"Whar's the ossifers thet wuz a-orderin' ye? Whar's the captins
that wuz puttin' ye up ter hit? Thar wan't no one in a mile of
ye. Guess we'd better shoot ye."

Again Jake raised his voice in abject appeal for mercy. There was
nothing he was not willing to promise if only his life were only
spared.

"Wouldn't hit be better ter bay'net him?" suggested one of the
Rebels, entirely unmoved, as his comrades were, by Jake's piteous
pleadings. "Ef we go ter shootin' 'round yere hit'll liekly bring
the Yankees right onter us."

"I 'spect hit would be better ter take him back a little ways, any
way," said the man whom Jake had pursued. "Pick up his gun thar,
Eph. Come along, you, an' be monty peart about hit, fur we're in
a powerful bad frame o' mind ter be fooled with. I wouldn't gin a
fi'-penny-bit fur all yer blue-bellied life's worth. The boys ar
jest pizen mad from seein' so many o' thar kin and folks killed by
yer crowd o' thievin' Hessians."

Grateful for even a momentary respite, Jake rose from his knees
with alacrity and humbly followed one of the Rebels along the path.
The others strode behind, and occasionally spurred him into a more
rapid pace with a prick from their bayonets.

"O,---ough, mister, don't do that! Don't, PLEASE! You don't know
how it hurts. I ain't got no rhinoceros skin to stand such jabs
as that. That came purty nigh goin' clean through to my heart."