Behind him stood several other figures clad in a similar manner,
but whose countenances expressed nothing more than the indifference of
brutal insensibility. They were well armed with muskets and bayonets,
and provided with the usual implements of foot soldiers. Harvey knew
resistance to be vain, and quietly submitted to their directions. In the
twinkling of an eye both he and Caesar were stripped of their decent
garments, and made to exchange clothes with two of the filthiest of the
band. They were then placed in separate corners of the room, and, under
the muzzles of the muskets, required faithfully to answer such
interrogatories as were put to them.
"Where is your pack?" was the first question to the peddler.
"Hear me," said Birch, trembling with agitation; "in the next room is my
father, now in the agonies of death. Let me go to him, receive his
blessing, and close his eyes, and you shall have all--aye, all."
"Answer me as I put the questions, or this musket shall send you to keep
the old driveler company: where is your pack?"
"I will tell you nothing, unless you let me go to my father," said the
peddler, resolutely.
His persecutor raised his arm with a malicious sneer, and was about to
execute his threat, when one of his companions checked him.
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