“Yes, Mr. Vance. I needed some strong motive to send me far and wide among my poor brethren. Without it I might have led a selfish life, content with my own comforts. But God has ordered it all right. I bought a pass as an old slave preacher, and thus was able to visit the plantations, and establish secret societies in the cause of freedom. Give the slaves arms, treat them like men, and they will fight. But they will not rise unarmed in useless insurrection. As soon as the North will give them the means of defending their freedom, they will break their fetters. It is the North, and not the South, that now holds the slave in check.” “Yes, Peek; public sentiment is almost as much poisoned at the North as at the South, by this slavery virus.” “And what have _you_, sir, been about all these years?” “Much of my time has been spent in Kansas. I’ve been a border ruffian.” “A sham one, I suppose?” “Well, Peek, so seriously did I play my part, that perhaps I shall go down in history as one of the pro-slavery leaders. John Brown of Ossawatomie would at one time have shot me on sight. He afterwards understood me better,—understood that, if I fraternized with the pro-slavery crew, it was to thwart their schemes. The rascals were continually astounded at finding their bloodiest secrets revealed to the Abolitionists, and little suspected that one of their most trusted advisers was the informer. Yes! I helped on the madness which God sends to those he means to destroy. Baffled in California, the devil of slavery set his heart on establishing his altars in Kansas. How effectually we have headed him off! And now the frenzied idiot wants secession and a slave empire. Heaven forbid I should arrest him in his fatuity! Let me rather help it on.” “Are you, then, a secessionist, Mr. Vance?” “In one sense: I’m for secession from slavery by annihilating it, holding on to the Union. I was at the great Nashville convention. I’ve been the last few months watching things here in conservative Louisiana. She will have to follow South Carolina. That little vixen among States cracks the overseer’s whip over our heads, and threatens us with her sovereign displeasure for our timidity. She has nearly frightened poor Governor Moore out of his boots.” “I’ve been thinking much lately,” said Peek, “of our adventure on board the Pontiac. What ever became of Colonel Delancy Hyde?” “The Colonel,” replied Vance, “for a time wooed fortune in Kansas, but didn’t win her. Since then I’ve lost him.” “The last I heard of him,” said Peek, “he had quarrelled with a fellow at a cock-fight in Montgomery, and been wounded; and his sister, a decent woman, was tending on him.” “I confess I’ve a weakness for the Colonel,” said Vance, “though unquestionably he’s a great scoundrel.” “Did you ever learn, Mr. Vance, what became of that yellow girl he coveted?” “She and the child were drowned,” was the reply. “What proof of that did you ever have?”