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|Uncle Tom's Cabin||Harriet Beecher Stowe|
The Freeman's Defence
|Page 11 of 13||
George fired,--the shot entered his side,--but, though wounded, he would not retreat, but, with a yell like that of a mad bull, he was leaping right across the chasm into the party.
"Friend," said Phineas, suddenly stepping to the front, and meeting him with a push from his long arms, "thee isn't wanted here."
Down he fell into the chasm, crackling down among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay bruised and groaning thirty feet below. The fall might have killed him, had it not been broken and moderated by his clothes catching in the branches of a large tree; but he came down with some force, however,--more than was at all agreeable or convenient.
"Lord help us, they are perfect devils!" said Marks, heading the retreat down the rocks with much more of a will than he had joined the ascent, while all the party came tumbling precipitately after him,--the fat constable, in particular, blowing and puffing in a very energetic manner.
"I say, fellers," said Marks, "you jist go round and pick up Tom, there, while I run and get on to my horse to go back for help,--that's you;" and, without minding the hootings and jeers of his company, Marks was as good as his word, and was soon seen galloping away.
"Was ever such a sneaking varmint?" said one of the men; "to come on his business, and he clear out and leave us this yer way!"
"Well, we must pick up that feller," said another. "Cuss me if I much care whether he is dead or alive."
The men, led by the groans of Tom, scrambled and crackled through stumps, logs and bushes, to where that hero lay groaning and swearing with alternate vehemence.
"Ye keep it agoing pretty loud, Tom," said one. "Ye much hurt?"
"Don't know. Get me up, can't ye? Blast that infernal Quaker! If it hadn't been for him, I'd a pitched some on 'em down here, to see how they liked it."
With much labor and groaning, the fallen hero was assisted to rise; and, with one holding him up under each shoulder, they got him as far as the horses.
"If you could only get me a mile back to that ar tavern. Give me a handkerchief or something, to stuff into this place, and stop this infernal bleeding."
George looked over the rocks, and saw them trying to lift the burly form of Tom into the saddle. After two or three ineffectual attempts, he reeled, and fell heavily to the ground.
"O, I hope he isn't killed!" said Eliza, who, with all the party, stood watching the proceeding.
"Why not?" said Phineas; "serves him right."
"Because after death comes the judgment," said Eliza.
"Yes," said the old woman, who had been groaning and praying, in her Methodist fashion, during all the encounter, "it's an awful case for the poor crittur's soul."
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|Uncle Tom's Cabin
Harriet Beecher Stowe
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