“A nigger-meetin’ down yonder,” answered the man, sullenly. “If it ain’t broken up there’ll be trouble. Leech started it by reading a paper he had, tellin’ ’em the Gov’ment wants the party broke up, and then he put Sherrod up, and now that yaller nigger, Dr. Moses, is up. Leech’s been givin’ ’em liquor, and unless it’s stopped there’ll be the devil to pay.”
“I’ll see about it,” said Middleton. He walked rapidly down in the direction the man had indicated. He was sensible, as he passed along, of some change, and, presently, the distant sound of a man speaking at the top of his voice came to him, followed shortly by a roar of applause. He hurried on and passed a group of half a dozen white men, some of whom were advocating sending for “reinforcements,” as they said, while others were insisting that they should go right in on them at once. All were united as to one thing: that the meeting ought to be stopped.
“If we don’t,” said one, “there’ll be trouble, and we might’s well do it at once. I can do it by myself.”
Some one said something about “the Yankee officers.”
“Yankees be blanked!” said the other. “Wasn’t it that scoundrel Leech as started it all? He’s been workin’ it up all day. I got wind of it up at home;—that’s the reason I come down. We’ve got to do it ourselves.” It was Andy Stamper.
Just then they saw Middleton and followed him, offering their advice and services. All they wanted was authority.
When Middleton arrived, he agreed with them that the speaking ought to be stopped at once. He had never seen such a sight. The entire negro population of the place appeared to be packed there, moaning and singing, hugging each other and shouting, whilst Moses, the negro he had ordered to leave town, was on the platform, tossing his arms in a sort of frenzy and calling on them to rise and prove they were the chosen people. “God had brought their enemies all together in one place,” he cried, “and all that was needed was for Samson to arise and prove his strength. Their deliverer was at hand.” Ain’t you heah dat de wud done come from de New Jerusalem, an’ ain’t my name Moses—Moses? Moses is my name!” he shouted, intoning the words in a sort of wild frenzy. The shout that greeted him proved the danger of his course.
“D—n him, I’ll stop his mouth,” said one of the young men, pushing his way through the throng, but Middleton was before him. He forced his way, followed by the others, through the crowd which gave way before him at his command, and, when still some yards away from the platform, he ordered the speaker to cease. But Moses was either too drunk or too excited to heed, and went on shouting his singsong.
“I’ll lead you to de burnin’ bush,” he cried. “I’ll give you de promise lan’.” As it happened, a man standing in the crowd had a carriage-whip in his hand. The Captain snatched it from him and sprang on the platform, and the next instant was raining on the would-be prophet and leader such a thrashing as he had never had in his life. The effect was miraculous. The first lash of the heavy whip took the preacher by surprise and dazed him; the second recalled him to himself and stripped his prophetic character from him, leaving him nothing but a whining, miserable creature, who was trying to deceive and mislead others as miserable and more ignorant than himself.
As the Captain laid the blows on fast and thick, Moses cringed and finally broke and fled from the platform, followed by the jeers and shouts of the crowd who had just been ready to follow him in any violence, if, indeed, he would have had the courage to lead them. And when the irate officer appeared ready to turn his whip on them, and did accompany his peremptory order that they should disperse at once, with a few contemptuous lashes at those nearest him, they broke and ran with as much good-humor as they had shown an hour previously, when they were dancing and shuffling in the street, before Leech and his agents got hold of them.