The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, April, 1862: Devoted To Literature And National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, April, 1862: Devoted To Literature And National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
'Don't waste your time on him, Alice,' said the Colonel, kindly; 'he
isn't worth the rope that'll hang him.'
'He was bleeding to death; he must have care or he'll die,' said the
octoroon woman.
'Then let him die, d---- him,' replied the Colonel, advancing to where
the Overseer lay, and bending down to satisfy himself of his condition.
Meanwhile more than two hundred dusky forms crowded around and filled
every opening of the old building. Every conceivable emotion, except
pity, was depicted on their dark faces. The same individuals whose
cloudy visages a half-hour before I had seen distended with a wild mirth
and careless jollity, that made me think them really the docile,
good-natured animals they are said to be, now glared on the prostrate
Overseer with the infuriated rage of aroused beasts when springing on
their prey.
'You can't come the possum here. Get up, you ---- hound,' said the
Colonel, rising and striking the bleeding man with his foot.
The fellow raised himself on one elbow and gazed around with a stupid,
vacant look. His eye wandered unsteadily for a moment from the Colonel
to the throng of cloudy faces in the doorway; then, his recent
experience flashing upon him, he shrieked out, clinging wildly to the
skirts of the octoroon woman, who was standing near, 'Keep off them
cursed hounds,--keep them off, I say--they'll kill me!--they'll kill
me!'
One glance satisfied me that his mind was wandering. The blow on the
head had shattered his reason, and made the strong man less than a
child.
'You shan't be killed yet,' said the Colonel. 'You've a small account to
settle with me before you reckon with the devil.'
At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and Jake entered,
his arm bound up and in a sling.
'Jake, come here,' said the Colonel; 'this man would have killed you.
What shall we do with him?'
''Tain't fur a darky to say dat, massa,' said the negro, evidently
unaccustomed to the rude administration of justice which the Colonel was
about to inaugurate; 'he did wuss dan dat to Sam, mass--he orter swing
for shootin' him.'
'That's _my_ affair; we'll settle your account first,' replied the
Colonel.
The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the Overseer,
who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. The little
humanity in him was evidently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his
desire of revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd,
'Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den you wash him down.[M] Be a
man, Jake, and say dat.'
Jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to speak, the eye of
the octoroon woman caught his, and chained the words to his tongue, as
if by magnetic power.
'Do you say that, boys;' said the Colonel, turning to the other negroes;
'shall he have fifty lashes?'
'Yas, massa, fifty lashes--gib de ole debil fifty lashes,' shouted about
fifty voices.
'He shall have them,' quietly said the master.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account