Several men took the tongue of the cart and began to move, looking back to see how fast the tethered prisoner could walk. The hundred yards or so around the few stores seemed like an eternity to Brown, and when they returned to the front of the tavern, he heard, as at a distance, Bostick ask, “Do you confess and pledge your loyalty to our cause?”

Brown stood mute, not knowing how to reply, and Bostick said, “Take him around again.” When they returned, the captive could hardly walk, but still refused or was unable to respond. His heart was pounding with fear and anguish, but his mind was dulled and somehow he could not acknowledge what was happening. As the third circuit began, he fell to the ground, and the rope tightened around his throat. He lost consciousness.

“He’ll soon be dead,” said one of the men.

Bostick thought for a few moments and then said, “That is not what we want. Throw some water on him.”

When Brown regained consciousness, Bostick said to him, “You’re a dead man if you don’t confess. I’m going to ask you once more: Do you admit your crime and pledge to support freedom?”

Brown was resigned to his fate and felt that the unconsciousness of death would not be as unpleasant as his present plight.

Then, like a miracle, it seemed that there was a profound transformation deep within his very soul. All at once, he was obsessed with hatred instead of fear, and he didn’t want to die. Should he give his life now and permit his despised enemies to be forever triumphant? It was as though his own destiny became remarkably clear: ultimate revenge. He looked around him, his pulse pounding in his temples and the faces of his tormentors partly obscured by what seemed to be a veil of red. He delayed no longer in making his decision. He nodded his head. “I confess,” he said, and the bystanders cheered. Then he repeated what Bostick commanded.

“Take off the rope and untie his hands,” Bostick ordered. He turned to the innkeeper and said, “Mr. Jarvis, you can clean him up and give him his clothes. We left his money, so he can pay you.”

•  •  •

A few hours later, after the innkeeper had obtained a bottle of turpentine from the boatbuilder, Brown and Jarvis had removed most of the tar. The exhausted man lay on the cot in the tiny low-ceilinged room, his entire body a dull red, with many blisters rising in the places where the hot tar had accumulated. Some of his toes were badly burned and had no feeling in them. The innkeeper returned his purse, in which Brown was surprised to find all his papers and his money.