“Bedad!” said he, “the ould woman looked like wan of theyse little black game-burruds whan a dog comes around her chicks, with her fithers all oop on her back and her wings spraid, and the Liftenant—if he is a Liftenant, which I don’t say he is, moind—he looked as red as a turkey-cock and didn’t show much moor courege. She was a very discriminatin’ person, bedad! She picked me out for a gintleman and the sutler for a dog, and bedad! she wasn’t far wrong in ayether. Only you’re not to say I towld you, for whan a gintleman drinks a man’s whiskey it doesn’t become him to tell tales on him.”
Perhaps it was well for Mr. Jonadab Leech that the matter got abroad, for it gave the incident a lighter turn than it otherwise would have had. As it was, there was a storm of indignation in the county, and next day there were more of the old Confederate soldiers in the village than had been there since the war closed. In their gray uniforms, faded as they were, they looked imposing. Leech spent the day in the precincts of the camp. A deputation, with Steve Allen at their head, waited on Middleton and had a short interview with him, in which they told him that they proposed to obey the laws, but they did not propose to permit ladies to be insulted.
“For I tell you now, Captain Middleton,” said Steve, “before we will allow our women to be insulted, we will kill every man of you. We are not afraid to do it.” He spoke as quietly as though he were saying the most ordinary thing in the world. Middleton faced him calmly. The two men looked in each other’s eyes, and recognized each other’s courage.
“Your threat has no effect on me,” said Middleton; “but I wish to say that before I will allow any woman to be insulted, I will kill every man in my command. Lieutenant Leech is not in my command, though in a measure subject to my authority; but the matter shall be investigated immediately.”
What occurred in the interview which took place between Middleton and Leech was not known at the time, but that night Leech sent for Still to advise him. Even the negroes were looking on him more coldly.
“I knows if he lays his han’ ’pon me, I’m gwine to cut his heart out ’n him,” said a tall, black young negro in the crowd as Leech passed, on his way to his office. It was evidently intended for Leech to hear. Leech had not then learned to distinguish black countenances and he did not yet know Jerry.
Still was equal to the emergency. “These quality-niggers ain’t used to bein’ talked to so,” he explained to Leech; “and they won’t stand it from nobody but quality. They’re just as stuck up as their masters, and you can’t talk to ’em that way. You got to humor ’em. The way to manage ’em is through their preachers. Git Sherrod and give him a place in the commissary. He’s that old hag’s son-in-law, and he’s a preacher. I always manage ’em through their preachers.”
The result of taking Still’s advice, in one way, so far surpassed Leech’s highest expectation, that he could not but admit that Still was a genius. One other appointment Still suggested, and that was of a negro who had belonged to the Grays and who was believed to have as much influence with the devil as Sherwood had in the other direction. “And,” as Still said, “with Jim Sherrod to attend to Heaven and Doctor Moses to manage t’other place, I think me and you can sorter manage to git along on earth.
“You’ve got to do with them,” he added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. “For, as I told you, you’ve got to work your triggers up that a-way.” He waved his hand toward the North. “If you can git the money you say you can, I can make it over and over fer you faster than nigger-tradin’. You jest git Krafton to stand by you and that old feller Bolter to stake us, and we’re all right.
“You’ve got to git rid of this young Captain. One of you’s got to go some time, and the one as holds out longest will win. ’Twon’t do to let him git too strong a hold down here.—Now this party they’re gittin’ up? If they invite your young men—you might work that string. But you can’t quarrel with him now. You say he’s in with your Mrs. Welch. Better work the nigger racket. That’s the strong card now. Git some more boxes from Mrs. Welch and let me put ’em where they’ll do most good. Niggers loves clo’es mo’ than money. Don’t fall out with your young man yet—keep in with a man till you have got under-holt, then you can fling him.”