We would print the name of this brute in human form, that the world might read it, were it not for an amiable wife and interesting family, whose feelings we respect.  We heard the cause of this cruel torture a short time after, which was simply that he had stolen a few pounds of nails, and this fomented the demon’s rage.  In the manner we have described, this ferocious creature had kept his victim for more than two hours, beating him with the knotty hoops taken from lime-casks.  His rage would move at intervals, like gusts of wind during a gale.  Thus, while his feelings raged highest, he would vent them upon the flesh of the poor pinioned wretch; then he would stop, rest his arm, and pace the ground from wall to wall, and as soon as his passion stormed, commence again and strike the blows with all his power, at the same time keeping the black boy standing with a bucket of water in his hand ready to pour upon the wretch whenever signs of fainting appeared.  Several times, when the copious shower came over him, it filled his mouth, so that his cries resounded with a gurgling, death-like noise, that made every sensation chill to hear it.  During this space of time, he inflicted more than three hundred blows.  Our information is from the man who did his master’s bidding—­poured the water—­and dared not say, “Good massa, spare poor Jacob.”  We visited the place about a month afterward, on a pretext of examining the basement of the building, and saw the unmistakable evidences of civilized torture yet remaining in the ground and upon the shavings that were scattered around.

“Captain, you must not judge the institution of slavery by what you saw there; that is only one of those isolated cases so injurious in themselves, but for which the general character of the institution should not be held answerable,” said the colonel.

“A system so imperfect should be revised, lest innocent men be made to suffer its wrongs,” said the Captain.

They continued their walk through several very pretty parts of the city, where fine flowering gardens and well-trimmed hedges were nicely laid out; these, however, were not the habitations of the “old families.”  They occupied parts of the city designated by massive-looking old mansions, exhibiting an antiqueness and mixed architecture, with dilapidated court-yards and weather-stained walls, showing how steadfast was the work of decay.

The colonel pointed out the many military advantages of the city, which would be used against Uncle Sam if he meddled with South Carolina.  He spoke of them ironically, for he was not possessed of the secession monomania.  He had been a personal friend of Mr. Calhoun, and knew his abstractions.  He knew Mr. McDuffie; Hamilton, (the transcendant, of South Carolina fame;) Butler, of good component parts-eloquent, but moved by fancied wrongs; Rhett, renouncer of that vulgar name of Smith, who hated man because he spoke, yet would not fight because he feared his God; and betwixt them, a host of worthies who made revenge a motto; and last, but not least, great Quattlebum, whose strength and spirit knows no bound, and brought the champion Commander, with his enthusiastic devotion, to lead unfaltering forlorn hopes.  But he knew there was deception in the political dealings of this circle of great names.