It had always been an unsavory spot in the county, and now, the negroes congregating there, it had come into greater ill repute than ever. It was dubbed with some derision, “Africa.” Here Jim Sherwood and Moses had built cabins, and shortly many others gathered about them. This, however, might not have amounted to much had not another matter come to light.
The Provost was summoning the negroes and enrolling them by hundreds, exciting them with stories of what the Government proposed to do for them, and telling them the most pernicious lies: that they need not work, and that the Government was going to feed them and give them all “forty acres and a mule apiece.”
Even the older negroes were somewhat excited by these tales, and, finally, Mammy Krenda asked Dr. Cary if it was true that the Government was going to give them all land.
“Of course not. Who says so?” asked the Doctor.
“I heah so,” said the old woman. Even she was beginning to be afraid to tell what she had heard.
Contemporaneously with this, an unprecedented amount of lawlessness suddenly appeared: chicken-houses were robbed; sheep and pigs and even cattle were stolen, without there being any authority to take cognizance of the thefts or any power to punish.
Andy Stamper and several others of the neighbors came over to see Dr. Cary about the matter. They had been to the court-house the day before “to see about things,” Andy said, and “had found every nigger in the county piled up in front of that Leech’s door.”
“They’re talkin’ about every one of ’em gittin’ forty acres and a mule, Doctor,” said little Andy, with a twinkle in his eye; but a grim look about his mouth.
“The biggest men down thar are that Jim Sherwood of yours; that trick-doctor nigger of Miss’ Gray’s, Moses Swift, and a tall, black nigger of General Legaie’s, named Nicholas Ash. They’re doin’ most of the talkin’. Well, I ain’t got but eighty acres—jest about enough for two of ’em,” added Andy, the grim lines deepening about his mouth; “but I’m mighty sorry for them two as tries to git ’em—I told Hiram so.” The twinkle had disappeared from his blue eyes, like the flash on a ripple, and the eyes were as quiet and gray as the water after the ripple had passed.
“Hiram, he’s the chief adviser and friend of the new man. I thought he was hatchin’ something. He was down there inside of the office—looked like a shot cat when I come in—said he was tryin’ to git some hands. You watch him. He’s a goin’ over. He was at the nigger meetin’-house th’ other night. I heard some white man was there; but I couldn’t git at who ’twas till old Weev’ly let it out.”