_Ratts._ Seize him, then! [_They rush on_ M'Closky, _and disarm him._] He can fight though he's a painter; claws all over. _Scud._ Stop! Search him, we may find more evidence. _M'Closky._ Would you rob me first, and murder me afterwards? _Ratts._ [_Searching him._] That's his programme--here's a pocket-book. _Scud._ [_Opens it._] What's here? Letters! Hello! To "Mrs. Peyton, Terrebonne, Louisiana, United States." Liverpool post mark. Ho! I've got hold of the tail of a rat--come out. [Reads.] What's this? A draft for eighty-five thousand dollars, and credit on Palisse and Co., of New Orleans, for the balance. Hi! the rat's out. You killed the boy to steal this letter from the mail-bags--you stole this letter, that the money should not arrive in time to save the Octoroon; had it done so, the lien on the estate would have ceased, and Zoe be free. _Omnes._ Lynch him! Lynch him! Down with him! _Scud._ Silence in the court; stand back, let the gentlemen of the jury retire, consult, and return their verdict. _Ratts._ I'm responsible for the crittur--go on. _Pete._ [_To_ Wahnotee.] See Injiun; look dar [_shows him plate_], see dat innocent; look, dar's de murderer of poor Paul. _Wahnotee._ Ugh! [_Examines plate._] _Pete._ Ya!--as he? Closky tue Paul--kill de child with your tomahawk dar; 'twasn't you, no--ole Pete allus say so. Poor Injiun lub our little Paul. [Wahnotee _rises and looks at_ M'Closky--_he is in his war paint and fully armed._] _Scud._ What say ye, gentlemen? Is the prisoner guilty, or is he not guilty? _Omnes._ Guilty! _Scud._ And what is to be his punishment? _Omnes._ Death! [_All advance._] _Wahnotee._ [_Crosses to_ M'Closky.] Ugh! _Scud._ No, Injiun; we deal out justice here, not revenge. 'Tain't you he has injured, 'tis the white man, whose laws he has offended. _Ratts._ Away with him--put him down the aft hatch, till we rig his funeral. _M'Closky._ Fifty against one! O! if I had you one by one, alone in the swamp, I'd rip ye all. [_He is borne off in boat, struggling._] _Scud._ Now then to business. _Pete._ [_Re-enters from boat._] O, law, sir, dat debil Closky, he tore hisself from de gen'lam, knock me down, take my light, and trows it on de turpentine barrels, and de shed's all afire! [_Fire seen,_ R.] _Jackson._ [_Re-entering._] We are catching fire forward; quick, set free from the shore. _Ratts._ All hands aboard there--cut the starn ropes--give her headway! _All._ Ay, ay! [_Cry of "fire" heard--Engine bells heard--steam whistle noise._] _Ratts._ Cut all away for'ard--overboard with every bale afire. _The Steamer moves off--fire kept up_--M'Closky _re-enters,_ R., _swimming on._ _M'Closky._ Ha! have I fixed ye? Burn! burn! that's right. You thought you had cornered me, did ye? As I swam down, I thought I heard something in the water, as if pursuing me--one of them darned alligators, I suppose--they swarm hereabout--may they crunch every limb of ye! [_Exit,_ L.