“Yes, sir. I know’d dat I couldn’t hold de ’tension uv de crowd arter he ’peared on de scene, but I wuz gwine to try to tame ’im. Brother Smith, one uv my right-hand men, had done had some ’sperience wid de boy, an’ he fainted over in de amen corner, fell off de bench an’ rolled under it. When I seed dat, I wuz sorter confused, fur I wuz lookin’ fur Brother Smith to he’p me out. “Dis Jim, he come on down de aisle, grinnin’, until he gut ’bout half way to de pulpit, an’ den he stop an’ take out his ’volver, a black lookin’ one, as fur as I kin reckerlec’, an’ look at me an’ say: ‘Big Nigger, we ain’t gwine to have no eight o’clock service dis mornin’. Church is out.’” “What did you say to that, Parson?” “Not wantin’ to cross ’im, I ’low: ‘’Cose it is, ’cose it is--we ain’t gwine to argify ’bout dat, Brother Parks.’” “You called him Brother Parks?” “Yes, sir, I wuz tryin’ to make up to ’im.” “What did he do then?” “He take aim at me an’ say: ‘Come on down, Big Nigger! Come on down! An’ don’t be so long ’bout it!’ “Seein’ dat he wuz meanin’ bizness I ’low: ‘Yes, Brother Parks, I’s comin’,’ but ’fo’ I coul’ git it out he wuz pintin’ his gun at me.” “Go on!” demanded the solicitor, in an excited tone of voice. “I heard de pistol say ‘click, click.’ I don’t know what happened arter dat fur I lef’ dere right den, goin’ th’ough de hole at de back uv de pulpit. As I lef’ he wuz cockin’ de ’volver but when I heard de ’port I wuz crossin’ Mr. Bob Bell’s paster fence several hund’d yards away.” “Did he shoot directly at you?” “I can’t say as to dat, but as I went over de fence I heard de ball ajunin’ putty close to my year.” “What became of the congregation?” “Moist uv it went th’ough de woods des a little ahead uv me. Yes, sir. I think some uv de younger ones staid an’ fout.” “That will do, don’t tell what you think,” shouted Col. Tedder. “Well, dat’s all I seed fur I never went back no mo’ ’till nex’ day, an’ de fightin’ crowd wuz gone.” The essential features of Parson Small’s testimony were corroborated. Several of the officers of the church gave their versions of the affair. Everybody seemed to be against Jim. Col. Tedder was afraid to put his client on the stand lest his court record be produced. He rested his case after making a short rambling speech. After remaining out three minutes the jury came in and rendered a verdict of guilty. Col. Tedder spoke eloquently for mercy for his negro, saying that he was a good darkey, except now and then when he drank a little too much. “Stand up here, Jim Parks,” said the judge, when Col. Tedder sat down. “What do you mean by disturbing public worship? “Why do you persist in breaking up camp meetings? “Don’t you know that it is wrong?” “Yes, sir, Jedge, an’ I ain’t gwine to do it no mo’. Ef you’ll des let me off dis time, so dat I kin go home wid Marse Henry, I’ll be a good nigger de res’ uv my life.