"Now, Gideon," said the Colonel, "your talk is all nonsense, we are trying to extricate Wilmington from the slough of infamy into which it has been plunged by Radicals. We are going to elevate the white man to his place and regulate Sambo to his sphere, if the streets have to flow with blood to accomplish that end. Good niggers who know their places will be protected; but these half educated black rascals who think themselves as good as white men, must go. 'Nigger root doctors' are crowding white physicians out of business; 'nigger' lawyers are sassing white men in our courts; 'nigger' children are hustling white angels off our sidewalks. Gideon, in the name of God, what next? what next?" and the Colonel bounded into the air like an Indian in a war dance. "White supremacy must be restored, and you Gideon will regret the day you refused to assist your white brethren to throw off the yoke of oppression. Good day, Gideon, good day"; and the Colonel stalked out of the office. Uncle Ephraim, one of the old Nimrods who supplied Wilmington's markets with savory ducks and rice birds, stood with his gun on the corner of Front and Market streets that morning, as the Colonel briskly strode past on his way from the office of Mr. Gideon to the Court House. "Good mawnin Co'nel," said Uncle Ephraim, saluting politely; but the Colonel did not as usual pause to crack a joke with the docile old darky; he did not even vouchsafe a nod of recognition, but moved hastily on his way. Uncle Ephraim stood and wistfully watched the Colonel until he turned the corner of Second and Market streets. "Whoop! dar's er pow'ful big load on de Co'nel's mine sho. Dat white man didn' eben see me; an' I his ole bodysarbant, too." Uncle Ephraim strode slowly down Market street and entered the store of Sprague & Company. "Look yer!" said he, "I wants er bout fo' ounce powder an er few cap." The salesman shook his head. "Wa fur yo' shake yer hed, you no got um?" "We are selling nothing of the kind to darkies just now, uncle." "But how I gwine fer kill duck?" The salesman made him no answer. Uncle Ephraim stood, looked about for a moment, then slowly sauntered into the street, and made his way to Joslins, in South Front street, but was also refused there. Going again to the corner of Market and Front Streets, he saw several white men and boys enter Sprague & Company and came out armed with shot guns and other fire-arms, and walk briskly away. "De ole boy is gwine to tun heself loose in dis yer town soon; fer I see um in de bery eye ob dese bocra. I can't buy um, but see how de bocra go in an git um. Niggah, hit's time ter look er bout,"--and Uncle Ephraim slowly walked up Front Street towards Morrow's. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. The Meeting In The Wigwam.