“I'd like to see 'em vote aginst me!” says he, in a skairful way.
“Would you use intimidation, Josiah Allen?”
“Why, uncle Nate Gowdey and I, and a few others who love quiet, and love to see folks do as they ort to, lay out to take some shot-guns and make them niggers vote right; make 'em vote for me; shoot 'em right down if they don't. We have got the campaign all planned out.”
“Josiah Allen,” says I, “if you have no fear of Heaven, have you no fear of the Government? Do you want to be hung, and see your widow a breakin' her heart over your gallowses?”
“Oh! I shouldn't get hung. The Government wouldn't do nothin'. The Government feels jest as I do,—that it would be wrong to stir up old bitternesses, and race differences. The bloody shirt has been washed, and ironed out; and it wouldn't be right to dirty it up agin. The colored race is now at peace; and if they will only do right, do jest as the white men wants 'em to, Government won't never interfere with 'em.”
I groaned, and couldn't help it; and he says,—
“Why, hang it all, Samantha, if I make any show at all in public life, I have got to begin to practise sometime.”
“Wall,” says I, “bring me in a pail of water.” But as he went out after it, I murmured sternly to myself,—
“Oh! wus there ever a forerunner more needed run?” and my soul answered, “Never! never!”