Fessenden's, fantastic, astride of the African, staring forward
into the darkness from under his ragged hat-brim, endeavoring to hold
the wreck of an umbrella over them,--the wind flapping and whirling it.
Tramp! tramp! past all those noble mansions, to the negro-hut beyond the
village. And, oh, to think of it! the rich citizens, the enlightened and
white-skinned Levites, having left him out, one of their own race, to
perish in the storm, this despised black man is found, alone of all the
world, to show mercy unto him!
"How do you get on, Sir?" says the stout young Ethiop. "Would you ride
easier, if I should trot? or would you prefer a canter? Tell 'em to
bring on their two-forty nags now, if they want a race."
Talking in this strain, to keep up his rider's spirits, he brought him,
not without sweat and toil, to the hut. A kick on the door with the
beggar's foot, which he used for the purpose, caused it to be opened by
a woolly-headed urchin; and in he staggered.
Little woolly-head clapped his hands and screamed.
"Oh, crackie, pappy! here comes Bill with the Devil on his back!"
Sensation in the hut.
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