The old negro slipped to his knees, trembling from head to foot.

The guards caught him by the shoulders and threw him back into the chair.

The bandage was removed, and just in front of him stood a bra.s.s cannon pointed at his head, a soldier beside it holding the string ready to pull.

John threw himself backward, yelling:

"G.o.ddermighty!"

When he scrambled to his feet and started to run, another cannon swung on him from the rear. He dropped to his knees and began to pray.

"Yas, Lawd, I'se er comin'. I hain't ready--but, Lawd, I got ter come!

Save me!"

"Shave him!" the Captain ordered.

While the old man sat moaning, they lathered his head with two scrubbing-brushes and shaved it clean.

"Now stand him up by the wall and measure him for his coffin," was the order.

They s.n.a.t.c.hed him from the chair, pushed him against the wall, and measured him. While they were taking his measure, the man next to him whispered:

"Now's the time to save your hide--tell all about Ben Cameron trying to hire you to kill Ashburn."

"Give him a few minutes," said the Captain, "and maybe we can hear what Mr. Cameron said about Ashburn."

"I doan' know nuttin', General," pleaded the old darkey. "I ain't heard nuttin'--I ain't seed Ma.r.s.e Ben fer two monts."

"You needn't lie to us. The rebels have been posting you. But it's no use.

We'll get it out of you."

"'Fo' Gawd, Marster, I'se telling de truf!"

"Put him in the dark cell and keep him there the balance of his life unless he tells," was the order.

At the end of four days, Phil was summoned again to witness the show.

John was carried to another part of the fort and shown the sweat-box.

"Now tell all you know or in you go!" said his tormentor.

The negro looked at the engine of torture in abject terror--a closet in the walls of the fort just big enough to admit the body, with an adjustable top to press down too low for the head to be held erect. The door closed tight against the breast of the victim. The only air admitted was through an auger-hole in the door.

The old man's lips moved in prayer.

"Will you tell?" growled the Captain.

"I cain't tell ye nuttin' 'cept'n' a lie!" he moaned.

They thrust him in, slammed the door, and in a loud voice the Captain said:

"Keep him there for thirty days unless he tells."

He was left in the agony of the sweat-box for thirty-three hours and taken out. His limbs were swollen and when he attempted to walk he tottered and fell.

The guard jerked him to his feet, and the Captain said:

"I'm afraid we've taken him out too soon, but if he don't tell he can go back and finish the month out."

The poor old negro dropped in a faint, and they carried him back to his cell.

Phil determined to spare no means, fair or foul, to secure Ben's release from the clutches of these devils. He had as yet been unable to locate his place of confinement.

He continued his ruse of friendly curiosity, kept in touch with the Captain, and the Captain in touch with his pocketbook.

Summoned to witness another interesting ceremony, he hurried to the fort.

The officer winked at him confidentially, and took him out to a row of dungeons built of logs and ceiled inside with heavy boards. A single pane of gla.s.s about eight inches square admitted light ten feet from the ground.

There was a commotion inside, curses, groans, and cries for mercy mingling in rapid succession.

"What is it?" asked Phil.

"h.e.l.l's goin' on in there!" laughed the officer.

"Evidently."

A heavy crash, as though a ton weight had struck the floor, and then all was still.

"By George, it's too bad we can't see it all!" exclaimed the officer.

"What does it mean?" urged Phil.

Again the Captain laughed immoderately.

"I've got a blue-blood in there taking the bluin' out of his system. He gave me some impudence. I'm teaching him who's running this country!"

"What are you doing to him?" Phil asked with a sudden suspicion.

"Oh, just having a little fun! I put two big white drunks in there with him--half-fighting drunks, you know--and told them to work on his teeth and manicure his face a little to initiate him into the ranks of the common people, so to speak!"

Again he laughed.

Phil, listening at the keyhole, held up his hand:

"Hush, they're talking----"

He could hear Ben Cameron's voice in the softest drawl:

"Say it again."