Looking
back from a moment of calm, the psychology of the crisis is of a
rudimentary simplicity.
Enraged beyond measure at the woods person, Mr. Belknap-Jackson yet
retained a fine native caution which counselled him to attempt no
violence upon that offender; but his mental tension was such that it
could be relieved only by his attacking some one; preferably some one
forbidden to retaliate. I walked there temptingly but a pace ahead of
him, after my well-meant word of advice.
I make no defence of my own course. I am aware there can be none. I
can only plead that I had already been vexed not a little by his
unjust accusations of stupidity, and dismiss with as few words as
possible an incident that will ever seem to me quite too indecently
criminal. Briefly, then, with my well-intended "Best not lower
yourself, sir," Mr. Belknap-Jackson forgot himself and I forgot
myself. It will be recalled that I was in front of him, but I turned
rather quickly. (His belongings I had carried were widely
disseminated.)
Instantly there were wild outcries from the others, who had started
toward the main, or living house.
"He's killed Charles!" I heard Mrs. Belknap-Jackson scream; then came
the deep-chested rumble of the Mixer, "Jackson kicked him first!" They
ran for us.
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