It was a notable thing that in all the county there was not an angry word that day between a white man and a negro. Leech, in a letter to Mrs. Welch describing the occasion, declared that the quietness with which the election passed off was due wholly to the presence of the soldiery, and he was very eloquent in his denunciation of the desperadoes who surrounded him, and who were held at bay only by fear of the bayonets about them. But this was not true. The situation was too novel not to be interesting, and there was feeling, but it was suppressed. It was a strange sight, the polls guarded by soldiers; the men who had controlled the country standing by, disfranchised, and the lines of blacks who had just been slaves, and not one in one hundred of whom could read their ballots, voting on questions which were to decide the fate of the State. There were many gibes flung at the new voters by the disfranchised spectators, but they were mainly good-natured. “Whom are you voting for, Uncle Gideon?” asked Steve of one of the old Red Rock negroes. “Marse Steve, you know who I votin’ for better’n I does myself.” To another: “Whom are you voting for?” “Gi’ me a little tobacker, Marse Steve, an’ I’ll tell you.” And when it was given, he turned to the crowd: “Who is I votin’ for? I done forgit. Oh! yes—old Mr. Linkum—ain’ dat he name?” “Well, he’s a good one to vote for—he’s dead,” said Steve. “Hi! is he? When did he die?” protested the old man in unfeigned astonishment. “You ain’ votin’ for him—you’se votin’ for Mist’ Grant,” explained another younger negro, indignant at the old man’s ignorance. “Is I? Who’s he? He’s one I ain’ never heard on. Marse Steve, I don’ know who I votin’ for—I jis know I votin’, dat’s all.” This raised a laugh at Steve’s expense which was led by Leech, and to atone for it the old servant added: “I done forgit de gent’man’s name.” “The gentlemen you are voting for are Leech and Nicholas Ash,” said Steve. “Marse Steve, you know dey ain’ no gent’mens,” said the old fellow, undisturbed by the fact that Leech was present. “Uncle Tom, you know something, anyhow,” said Steve, enjoying the Provost’s discomfiture. The only white man of any note in the upper end of the county who took the new “ironclad” oath was Hiram Still. Andy Stamper met him after Hiram had voted. Still tried to dodge him.