“Yes,” replied Ben, “but Merry was a Democrat, and I suppose they wouldn’t want to kill him themselves.”
“I heard some of ’em talking this morning, some respectable-looking gentlemen from Georgia, and saying that they had been told that this had been all to break up a nest of thieves and robbers—that the people in Baconsville was that, and that Capt. Doc is a rowdy, and the Militia Company is a band o’ thieves; and Hanson Baker said that is a fact and just so.”
“I never heard anything like that in all the years I’ve lived here,” said Springer, the oldest resident except Uncle Jesse, who assented to his testimony.
“They talked about Pompey Conner’s robbing market wagons, and even hauled up that old graveyard affair, more than three years old; and they know the Republican niggers are after every thief they know of, and punishes ’em too. Pompey took his turn in jail, and so did that old republican nigger that dug them three graves open; the democratic one got away, but I’ve seen him back just the other day. I don’t believe they cared anything for the graves; they only thought there was some money buried somewhere in the graveyard during the war.”
“That mean democratic nigger that lives over back of the hill there, was in town yesterday, and some of ’em said that he told the white folks where to find men—where their houses were, and if that is true it is just contemptible!” said Springer.
“The fact is,” said Ben, the niggers are getting a bad name everywhere, with these old white aristocrats, and especially since this fuss.”
Ben was young, and his honest, expressive face glowed as he spoke, with animation which subsided immediately into grave thoughtfulness.
“What has become of Capt. Doc?”
“Don’t know; nobody knows. He’s sharp though, and I hope he has got away. If they were to get him they would think he must be drawn and quartered, I expect,” said Ben.
“Springer, you said Marmor is among the missing?” said Uncle Jesse.