"We were all placed in close confinement, until two of my
fellow-sufferers, Barnard and Cole, died; one of which was put into
the ground with his irons on his hands.
"I was afterwards permitted to walk the yard. But as my irons were too
small, and caused my hands to swell, and made them very sore, I asked
the Sergeant to take them off and give me larger ones. He being a
person of humanity, and compassionating my sufferings, changed my
irons for others that were larger, and more easy to my hands.
"Knowles, who was also permitted to walk the yard, for his perfidy,
would take every opportunity to insult and mortify me, by asking me
whether I wanted to run away again, and when I was going home, etc?
"His daily affronts, together with his conduct in betraying, his
countrymen, so exasperated me that I wished for nothing more than an
opportunity to convince him that I did not love him.
"One day as he was tantalizing over me as usual, I suddenly drew my
one hand out of my irons, flew at him and struck him in the face,
knocked out two or three of his teeth, and bruised his mouth very
much. He cried out that the prisoner had got loose, but before any
assistance came, I had put my hand again into the hand-cuff, and was
walking about the yard as usual. When the guard came they demanded of
me in what manner I struck him. I replied with both my hands.
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