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The Torture in Missouri.

In the experience of Dr. Doy, recently rescued from the St. Joseph jail, is the following incident, related to a correspondent of the New York Tribune:

A negro had been caught and was brought to jail. Negroes are confined in the lower part, and communication could be had through a hole for a stovepipe. Through this Dr. Doy learned from the captive that he was a free man, and had been born in the State of Illinois. He had — has — 80 acres of land, with some improvement, near Aurora, Illinois. He had come to Kansas to look at it, expecting to locate there, and on his return was seized by the Missouri thieves and hurried to the county jail. The day after his arrival he was taken out, stripped and tied to a post. The iron whip, with its sharp knife-edges and dagger-points, was produced. The sheriff or his deputy, and other legal parties were present. The unfortunate negro was asked where his master lived, and what that master's name was, and when he ran away. In vain did the poor fellow tell his story. It was received with much abuse, and he was told "that kind of style would not do," while the instrument of torture was applied ferociously to his naked

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back. Blood started from the wounds, and the victim writhed and shrieked in his agony. At last there was a cessation, and the question:

"Well, tell us who's your master and when you ran away."

"I told you I never had a master. I was born in Illinois. I am free."

"Oh, d—n you; we have heard such stories as that before. Give it to him, Tom, till he confesses."

Again the horrid scene was renewed. It was the jail-court — in the precincts of justice, and the prisoners through the grates could witness it. In agony the writhing victim cried for them to tell him what they wanted.

The questions were repeated, but the immediate horrors being respited a little, the trembling, bleeding victim hesitated to repeat words that would consign him to a fate even more horrible than death. Again a torrent of profanity was poured upon him. He had fallen down, as the chords had been somewhat loosened.

"Put him up! Put him up! We'll bring him to, yet;" and the poor, crushed victim again was made to writhe under the horrid torture. At last, almost too faint to shriek, bleeding and weak, the execution was once more stopped and questions asked.

"Who's your master?"

"Oh, anybody you like."

"Well, was it Mr. Brown?"

"Yes, yes."

"Of Culpeper County, Virginia?"

"Well, just as you like. I don't know any counties in Virginia. I never was there."

"What!!"

"Yes, yes," cried the trembling victim, "that was the county — Virginia."

"And it is rather more than six months since you ran away from him?"

"Yes, yes — oh, yes;" and the shrinking man, without a hope in all the despotism around him, let his head fall forward on his breast, and his agony broke in tears and sobs.

"You have got all that noted down?" said one of the officiating villains to the sheriff.

"Yes, all right."

The victim was unfastened and led away. It was nearly two weeks before his wounds were well enough for him to travel, and then he was taken away. WHERE?

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