“I’ll give a hurry call for the whole neighborhood,” she cried, and no sooner thought than done. It was said afterwards that no such ringing of a ’phone had ever been heard before in the county.
“Grantly on fire and a great crowd of negro brutes in the yard!” was the message that was sent abroad.
The two old ladies slept peacefully on. Helen could hear the deep stertorous snore, Miss Louise’s specialty, and the high steam-whistle pipe that Miss Ella was given to.
“I can’t stand this!” cried the girl. “They may be killing him this minute; and he expects me to stay shut up in this house while he gets shot to death!”
She felt her way back to the kitchen where she could see well enough, thanks to the fire that the desperadoes had kindled. She cautiously unlocked the door and stepped out on the back porch.
The negroes were dancing around the burning stack, led by a tall gangling man whom Helen recognized as Tempy’s slue-footed admirer, James Hanks. Some of them seemed to be rather the worse for drink, and all of them were wild-eyed and excited-looking.
“Come on, gent’men!” cried the leader. “Let’s git our loot while we’s got light a-plenty. The ol’ tabbies is safe at the count’s ball, safe an’ stuffin’.”
There was a shout of laughter at this witticism. Helen was trembling with fright, but not fright for herself. The dear old ladies were uppermost in her mind, and the doctor! Her doctor! Where was he? Would he tackle all of those crazy, half-drunk brutes single-handed and not even armed?
A sudden thought came to her. She slipped back into the kitchen. Remembering the box tacked to the wall, just over the kerosene stove where the matches were kept, she felt along the wall until her hand touched it. Then armed with these matches she crept back through the house to the great parlor where the trophies of the dead and gone great-uncle, the traveler in the Orient, were. She cautiously struck a match, thankful that the parlor was on the other side of the house from the fire, and seized at random what old arms she could lay her hands on: a great sword, that Richard the Lion-Hearted might have wielded, an Arabian scimiter and a light, curiously wrought shield. The sword was heavy but she managed to stagger along the hall with her load.
“Now remember, friends an’ citizens!” James Hanks was saying as he harangued the crowd. “This here prop’ty by rights b’longs to us. Ain’t we an’ our fo’bars done worked this here lan’ from time in memoriam? Ain’t we tilled the sile an’ hoed the craps fur these ol’ tabbies an’ what is we got to show fur it? Nothin’! Nothin’, I say! All we is a-doin’ on this sacred night is takin’ what is ourn. ’Tain’t meet nor right fur two ol’ women to hab control of all these fair lands, livin’ in luxry, wallowin’ in honey an’ rollin’ in butter, while we colored ladies an’ gent’men is fo’ced to habit pig stys an’ thankful to git sorghum an’ drippin’s. Don’t none of you go into this here undertakin’ ’thout you is satisfied you is actin’ up to principles. All what considers it they bounden duty to git back what is by rights theirn, jes’ step forward.”