My hair was all clotted with dust and blood, and the back of my shirt was literally stiff with the same.

Briers and thorns had scarred and torn my feet and legs, leaving blood marks there.

Had I escaped from a den of tigers, I could not have looked worse than I did on reaching St.
Michael's.

In this unhappy plight, I appeared before my professedly _Christian_ master, humbly to invoke the interposition of his power and authority, to protect me from further abuse and violence.

I had begun to hope, during the latter part of my tedious journey toward St.Michael's, that Capt.