"Name Freedom." The old man answered without moving. "Freedom comin' wid guns in 'er mouf, ready to spit fire, I tell yer!"
"Jeems, heah, say all de no-'count niggers is gwine be sol' over ag'in—is dat so, gran'dad?"
"Yas; every feller gwine be sol' ter 'isself. An' a mighty onery, low-down marster heap ob 'em 'll git, too."
It was nearly day when Captain Doc, pale and haggard, joined the crowd upon the levee.
As he stepped upon its brow, a woman, fearing the provocation of his military hat, begged him to remove it.
It might provoke a volley.
Raising the hat, the captain turned and solemnly addressed the crowd:
"My countrymen," he began, and his voice trembled, "the Riffraffs are disbanded. See!"
He threw the red-plumed thing far out upon the water. And then he turned to them.