“Boss, is you gwine to Maxton?” asked Rich, holding his right hand under his coat tail as if to draw his gun. “Yes, sir. That is where I am bound for.” “Well, say, boss, here’s des’ a little uv Duckery’s best, won’t you have er drink?” “No, thank you, I don’t drink,” said I. “Looker here, boss, you mus’ not be no delegate?” “No, I am not.” “Well, is yer gwine to de convention?” “Yes.” The train started and we got aboard. Rich could not understand; my attitude toward his elixir of life astonished him. About 12 o’clock the convention met in a large hall, provided with a rostrum, over a store on Main street. The hall, having been used for a buggy warehouse, had a tramway that led from the sidewalk to the floor. Up this broad and slanting way the delegates and spectators traveled. I was one among the first to arrive, with a chair that I borrowed, a small lapboard and a tablet, and took my seat on the rostrum, in the north corner, against the rear wall, near a window that looked out on a back lot, believing that I had selected the best place in the house for my purpose. At the appointed hour the hall was well filled with people, principally negroes. Seeing Mr. Claude Dockery talking and laughing with me, Rich Lilly became curious again, and, when no one was about, he came up, looked me in the eye and asked: “Boss, for Gawd’s sake, whut is you gwine ter do ef you ain’t no deligate.” “I am going to sit here and watch you Republicans, take notes and write you up in the paper if you don’t behave yourselves,” was my reply. “O, you’s er writer fur de paper?” “Yes.” “I sees.” I do not recall any but the more violent incidents of the convention. As I sat there and watched the various delegations take their seats, a looker-on in Vienna pointed out some of the celebrities. “That man with the long beard and long fig-stemmed pipe, is Dr. R. M. Norment, of Lumberton,” said my coach. “The man with the cripple hand is Col. B. Bill Terry. The long-armed man with abbreviated trousers and coat sleeves, is Speaking Henry Covington.” Many others were named, but I have forgotten most of them. Later Big Bill Sutton, of Bladen, came in. He did not belong to the convention, but it was understood that he was there to lead the Russell forces in a rough-house affair if his services were needed. No one would have imagined that the quiet, lifeless body of men of the first half hour of the convention would become the mob that it did before the day was over. The trouble began when the convention voted on a permanent chairman, each side claiming the majority when the balloting was over. The god of peace had quit the meeting and the devil taken possession. Mr. A. M. Long, of Rockingham, a handsome man, with good face, was put up by the Dockeryites, and a Wilmington negro by the Russellites. Both Mr. Long and the darkey tried to take the seat, each mounting the rostrum and seizing a chair. This was the signal for a general fight, which began on the stage.