“Uncle, Uncle, let me go,” said Gaston impatiently, striving to free himself from that worthy’s grasp. “I want to shut that yellow chap’s mouth with this little bit of lead. The judge ought to arrest _him_, but I’ll take his case if you’ll let me go, I’ll give him a mouthful to chaw!” “Shut my mouth, would you?” retorted Watta, who had caught the words as the two men approached the door. “You’ll find that hard business before you are through with it, if you try. The whites have ruled us long enough. Two hundred and fifty years they bought and sold us like cattle, till the United States set us free; and since then, colored citizens have been tied and whipped, and shot, and murdered in cold blood, and driven from their homes, and their property destroyed, to this day. But it is all no matter here before this white-livered judge. It’ll take a regiment to tie and whip _me_, or spill what black blood _I_ have.” “Do not speak to him, my nephew,” said the Rev. Mr. Mealy. “A regiment!” cried Gaston, with a sneer. “Let me go and whip him myself;” but the readiness with which he yielded to the pressure of his uncle’s hands, was amusingly in contrast with his words. “We will have this matter settled by law now, and know whether we are to be run over in this way. We will know which are to rule this place—the blacks or the whites,” said Rev. Mr. Mealy. “We’ll know what rights this militia company have. They have got an idea that they can do whatever they please. We’ll have it settled now.” “This court is a mockery of justice,” continued Watta. “Look at those arms on the side of wealth, and an unarmed poor man arrested for contempt, because he has a dark skin and cornered his opponent by lawful questions. The next time a white swell rides into our ranks while we are on parade we will see that he doesn’t take us to court for obstructing his way.” Rev. Mr. Mealy, Dr. Shall, and General Rives were active and nearest in efforts to control the now highly incensed Baker family and Gaston; and an influential colored man succeeded in getting Watta out of the street. With deep muttered threats and oaths, the Bakers and their friends at length betook themselves to their conveyances and their homes. Captain Doc conversed with the constable, in the justice’s office, while the latter official went to his dinner and returned. Re-entering, Rives approached, and extending his hand said good-humoredly, “Shake hands Doc.” “I don’t know,” replied he, with averted eyes. “Yes, you will. I couldn’t help it. You was bearing on so hard that they would have shot you in two minutes more. I did it to save you.” “Is that so, judge? Then here’s my hand. I didn’t mean no contempt; but if I’ve contempted you, or your court I’m sorry.” “That’s all right now, and I’ll remit the fine. Now let me tell you, you’d best settle this matter somehow, if it is possible. I’m afraid trouble will come of this. I wish Watta had ’a’ kept still.”