d soon sprung up again, but the clearing still remained, and as we
stopped in the shadow of the trees and looked across it, we saw a
singular sight. Negroes to the number of at least a hundred and fifty
were gathered about a pile of logs on which Polete was mounted. He was
shouting in a monotone, his voice rising and falling in regular cadence,
his eyes closed, his head tilted back, his face turned toward the moon,
whose light silvered his hair and beard and gave a certain majesty to his
appearance. His hearers were seemingly much affected, and interrupted him
from time to time with shouts and groans and loud amens.

"Dis is d' promise' lan'!" cried old Polete, waving his arms above his
head in a wild ecstasy. "All we hab t' do is t' raise up an' take it from
ouh 'pressahs. Ef we stays hyah slaves, it's ouh own fault. Now's d'
'pinted time. D' French is ma'chin' obah d' mountings t' holp us. Dee'll
drib d' English into d' sea, and wese t' hab ouh freedom,--ouh freedom
an' plenty lan' t' lib on."

"Dat's it," shouted some one, "an' we gwine t' holp, suah!"

The negroes were so intent upon their speaker that they did not perceive
us until we were right among them, and even then for a few minutes, as we
forced our way through the mob, no one knew us.

"It's Mas' Tom!" yelled one big fellow, as my hat was knocked from my
head. And, as if by instinct, they crowded back on either side, and a
path was opened before us to the pile of logs where Polete stood. He
gaped at us amazedly as we clambered up toward him, and I saw that he was
licking his lips convulsively. A yell from the crowd greeted us as we
appeared beside him,--a menacing yell, which died away into a low
growling, and foretold an approaching storm.

"Now, boys," I cried, "I want you to listen to me for a minute. That is a
lie about the French coming over the mountains,--every word of it. If
Polete here, who, you know, is only a laborer like most of you, says he
has seen them coming in a vision, why he's simply lying to you, or he
doesn't know what he's talking about. There are not three hundred
Frenchmen the other side of the mountains, in the first place, and it
will be winter before they can get any more there. So if you fight, you
will have to fight alone, and you can guess how much chance of success
you have. You know the penalty for insurrection. It's death, and not an
easy death, either,--death by fire! If you go ahead with this thing, no
power on earth c