Seated on a log were three negroes, one sawing on an old fiddle, one picking a banjo, and one playing the bones. Two negroes were in the center of a ring, dancing, while the others patted "Juba." All were more or less intoxicated. Groundhog and Pilgarlic were endeavoring to get up a fight between Abraham Lincoln and another stalwart, stupid negro, and were plying them with whisky from a canteen and egging them on with words.
The Deacon strode up to Groundhog and, catching him by the arm, demanded sternly:
"What are you doing, you miserable scoundrel? Stop it at once."
Groundhog, who had drunk considerable himself, and was pot-valiant, shook him off roughly, saying:
"G'way from here, you dumbed citizen. This hain't none o' your bizniss. Go back to your haymow and leave soldiers alone."
The Deacon began divesting himself of his burden to prepare for action, but before he could do so, Shorty rushed in, gave Groundhog a vigorous kick, and he and Si dispersed the rest of the crowd in a hurry with sharp cuffs for all they could reach. The meeting broke up without a motion to adjourn.
The Deacon caught Abraham Lincoln by the collar and shook him vigorously.
"You black rascal," he said, "what've you bin up to?"
"Didn't 'spect you back so soon. Boss," gasped the negro. "Said you wouldn't be back till termorrer."