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James Redpath, The Roving Editor: or, Talks with Slaves in the Southern States., My third trip. (search)
a fact, chimed a third. By this time the prisoner was entirely naked, from the loins upward. Come out here, said Captain Wallace, we don't want to smear the floor with tar. Silently and carelessly Atkinson followed him. A ruffian named Bird, and the wretch who proposed to burn the prisoner--birds of a feather — then cut two paddles, about a yard long (broad at one end), and proceeded slowly, amid the laughter and jests of the crowd, which Atkinson seemed neither to see nor care for, ordinary activity in chewing and expectorating. Guess you've got enough on — put on the feathers, said an idle member of the executive committee. You're doing it up brown, said a citizen encouragingly to the operators. Yes, sur, chirruped Bird, as he took hold of the bag of feathers, and threw a handful on the prisoner's neck. Pour them on, suggested a spectator. No, it's better to put them on in handfuls, said another voice. Four ruffians (all men of social position,) took hol