ulders. Then the rest beat him until we
thought we heard some one coming, which caused us to flee. If we had not
been interrupted, death would have been his fate. At that time I was
attending a threshing-machine for George Whitson and Joseph Scarlot.

It must have been a month after the Williams affray, that I was sitting
at home one evening, talking with Pinckney and Samuel Thompson about how
I was getting on with my work, when I thought I heard some one call my
name. I went out, but all was quiet. When I went in, Pinckney and
Thompson laughed at me, and said that I had become so "scary" that I
could not stay in the house. But I was not satisfied. I was sure some
one had called me. I said so, and that I would go to Marsh Chamberlain's
to see if anything was wrong. They concluded to go also, and we started.

Arriving near the house, I told Pinckney and Thompson to stop outside,
and I would go in, and if anything was wrong, would call them. When I
reached the house, I saw a chair broken to pieces, and knew that
something had happened, I said,--

"Hallo, Marsh!"

"Who is that?" said he.

And his wife said,--

"Parker, is that you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh, Parker, come here!" she called.

I called Pinckney and Thompson, and we went in. Marsh met us, and said
that kidnappers had been there, had taken John Williams, and gone with
him towards Buck Hill. They had then been gone about fifteen minutes.
Off we started on a rapid run to save him. We ran to a stable, got out
two horses, and Pinckney and I rode on. Thompson soon got the rest of
our party together and followed. We were going at a pretty good gait,
when Pinckney's horse stumbled and fell, fastening his rider's leg; but
I did not halt. Pinckney got his horse up and caught up with me.

"You would not care," said he, "if a man were to get killed! You would
not help him!"

"Not in such a case as this," I replied.

We rode on to the Maryland line, but could not overtake them. We were
obliged to return, as it was near daybreak. The next day a friend of
ours went to Maryland to see what had been done with Williams. He went
to Dr. Savington's, and the Doctor told him that the fugitive could not
live,--the kidnappers had broken his skull, and otherwise beaten him
very badly; his ankle, too, was out of place. In consequence of his
maimed condition, his mistress refused to pay the men anything for
bringing him home. That was the last we ever heard of poor John
Will