“My friends, I work hard for my money, and have none to spend foolishly. The small amount is of little consequence, but I would much sooner make you a present of it, than to be drugged by pretence. I've no desire to indulge the propensities of others. Whatever you are going to do with me, do it; and let me know my fate. I am sick and fatigued, and have need for the doctor. Take me to a prison or where you please. I have done no crime; I want sleep, not punishment. Next time I shipwrecked, I get plank and go overboard 'fore I cum to Charleston.” So saying, he pulled out fifty cents and threw it upon the counter, and the Dutchman swept it into the drawer, as if it was all right, and “just the change.” “Shut up, you black rascal, you; you musn't talk that way in South Carolina; we'll have you stretched on the frame and paddled for insolence to a white man. D--n me, if you're in such a hurry for it, just come along,” said Dusenberry; and reaching his hand over to Dunn, took the handcuffs from him and attempted to put them on Manuel's wrists. The poor fellow struggled and begged for more than ten minutes, and was wellnigh overpowering them, when Dusenberry drew a long dirk-knife from his bosom, and holding it in a threatening attitude at his breast, uttered one of those fierce yells such as are common to slave-hunters, whose business it is to hunt and run down runaway niggers with bloodhounds. “Submit, you black villain, or I'll have your heart's blood; bring a rope, and we'll trise him up here. Jump, be quick, Swizer!” said he, addressing himself to the Dutchman. The Dutchman ran into the front apartment; brought out a cord similar to a clothes-line; and commenced to undo it. “Do you give up now?” said Dusenberry, still holding the knife pointed at him. Manuel was in the habit of carrying a poniard when on shore in foreign countries, and put his hand to his breast-pocket to feel for it. He remembered that he had left it in his chest, and that resistance would be useless against a posse giving expression to such hostility to him. The shackles were put upon his hands with ruffianly force. “Oh! am I a man, or am I a brute? What have I done to receive such treatment? May God look down upon me and forgive me my transgressions; for in his hands are my rights, and he will give me justice,” said Manuel, looking his cruel torturers in the face.