THE first Monday in October was court day at Hambright, and from every nook and corner of Campbell county, the people flocked to town.

The court house had not yet been transformed into the farce-tragedy hall where jail birds and drunken loafers were soon to sit on judge’s bench and in attorney’s chair instead of standing in the prisoner’s dock. The merciful stay laws enacted by the Legislature had silenced the cry of the auctioneer until the people might have a moment to gird themselves for a new life struggle.

But the black cloud was already seen on the horizon. The people were restless and discouraged by the wild rumours set afloat by the Freedman’s Bureau, of coming confiscation, revolution and revenge. A greater crowd than usual had come to town on the first day. The streets were black with negroes.

A shout was heard from the crowd in the square, as the stalwart figure of General Daniel Worth, the brigade commander of Colonel Gaston’s regiment was seen shaking hands with the men of his old army.

The General was a man to command instant attention in any crowd. An expert in anthropology would have selected his face from among a thousand as the typical man of the Caucasian race. He was above the average height, a strong muscular and well-rounded body, crowned by a heavy shock of what had once been raven black hair, now iron grey. His face was ruddy with the glow of perfect health and his full round lips and the twinkle of his eye showed him to be a lover of the good things of life. He wore a heavy moustache which seemed a fitting ballast for the lower part of his face against the heavy projecting straight eyebrows and bushy hair.

As he shook hands with his old soldiers his face was wreathed in smiles, his eyes flashed with something like tears and he had a pleasant word for all.

Tom Camp was one of the first to spy the General and hobble to him as fast as his peg-leg would carry him.

“Howdy, General, howdy do! Lordy it’s good for sore eyes ter see ye!” Tom held fast to his hand and turning to the crowd said, “Boys, here’s the best General that ever led a brigade, and there wasn’t a man in it that wouldn’t a died for him. Now three times three cheers!” And they gave it with a will.

“Ah! Tom you’re still at your old tricks,” said the General. “What are you after now?”

“A speech General!”—“A speech! A speech!” the crowd echoed.

The General slapped Tom on the back and said, “What sort of a job is this you’re putting up on me—I’m no orator! But I’ll just say to you, boys, that this old peg-leg here was the finest soldier that I ever saw carry a musket and the men who stood beside him were the most patient, the most obedient, the bravest men that ever charged a foe and crowned their General with glory while he safely stood in the rear.”

Again a cheer broke forth. The General was hurrying toward the court house, when he was suddenly surrounded by a crowd of negroes. In the front ranks were a hundred of his old slaves who had worked on his Campbell county plantation. They seized his hands and laughed and cried and pleaded for recognition like a crowd of children. Most of them he knew. Some of their faces he had forgotten.

“Hi dar, Marse Dan’l, you knows me! Lordy, I’se your boy Joe dat used ter ketch yo hoss down at the plantation!”

“Of course, Joe! Of course.”

“I know Marse Dan’l aint forget old Uncle Rube,” said an aged negro pushing his way to the front.

“That I haven’t Reuben! and how’s Aunt Julie Ann?

“She des tollable, Marse Dan’l. We’se bof un us had de plumbago. How is you all sence de wah?”

“Oh! first rate, Reuben. We manage somehow to get enough to eat and if we do that nowadays we can’t complain.”

“Dats de God’s truf, Marster sho! En now Marse Dan’l, we all wants you ter make us er speech en ’splain erbout dis freedom ter us. Dey’s so many dese yere Buroers en Leaguers round here tellin’ us niggers what’s er coming’, twell we des doan know nuttin’ fur sho.”

“Yassir dat’s hit! You tell us er speech Marse Dan’l!”

The white men crowded up nearer and joined in the cry. There was no escape. In a few moments the court house was filled with a crowd.

When he arose a cheer shook the building, and strange as it may seem to-day, it came with almost equal enthusiasm from white and black.

“I thank you, my friends,” said the General, “for this evidence of your confidence. I was a Whig in politics. I reckon I hated a Democrat as God hates sin. I was a union man and fought Secession. My opponents won. My state asked me to defend her soil. As an obedient son I gave my life in loyal service.

“I need not tell you as a union man that I am glad this war is over. I have always felt as a business man, a cotton manufacturer as well as farmer, in touch with the free labour of the North as well as the slave labour of the South, that free labour was the most economical and efficient. I believe that terrible as the loss of four billions of dollars in slaves will be to the South, if the South is only let alone by the politicians and allowed to develop her resources, she will become what God meant her to be, the garden of the world. I say it calmly and deliberately, I thank God that slavery is a thing of the past.”

A whirlwind of applause arose from the negroes. Uncle Reuben’s voice could be heard above the din.

“Hear dat! You niggers! Dat’s my ole Marster talkin’ now!”

“Let me say to the negroes here to-day, this war was not fought for your freedom by the North, and yet in its terrific struggle, God saw fit to give you freedom. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are now yours and the birthright of your children.

“We need your labour. Be honest, humble, patient, industrious and every white man in the South will be your friend. What you need now is to go to work with all your might, build a roof over your head, get a few acres of land under your feet that is your own, put decent clothes on your back, and some money in the bank, and you will become indispensable to the people of the South. They will be your best friends and give you every right and privilege you are prepared to receive.

“The man who tells you that your old Master’s land will be divided among you, is a criminal, or a fool, or both. If you ever own land, you will earn it in the sweat of your brow like I got mine.”

“Hear dat now, niggers!” cried old Reuben.

“The man who tells you that you are going to be given the ballot indiscriminately with which you can rule your old masters is a criminal or a fool, or both. It is insanity to talk about the enfranchisement of a million slaves who can not read their ballots. Mr. Lincoln who set you free was opposed to any such measure.

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