Water and cloths were soon brought. The attendant, Michael, commenced to strip his clothes off, but the poor fellow was so sore that he screeched, in the greatest agony, every time he attempted to touch him. “Be easy,” said the officer, “he’s hurt pretty badly. He must a’ been mighty refractory, or they’d never beaten him in this manner,” he continued, opening a roll of adhesive plaster, and cutting it into strips. After washing, him with water and whiskey, they dressed his wounds with the plaster, and bound his head with an old silk handkerchief which they found in his pocket, after which they left the light burning and retired.
After they retired, Tommy inquired of the negro how they came to keep him so long, before they brought him to the guard-house? It proved, that as soon as they came up with him, the first one knocked him down with a club; and they all at once commenced beating him with their bludgeons, and continued until they had satisfied their mad fury. And while he lay groaning in the streets, they left one of their number in charge, while the others proceeded to get handcuffs and chains, in which they bound him, and dragged him, as it were, the distance of four squares to the guard-house. What a sublime picture for the meditations of a people who boast of their bravery and generosity!
The next morning, and the mayor’s verdict.