"Who are you?" cried Mason, dashing the head of the man against the angle of the wall at each interrogatory. "Who are you, and where is the Englishman? Speak, thou thunder-cloud! Answer me, you jackdaw, or I'll hang you on the gallows of the spy!"
Cæsar continued firm. Neither the threats nor the blows could extract any reply, until the lieutenant, by a very natural transition in the attack, sent his heavy boot forward in a direction that brought it in direct contact with the most sensitive part of the negro--his shin. The most obdurate heart could not have exacted further patience, and Cæsar instantly gave in. The first words he spoke were:
"Golly! Massa, you t'ink I got no feelin'?"
"By heavens!" shouted the lieutenant, "it is the negro himself! Scoundrel! where is your master, and who was the priest?"
While he was speaking as if about to renew the attack, Cæsar cried aloud for mercy, promising to tell all he knew.
"Who was the priest?" repeated the dragoon, drawing back his formidable[120] leg and holding it in threatening suspense.
"Harvey, Harvey!" cried Cæsar, dancing from one leg to the other, as he thought each member in turn might be assailed.
"Harvey who, you black villain?" cried the impatient lieutenant, as he executed a full measure of vengeance by letting his leg fly.
"Birch!" shrieked Cæsar, falling on his knees, the tears rolling in large drops over his face.
"Harvey Birch!" echoed the trooper, hurling the black from him and rushing from the room. "To arms! To arms! Fifty guineas for the life of the peddler spy--give no quarter to either. Mount! Mount! To arms! To horse!"
The first impulse of Henry was, certainly, to urge the beast he rode to his greatest speed at once. But the forward movement that the youth made for this purpose was instantly checked by the peddler. Henry reluctantly restrained his impatience and followed the direction of the peddler. His imagination, however, continually alarmed him with the fancied sounds of pursuit.
"What see you, Harvey?" he cried, observing the peddler to gaze towards the building they had left with ominous interest; "what see you at the house?"
"That which bodes us no good," returned the peddler. "Throw aside the mask and wig; you will need all your senses without much delay. Throw them in the road. There are none before us that I dread, but there are those behind who will give us a fearful race! Now ride, Captain Wharton, for your life, and keep at my heels."