No word was uttered, but a Trojan struggle ensued. It was two against
one, but even those odds did not daunt the deacon. It was full five
minutes before he was flat on his back, panting and uttering such
burning and searing words as might properly fall from the lips of a
Baptist deacon. Tilley Newcamp, who was heavy, sat on his chest.
Hamilcar Jones dragged up a saw buck and laid the deacon's timber leg
across it.... The deacon saw and comprehended, and lifted up his voice.
Another five minutes were consumed in returning him to quiescence. And
then the saw did its work, while the deacon breathed threats of blood
and torture, and regretted that his religion prevented him from using
language better suited to his purpose. The leg was severed; a fragment
full ten inches long fell from the end, and the deacon's assailants drew
away, their fell purpose accomplished.
There was a rapping on the door. It was Scattergood Baines, and he was
admitted. His face was full of wrath as he gazed within, and he quivered
with fury as he ordered the two miscreants out of the place.
"What's this, Deacon, what's this?" he demanded.
The deacon told him at length, and fluently.
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