As soon as these formidable whips appeared， I wasseized by both of them， and roughly divested of myclothing. My feet， as has been stated， were fastened tothe floor. Drawing me over the bench， face downwards，Radburn placed his heavy foot upon the fetters， betweenmy wrists， holding them painfully to the floor. With thepaddle， Burch commenced beating me. Blow after blowwas inflicted upon my naked body. When his unrelentingarm grew tired， he stopped and asked if I still insisted Iwas a free man. I did insist upon it， and then the blowswere renewed， faster and more energetically， if possible，than before. When again tired， he would repeat the samequestion， and receiving the same answer， continue hiscruel labor. All this time， the incarnate devil was utteringmost fiendish oaths. At length the paddle broke， leavingthe useless handle in his hand. Still I would not yield. Allhis brutal blows could not force from my lips the foul liethat I was a slave. Casting madly on the floor the handleof the broken paddle， he seized the rope. This was farmore painful than the other. I struggled with all my power，but it was in vain. I prayed for mercy， but my prayerwas only answered with imprecations and with stripes.
I thought I must die beneath the lashes of the accursed brute. Even now the flesh crawls upon my bones， as I recallthe scene. I was all on fire. My sufferings I can compare tonothing else than the burning agonies of hell！
At last I became silent to his repeated questions. Iwould make no reply. In fact， I was becoming almostunable to speak. Still he plied the lash without stint uponSCENE IN THE SLAVE PEN AT WASHINGTON.
my poor body， until it seemed that the lacerated flesh wasstripped from my bones at every stroke. A man with aparticle of mercy in his soul would not have beaten even adog so cruelly. At length Radburn said that it was uselessto whip me any more—that I would be sore enough.
Thereupon Burch desisted， saying， with an admonitoryshake of his fist in my face， and hissing the words throughhis firm-set teeth， that if ever I dared to utter again thatI was entitled to my freedom， that I had been kidnapped，or any thing whatever of the kind， the castigation I hadjust received was nothing in comparison with what wouldfollow. He swore that he would either conquer or killme. With these consolatory words， the fetters were takenfrom my wrists， my feet still remaining fastened to thering； the shutter of the little barred window， which hadbeen opened， was again closed， and going out， locking thegreat door behind them， I was left in darkness as before.
In an hour， perhaps two， my heart leaped to my throat，as the key rattled in the door again. I， who had been solonely， and who had longed so ardently to see some one，I cared not who， now shuddered at the thought of man’sapproach. A human face was fearful to me， especially awhite one. Radburn entered， bringing with him， on a tinplate， a piece of shriveled fried pork， a slice of bread and acup of water. He asked me how I felt， and remarked thatI had received a pretty severe flogging. He remonstratedwith me against the propriety of asserting my freedom. Inrather a patronizing and confidential manner， he gave it to me as his advice， that the less I said on that subject thebetter it would be for me. The man evidently endeavoredto appear kind—whether touched at the sight of my sadcondition， or with the view of silencing， on my part， anyfurther expression of my rights， it is not necessary nowto conjecture. He unlocked the festers from my ankles，opened the shutters of the little window， and departed，leaving me again alone.
By this time I had become stiff and sore； my bodywas covered with blisters， and it was with great pain anddifficulty that I could move. From the window I couldobserve nothing but the roof resting on the adjacent wall.
At night I laid down upon the damp， hard floor， withoutany pillow or covering whatever. Punctually， twice a day，Radburn came in， with his pork， and bread， and water.
I had but little appetite， though I was tormented withcontinual thirst. My wounds would not permit me toremain but a few minutes in any one position； so， sitting，or standing， or moving slowly round， I passed the days andnights. I was heart sick and discouraged. Thoughts of myfamily， of my wife and children， continually occupied mymind. When sleep overpowered me I dreamed of them—dreamed I was again in Saratoga—that I could see theirfaces， and hear their voices calling me. Awakening fromthe pleasant phantasms of sleep to the bitter realitiesaround me， I could but groan and weep. Still my spiritwas not broken. I indulged the anticipation of escape，and that speedily. It was impossible， I reasoned， that men031
could be so unjust as to detain me as a slave， when thetruth of my case was known. Burch， ascertaining I was norunaway from Georgia， would certainly let me go. Thoughsuspicions of Brown and Hamilton were not unfrequent，I could not reconcile myself to the idea that they wereinstrumental to my imprisonment. Surely they wouldseek me out—they would deliver me from thraldom. Alas！
I had not then learned the measure of “man’s inhumanityto man，” nor to what limitless extent of wickedness hewill go for the love of gain.
In the course of several days the outer door wasthrown open， allowing me the liberty of the yard. ThereI found three slaves—one of them a lad of ten years， theothers young men of about twenty and twenty-five. I wasnot long in forming an acquaintance， and learning theirnames and the particulars of their history.
The eldest was a colored man named Clemens Ray.
He had lived in Washington； had driven a hack， andworked in a livery stable there for a long time. He wasvery intelligent， and fully comprehended his situation.
The thought of going south overwhelmed him with grief.
