Neither the threats nor the blows could extract
any reply, until the lieutenant, by a very natural transition in the
attack, sent his heavy boot forward in a direction that brought it in
direct contact with the most sensitive part of the negro--his shin. The
most obdurate heart could not have exacted further patience, and Caesar
instantly gave in. The first words he spoke were--
"Golly! massa, you t'ink I got no feelin'?"
"By heavens!" shouted the lieutenant, "it is the negro himself!
Scoundrel! where is your master, and who was the priest?" While
speaking, he made a movement as if about to renew the attack; but Caesar
cried aloud for mercy, promising to tell all that he knew.
"Who was the priest?" repeated the dragoon, drawing back his formidable
leg, and holding it in threatening suspense. "Harvey, Harvey!" cried
Caesar, dancing from one leg to the other, as he thought each member in
turn might be assailed.
"Harvey who, you black villain?" cried the impatient lieutenant, as he
executed a full measure of vengeance by letting his leg fly.
"Birch!" shrieked Caesar, falling on his knees, the tears rolling in
large drops over his shining face.
"Harvey Birch!" echoed the trooper, hurling the black from him, and
rushing from the room. "To arms! to arms! Fifty guineas for the life of
the peddler spy--give no quarter to either.
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