"I left Judge Briscoe's, and went west on the pike to a big tree. It
rained, and I stepped under the tree for shelter. There was a man on the
other side of the fence. It was Bob Skillett. He was carrying his gown and
hood--I suppose it was that--on his arm. Then I saw two others a little
farther east, in the middle of the road; and I think they had followed me
from the Briscoes', or near there. They had their foolish regalia on, as
all the rest had,--there was plenty of lightning to see. The two in the
road were simply standing there in the rain, looking at me through the
eye-holes in their hoods. I knew there were others--plenty--but I thought
they were coming from behind me--the west.
"I wanted to get home--the court-house yard was good enough for me--so I
started east, toward town. I passed the two gentlemen; and one fell down
as I went by him, but the other fired a shot as a signal, and I got his
hood off his face for it--I stopped long enough--and it was Force Johnson.
I know him well. Then I ran, and they followed. A little ahead of me I saw
six or eight of them spread across the road. I knew I'd have a time
getting through, so I jumped the fence to cut across the fields, and I lit
in a swarm of them--it had rained them just where I jumped. I set my back
to the fence, but one of the fellows in the road leaned over and smashed
my head in, rather--with the butt of a gun, I believe. I came out from the
fence and they made a little circle around me. No one said anything. I saw
they had ropes and saplings, and I didn't want that, exactly, so I went
into them. I got a good many hoods off before it was over, and I can swear
to quite a number besides those I told you."
He named the men, slowly and carefully. Then he went on: "I think they
gave up the notion of whipping. We all got into a bunch, and they couldn't
clear to shoot without hitting some of their own: and there was a lot of
gouging and kicking--one fellow nearly got my left eye, and I tried to
tear him apart and he screamed so that I think he was hurt. Once or twice
I thought I might get away, but somebody hammered me over the head and
face again, and I got dizzy; and then they all jumped away from me
suddenly, and Bob Skillett stepped up--and--shot me. He waited for a good
flurry of lightning, and I was slow tumbling down. Some one else fired a
shot-gun, I think--I can't be sure--about the same time, from the side. I
tried to get up, but I couldn't, and then they got together, for a
consultation. The man I had hurt--I didn't recognize him--came and looked
at me. He was nursing himself all over; and groaned; and I laughed, I--at
any rate, my arm was lying stretched out on the grass, and he stamped his
heel into my hand, and after a little of that I quit feeling.