of them were too drunk to pronounce the word,—­but the more sober ones prevailed, and they examined the evidence.  The hearsay amounted to nothing, and they plied me with questions as to my views on slavery.  I answered promptly, but briefly and honestly, that I held no views on that subject to which they should object, and that I had never interfered with the institution since I came among them, nor did I intend to do so.  My calmness seemed to baffle them for a moment, but the bottle was passed, and I noticed that all reason fled from the great majority.  Words grew hot and fierce, and eyes flashed fire, while some actually gnashed their teeth in rage.  I saw that the mob would soon be uncontrollable unless the chairman brought matters to an end, and suggested, that as there was no evidence against me, they should bring the trial to a close, when to my surprise they produced the letter written to my father but thirty-six hours before, as proof conclusive that I was a Northern abolitionist.  I then saw, what I have had abundant evidence of since, that the United States mail was subject to the inspection of Vigilance Committees in the South at their pleasure.  The ruffianism of these scoundrels did not allow them even to apologize for their crime.  The only phrase in the letter objected to was the unfortunate but truthful one, “This is a hard place.”  I never felt its force as at that instant.  It served as a catch-word for more abuse.  “Yes, we’ll make it a hard place for you before you get out of it, you infernal spy,” &c.  The chairman argued rather feebly as I thought—­but he understood his audience better than I did—­that the letter was free from any proof against me, that I was an innocent-looking youth and had behaved myself correctly, that I evidently did not know much about their peculiar institution, and he thought I had no designs against it.  They then went into a private consultation, while I kept my place upon the counter, though gradually moving back to the further edge of it.  I saw the crisis was at hand, for smothered but angry argument was going on in knots of men all over the room; my life was suspended upon a breath, and I was utterly powerless to change the decision, whatever it might be; but I must say that my nerves were steady and my hand untrembling,—­the unwonted calmness of one who knew that death was inevitable if they should decide in the affirmative on the charge, and who was determined to defend himself to the last, as I well knew any death, they could there inflict, was better than to fall into their hands to be tormented by their hellish hate.