Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/324

 three, I defy and would whip the whole of you, but the whole dozen, mounted and armed, with dogs to boot, were too much for one poor black man, with nothing but his feet, his hands, and his knife. They have not always been too much; but I am getting old. Better die now, while I have strength and courage to defy your worst, than fall into your hands a broken-down old man."

These words of defiance wrought up the assembled mob of planters and overseers to a fury perfectly devilish. "Hanging is too good for him," some of them cried out; and presently the awful cry was raised, "Burn him! burn him!" No sooner was the horrible idea suggested, than volunteers were found to prepare to carry it into execution. It was in vain that I, and indeed two or three of those who had been engaged in the capture of Thomas, and among them the planter by whose side I had ridden, and from whom I had heard the story of it, remonstrated against this horrible and illegal cruelty. The same brutal scoundrel who had dashed the water from Thomas's lips now stood forward as the leader and manager of this new atrocity. It was necessary, he said, with the country agitated by abolition incendiaries, some of them, he repeated, — and here he cast a malignant glance at me, — in communication with this very outlaw, now that they had him in their power, to make an example of him. This Wild Tom had been the terror of the whole neighborhood for years. The stories of his exploits, circulating among the negroes, had done infinite damage, and might make many imitators. It was necessary, therefore, to counteract this impression by having his career terminate in a way to inspire awe and terror.

A pile of light wood was soon collected, and the victim of slaveholding vengeance was placed in the midst of it.

The pile was then lighted, and the smoke and flames began to wreathe above his head. But even