cracking lips drawn back, the black skin changing to a dry and sickly
brown. And ever and anon between the shrieks the parched lips shaped a
plea: "O Massa! Massa Cap'm! shoot po' nigga and let um die!"

This plea for cruel kindness cut me to the marrow of my bones; and
lacking means to save his life, I thought I might at least make shift to
try to put him out of misery.

The enemy's dispositions favored me. The savages, drunk with lust of
blood, leaped and danced around their victim. Falconnet sat his horse
apart beneath the maples, and with his bodyguard of troopers, was well
within the borderland of lurid shadow where the fire light mingled with
the night.

I crept away and made a swift detour to the right to come behind the
rearmost horseman of the troop. As his ill luck would have it, his
horse, affrighted at the firelit pandemonium, was in the act of wheeling
to run away. Being cumbered with a musket, the man made clumsy work of
handling his mount, and when the beast came down in a snorting tremble
to rear afresh at sight of me, the man flung away the musket and drew
his sword.

In cooler blood I might have given him his soldier's chance, but here
again it was another's life or mine. Even so, I might have fought him
fair, had he but held his tongue and fought in silence. But this he
would not, so I had to quiet him or have the others about my ears upon
his shoutings.

That done, I snatched the musket that had cost the man his life, and,
staying not to see what should befall, ran back to cover. In the