Here was a "situation" indeed. Burning with indignation, I was yet
sufficiently master of myself to see that any ebullition of rage on my
part, would only confirm the impression which they had received of my
insanity. I said little, therefore, and that little was confined to an
attempt to explain the chase of yesterday, which Jake Sturgis had made
the subject of such a mischievous "affidavy." But as I could not do
this without laughter, I incurred the danger of the whip. My laugh was
ominous,--Jake edged off once more to the roadside; the man beside me,
got his bludgeon in readiness, and the potent wagon whip of the leader
of the party was uplifted in threatening significance. Laughter was
clearly out of the question, and it naturally ceased on my part, as I
got in sight of the "pen" in which I was to be kept secure. This
structure is one well known to the less civilized regions of the
country. It is a common place of safe-keeping in the absence of jail
and proper officers. It is called technically a "bull pen," and
consists of huge logs, roughly put together, crossing at right angles,
forming a hollow square,--the logs too massy to be removed, and the
structure too high to be climbed, particularly if the prisoner should
happen to be, like myself, fairly tied up hand and foot together. I
relucted terribly at being put into this place. I pleaded urgently,
struggled fiercely, and was thrust in neck and heels without remorse;
and, in sheer hopelessness and vexation, I lay with my face prone to
the earth, and half buried among the leaves, weeping, I shame to
confess it, the bitter tears of impotence and mortification.
Meantime, the news of my capture went through the country;--not _my_
capture, mark me, but that of the famous madman, Archy Dargan, who had
broke Hamilton jail. This was an event, and visitors began to collect.
My captors, who kept watch on the outside of my den, had their hands
full in answering questions. Man, woman and child, Squire and
ploughboy, and, finally, dames and damsels, accumulated around me, and
such a throng of eyes as pierced the crevices of my log dungeon, to see
the strange monster by whom they were threatened, now disarmed of his
terrors, were,--to use the language of one of my keepers--"a power to
calkilate." This was not the smallest part of my annoyance. The logs
were sufficiently far apart to suffer me to see and to be seen, and I
crouched closer to my rushes, and buried my face more thoroughly than
ever, if possible, to screen my dishonoured visage from their curious
scrutiny. This conduct mightily offended some of the visitors.
"I can't see his face," said one.
"Stir him with a long pole!"--and I was greatly in danger of being
treated as a surly bear, refusing to dance for his keeper; since one of
mine seemed very much disposed to gratify the spectator, and had
actually begun sharpening the end of a ten foot hickory, for the
purpose of pricking me into more sociableness. He was prevented from
carrying his generous design into effect by the suggestion of one of
his companions. "Better don't, Bosh; if ever he should git out agen,
he'd put his ear mark upon you." "Reckon you're right," was the reply
of the other, as he laid his rod out of sight.
Meanwhile, the people came and went, each departing visitor sending
others. A couple of hours might have elapsed leaving me in this
humiliating situation, chained to the stake, the beast of a bear
garden, with fifty greedy and still dissatisfied eyes upon me. Of
these, fully one fourth were of the tender gender; some pitied me, some
laughed, and all congratulated themselves that I was safely laid by the
heels, incapable of farther mischief. It was not the most agreeable
part of their remarks, to find that they all universally agreed that I
was a most frightful looking object. Whether they saw my face or not,
they all discovered that I glared frightfully upon them, and I heard
one or two of them ask in under tones, "did you see his teeth---how
sharp!" I gnashed them with a vengeance all the while, you may be sure.