on
both shoulders with the _fleur-de-lis_. He was a man of fierce aspect,
and, as I had heard, of fierce and brutal habit--feared not only by the
other negroes, but by the whites with whom he came in contact. It was
not he that was undergoing punishment. On the contrary, he was the
instrument of torture.

And torture it was--I knew the punishment well.

The trough or aqueduct had been removed; and the victim was placed at
the bottom of the pump, directly under the spout. He was fast bound in
a species of stocks; and in such a position that he could not move his
head, which _received the continuous jet in the very centre of the
crown_!

Torture? No doubt, you are incredulous? You fancy there can be no
great torture in that. A simple shock--a shower-bath--nothing more!

You are right. For the first half-minute or so it is but a shock, a
shower-bath, but then--

Believe me when I declare to you--that a stream of molten lead--an axe
continually crashing through the skull--would not be more painful than
the falling of this cold-water jet! It is torture beyond endurance--
agony indescribable. Well may it be called the "devil's douche."

Again the agonised cry came from the pump, almost curdling my blood.

As I have said, I could not see the sufferer at first. A row of bodies
was interposed between him and me. The negroes, however, seeing me ride
up, eagerly opened their ranks and fell back a pace, as if desiring I
should be a witness to what was going forward. They all knew me, and
all had some impression that I _sympathised_ with their unfortunate
race.

This opening gave me a full view of the horrid spectacle, disclosing a
group that made me start in the saddle. Under the torture was the
victim--a man of sable hue. Close by him, a large mulatto woman and a
young girl of the same complexion--mother and daughter--stood folded in
each other's arms, both weeping bitterly. I could hear their sobs and
ejaculations, even at the distance of a score of yards, and above the
plashing sound of the falling water. I recognised at a glance who these
were--they were the little Chloe and her mother!

Quick as lightning my eyes were directed towards the sufferer. The
water, as it bounded from his crown, spread into a glassy sheet, that
completely concealed his head, but the huge, fin-like, projecting ears
told me who was the victim. It was Scipio!

Again his cry of agony pealed upon my ears, deep and prolonged