“Stop yer noise, ye lying young thief, you. Ye wouldn't be prowling about at this time o' night if ye belonged to a vessel. 'Pon me soul, I believe yer a nigger. Come to the light,” said the guardman, dragging him up to a lamp near by. “Well, you a'n't a nigger, I reckon, but yer a strolling vagrant, and that's worse,” he continued, after examining his face very minutely. So, dragging him to the guardhouse as he would a dog, and thrusting him into a sort of barrack-room, the captain of the guard and several officials soon gathered around him to inquire the difficulty. The officers listened to the guardman's story, with perfect confidence in every thing he said, but refused to allow the little fellow to reply in his own behalf. “I watched him for a long time, saw him fumbling about people's doors, and then go to sleep in Mr. T--'s recess. These boys are gettin' to be the very mischief-most dangerous fellows we have to deal with,” said the policeman. “Oh, no! I was only goin' to the brig, and got turned round. I've been more than two hours trying to find my way in the storm. I'm sure I a'n't done no harm. If ye'll only let me tell my story,” said Tommy. “Shut up! We want no stories till morning. The mayor will settle your hash to-morrow; and if you belong to a ship, you can tell him all about it; but you'll have the costs to pay anyhow. Just lay down upon that bench, and you can sleep there till morning; that's better than loafing about the streets,” said the captain of the guard, a large, portly-looking man, as he pointed Tommy to a long bench similar to those used in barrack-rooms. The little fellow saw it was no use to attempt a hearing, and going quietly to the bench, he pulled off his man-a-war hat, and laying it upon a chair, stretched himself out upon it, putting his little hands under his head to ease it from the hard boards. But he was not destined to sleep long in this position, for a loud, groaning noise at the door, broke upon their ears though the pelting fury of the storm, like one in agonizing distress. “Heavens! what is that!” said the captain of the guard, suddenly starting from his seat, and running for the door, followed by the whole posse. The groans grew louder and more death-like in their sound, accompanied by strange voices, giving utterance to horrible imprecations, and a dragging upon the floor. The large door opened, and what a sight presented itself! Three huge monsters, with side-arms on, dragged in the poor negro who proffered to show Tommy into Broad street. His clothes were nearly torn from his back, besmeared with mud, from head to foot, and his face cut and mangled in the most shocking manner. His head, neck, and shoulders, were covered with a gore of blood, and still it kept oozing from his mouth and the cuts on his head. They dragged him in as if he was a dying dog that had been beaten with a club, and threw him into a corner, upon the floor, with just about as much unconcern.