, and chained the words to his tongue, as if by magnetic power.
'Do you say that, boys;' said the Colonel, turning to the other negroes; 'shall he have fifty lashes?'
'Yas, massa, fifty lashes—gib de ole debil fifty lashes,' shouted about fifty voices.
'He shall have them,' quietly said the master.
The mad shout that followed, which was more like the yell of demons than the cry of men, seemed to arouse the Overseer to a sense of the real state of affairs. Springing to his feet, he gazed wildly around; then, sinking on his knees before the octoroon, and clutching the folds of her dress, he shrieked, 'Save me, good lady, save me! as you hope for mercy, save me!'
Not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the excited crowd, she mildly said, 'Fifty lashes would kill him. Jake does not say that—your master leaves it to him, and he will not whip a dying man—will you, Jake?'
'No, ma'am—not—not ef you go agin it,' replied the negro, with very evident reluctance.