Struggling against those who carried him, raising his face and snarling and gnashing at the crowd, the prisoner presented a fearful spectacle.

It seemed that, being drunk, he had quarreled with his friend, whom he had nearly murdered with his _machete_.

About the middle of the afternoon we heard a loud crying in the other direction, toward the church and jail, and, on looking, saw coming toward us a man, whose head was broken open and from it was streaming blood, his head and face were covered, and his white shirt, to the waist and even below, was soaked with the red fluid.

He was wringing his hands and crying in a piteous manner.

When he came to where we stood, he told his tale of woe.