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Not all his
fiendish cruelty could devise a torment more cruel, more unendurable
than the torments Nature would here procure a man in Pitt's condition.
The slave writhed in his stocks until he was in danger of breaking
his limbs, and writhing, screamed in agony.
Thus was he found by Peter Blood, who seemed to his troubled vision
to materialize suddenly before him. Mr. Blood carried a large
palmetto leaf. Having whisked away with this the flies that were
devouring Jeremy's back, he slung it by a strip of fibre from the
lad's neck, so that it protected him from further attacks as well as
from the rays of the sun. Next, sitting down beside him, he drew
the sufferer's head down on his own shoulder, and bathed his face
from a pannikin of cold water. Pitt shuddered and moaned on a long,
indrawn breath.
"Drink!" he gasped. "Drink, for the love of Christ!" The pannikin
was held to his quivering lips. He drank greedily, noisily, nor
ceased until he had drained the vessel. Cooled and revived by the
draught, he attempted to sit up.


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