nnon's awful work were thrown. That
was war, and such sights had never so affected the veteran as the vision
now before him.

"Avaunt! avaunt! Quit my sight!
Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation
In those eyes that thou dost glare with!"

The Mayor started up, opened his eyes. Uncle Guy stood before him. "I
jes' taut I'd drap in, Kurnel, but didn't speck ter fin' yer sleep,"
said he, wincing under the Mayor's abstracted gaze. "Oh, I don' want
nut'n; don' make er scratch on dat paper. I ain't beggin'," he
exclaimed, as the Mayor, recovering, reached for his pen. "That's so
Guy; you needn't be a beggar as long as the white people own a crust,"
he answered, settling back in his chair again. "Well, what are Negroes
saying about the uprising, Guy?" The old man shrugged his shoulders, and
shook his index finger at the Mayor. "Le' me tell yo', Kurnel, you na
Wilmin'ton rich bocra, dun throw yo' number an' los'; hear me? Ef
enybody gone tell me dat dese people I bin raise wid, who bin called de
bes' bocra in de worl' would go an' kick up all dis ere devil, I'd er
tole um No." The old man straightened up, pointed skyward. "Lowd deliver
yunna bocra when yer call befo' de bar. Dese niggers ain't su'prise at
po' white trash; dey do enyting. But yunna fus class white fo'ks--"

"Well, Guy," broke in the Mayor, "it was hard for us to resort to such,
but it was in self-defense." "Self-defense! self-defense!" repeated the
old man. "When po' nigger han bin tie, an' yunna bocra got
eberyt'ing--gun, cannon an' all de am-nition, an' beside dat, de town
full wid strange trash frum all ober de country to crush dem? Some er
dese men I sees shootin' an' killin', dars men an' umen livin' er my
race dat nussed an' tuk keer er dem w'en dey bin little. God er mighty
gwinter pay yunna well fer yer work, Kurnel, an' de gost er dem po'
murdered creeters gwine ter haunt yo' in yer sleep. God don' lub ugly,
an' yunna can't prosper." The old man concluded with a low bow, strode
out, and left the Mayor alone with his thoughts.

CHAPTER XIX.

Teck Pervis, the Leader.

"Come, stan' back, men! I led you uns this fer, an' kin lead you
through. I'm goin' ter lead the way ter ther Mare's office. Foller me!"
A crowd of disappointed poor whites, who had assisted in restoring white
supremacy and who had not been treated fairly in the distribution of the
spoils, had gathere