The conspirators assembled silently, it is true, so far as silence under such circumstances is ever possible to the noisy demonstrative negro nature; but in spite of the evident effort which every man made at self-restraint, there was a low undercurrent of whispered talk, accompanied by the usual running commentary of grimaces and gesticulations, which made a buzz or murmur hum ceaselessly through the whole crowd of five or six hundred armed semi-savages. Now and again the women especially, looking down with delightful anticipation at their newly whetted cutlasses, would break out into hoarse ungovernable laughter, as they thought to themselves of the proud white throats they were going to cut that memorable evening, and the dying cries of the little white pickaninnies they were going to massacre in their embroidered lace bassinettes. ‘It warm me heart, Mistah Delgado, sah,’ one white-haired, tottering, venerable old negro mumbled out slowly with a pleasant smile, ‘to see so many good neighbour all come togedder again for kill de buckra. It long since I see fine gadering like dis. I mind de time, sah, in slavery day, when I was young man, just begin for to make lub to de le-adies, how we rise all togedder under John Trelawney down at Star-Apple Bottom, go hunt de white folk in de great insurrection. Ha, dem was times, sah—dem was times, I tellin’ you de trut’, me fren’, in de great insurrection. We beat de goomba drum, we go up to Mistah Pourtalès—same what flog me mudder so unmerciful dat de buckra judges even fine him—an’ we catch de massa himself, an’ we beat him dead wit stick an’ cutlass. Ha, ha, dem was times, sah. Den we catch de young le-adies, an’ we hack dem all to pieces, an’ we burn de bodies. Den we go on to odder house, take all de buckra we find, shoot some, roast some same we roast pig, an’ burn some in deir own houses. Dem was times, sah—dem was times. I doan’t s’pose naygur now will do like we do when I is young man. But dis is good meeting, fine meeting: we cry “Colour for colour,” “Buckra country for us,” an’ de Lard prosper us in de work we hab in hand! Hallelujah!’ One of the women stood listening eagerly to this thrilling recital of early exploits, and asked in a hushed voice of the intensest interest: ‘An’ what de end ob it all, Mistah Corella? What come ob it? How you no get buckra house, den, for youself lib in?’