“If we kill them all, there’ll be nobody left to tell the tale; and if we leave anybody, they’ll go and testify against us; and I tell you we might as well make a sure thing of this,” was repeatedly reiterated. “Oh, let them go,” said a new speaker. “Let us swear them before they go, not to tell anybody, nor anything about it.” After much discussion, this counsel prevailed. “Now all you —— black rascals you, get up here,” said Captain Sweargen. The prisoners quickly obeyed. “Now, you all get down again, on your knees, and hold up your right hands.” All obeyed. “I solemnly swear,” said the Captain, “I solemnly swear,” repeated the prisoners, “that I will never go into any court to testify, [repeated] nor to know anything about this affair, nor what has been done in Baconsville this evening, nor to-night, nor that I know any of the men who was in the party.” The prisoners all took the oath. “Now, you —— rascals, get away from here!” Each sprung to his feet, and all but two ran for life. Corporal Free dodged behind a tree, and Mann Harris, who was on the edge of the dusky group, stood still. Fifteen or twenty of the irrepressible “chivalry” leveled their guns upon the liberated prisoners whom the South Carolina rifle clubs had captured from the National Guards, and fired; “just like they was shooting at birds.” As evidence of the skill of these riflemen it may be mentioned that but one of those colored men was wounded, and he but slightly, though the firing was at fifteen paces. “Mann Harris, where do you live?” asked a maimed relic of the confederate service. “I live right on the corner opposite Dan Lemfield’s.” “Well, you go on home.” “I can’t do it.” “Why can’t you?” “I’m afeard to go through them men by myself.” “Come on, I’ll go with you.” So that one-armed white man sat upon his horse, and the great muscular negro walked beside it, holding upon the saddle for protection. They passed from Market into Cook street, and wended their way among the slowly dissolving crowd. Nearing Mercer street, the escort began to converse. “Well, Mann, now you see what the result is when niggers vote against the white people.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the colored man. “Have you always voted?” “Yes, I has; I voted the ’publican ticket all the time.” “Well, you don’t intend to say you want to vote it?” “If this fuss is about, I sha’n’t vote no kind of a ticket.” Another horseman on the opposite side of the narrow street overheard the last remark, and approached. “Harris, I know you,” said he. “We was boys at the same time, and have known each other all the while along; and I know that you are a nigger that has got good sense, good common sense. You see where this nigger is lying, here?” [They had just come upon the body of John Carr.] “Yes, sir; I see him.” “_Well, just so will we lay you, if you ever vote the Republican ticket again._” “Well, sir, I will not vote no kind of a ticket.”