As some rise,
others fall upon him like infuriated animals, and but for the timely
presence of Grabguy and Graspum would have despatched him like a
bullock chained to a stake. The presence of these important
personages produces a cessation of hostilities; but the victim,
disarmed, lies prostrate on the ground, a writhing and distorted
body, tortured beyond his strength of endurance. A circle where the
struggle ensued is wet with blood, in which Nicholas bathes his poor
writhing body until it becomes one crimson mass.
All attention is now directed to the wounded man, who, it is found,
although he has bled freely of good red blood, is neither fatally
nor seriously wounded. It is merely a flesh wound in the arm, such
as young gentlemen of the south frequently inflict upon each other
for the purpose of sustaining their character for bravery. But the
oppressed slave has raised his hand against a white man,--he must pay
the penalty with his life; he no longer can live to keep peaceful
citizens in fear and trembling. Prostrate on the floor, the victors
gather round him again, as Graspum stoops down and unlocks the
shackle from his leg. "It's the Ingin, you see: the very devil
wouldn't subdue it, and when once its revenge breaks out you might
just as well try to govern a sweeping tornado," Graspum remarks,
coolly, as he calls a negro attendant, and orders the body to be
drawn from out the puddle of disfiguring gore. Languidly that poor
bosom heaves, his eyes half close, and his motionless lips pale as
death.
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