Here they propped him against a tree, to mock and
torment him; to prick him, wound him, torture him; to task endurance to
its utmost limit, but not to extinguish life. These savages had no such
mercy as this in their souls; and when, once or twice he fell away into
insensibility, a cut or blow administered with devilish skill or
strength, restored him to anguish and to life.
Surrey, bewildered and dizzy, had recovered consciousness, and sat
gazing vacantly around him, till the cries and yells without, the
agonized face within, thrilled every nerve into feeling. Starting up, he
rushed to the window, but recoiled at the awful sight. Here, he saw,
there was no human power within reach or call that could interfere. The
whole block, from street to street, was crowded with men and boys, armed
with the armory of the street, and rejoicing like veritable fiends of
hell over the pangs of their victim.
Even in the moment he stood there he beheld that which would haunt his
memory, did it endure for a century. At last, tired of their sport, some
of those who were just about Abram had tied a rope about his body, and
raised him to the nearest branch of an overhanging tree; then, heaping
under him the sticks and clubs which were flung them from all sides, set
fire to the dry, inflammable pile, and watched, for the moment silent,
to see it burn.
Surrey fled to the other side of the room, and, cowering down, buried
his head in his arm to shut out the awful sight and sounds.
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