exclaimed:

"Oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin--Jim hab draw'd his knife,
and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un dat touch him!"

"He does, does he!" said his master, springing from his seat, and
abruptly leaving the apartment.

Remembering the fierce burst of passion I had seen in the negro, and
fearing there was danger a-foot, I rose to follow, saying, as I did so:

"Madam, cannot you prevent this?"

"I cannot, sir; I have already done all I can. Go and try to pacify the
Colonel--Jim will die before he'll be whipped." Jim was standing at the
farther end of the old cabin, with his back to the wall, and the large
spring knife in his hand. Some half-dozen negroes were in the centre of
the room, apparently cowed by his fierce and desperate looks, and his
master was within a few feet of him.

"I tell you, Cunnel," cried the negro, as I entered, "you touch me at
your peril!"

"You d----d nigger, do you dare to speak so to me?" said his master,
taking a step toward him.

The knife rose in the air, and the black, in a cool, sneering tone,
replied: "Say your prayers 'fore you come nigher, for, so help me God,
you'm a dead man!"

I laid my hand on the Colonel's arm, to draw him back, saying, as I did
so: "There's danger in him! I _know_ it. Let him go, and he shall ask
your pardon."

"I shan't ax his pardon," cried the black; "leff him an' me be, sir;
we'll fix dis ourselfs."

"Don't interfere, Mr. K----," said my host, with perfect coolness, but
with a face pallid with rage. "Let me govern my own plantation."

"As you say, sir," I replied, stepping back a few paces; "but I warn
you--there is danger in him!"

Taking no notice of my remark, the Colonel turning to the trembling
negroes, said: "One of you go to the house and bring my pistols."

"You kin shoot me, ef you likes," said Jim, with a fierce, grim smile;
"but I'll take you ter h--l wid me, _shore_. You knows WE wont stand a
blow!"

The Colonel, at the allusion to their relationship, started as if shot,
and turning furiously on the negro, yelled out: "I'll shoot you for
that, you d----d nigger, by ----."

"It 'pears ter me, Cunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shootin' round har,
lately; better stop thet sort o' bis'ness; it moight give ye a sore
throat," said the long, lean, loose-jointed stump-speaker of the
previous Sunday, as he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my
host.

"What brought you here, you d----d insolent hound?" cried the Col