OF all the elections ever conducted by the English speaking race the one held under the “Reconstruction” act of 1867 in the South was the most unique.

Ezra Perkins the agent of the Freedman’s Bureau issued a windy proclamation to the new citizens to come forward on a certain day to register and receive their ‘elective franchise.’

The negroes poured into town from every direction from early dawn. Some carried baskets, some carried jugs, and some were pushing wheelbarrows, but most of them had an empty bag. They were packed around the Agency in a solid black mass.

Nelse laughed until a crowd gathered around him.

“Lordy, look at dem bags!” he shouted. “En dars ole Ike wid er jug. He’s gwine ter take hisen in licker. En bress God dars er fool wid er wheel-barer!” Nelse lay down and rolled with laughter.

They failed to see the joke, and when the Agency was opened they made a break for the door, trampling each other down in a mad fear that there wouldn’t be enough ‘elective franchise’ to go round!

The first negro who emerged from the door came with a crestfallen face and an empty bag on his arm.

He was surrounded by anxious inquirers. “What wuz hit?”

“Nuffin. Des stan up dar befo’ er man wid big whiskers en he make me swar ter export de Constertution er de Nunited States er Nor’f Calliny.”

When Nelse appeared Perkins looked at him a moment and asked, “Are you a member of the union League?”

“Dat I hain’t.”

“Then stand aside and let these men register. If you want to vote you had better join.”

Nelse made no reply, but in a short time he returned with the Rev. John Durham by his side. He was allowed to register, but from that day he was a marked man among his race.

When the registration closed Perkins was in high glee.

“We’ve got ’em, Timothy! It’s a dead sure thing!” he cried as he slipped his arm around Tim’s shoulder.

“Will the majority be big?” asked Tim.

“If it ain’t big enough we’ll disfranchise more aristocrats and enfranchise the dogs.” Tim wondered whether this proposition was altogether flattering.

During the progress of the campaign, a committee from the organisation of the “truly loyal,” Ezra Perkins and Dave Haley, called on Tom Camp.

“Mr. Camp, we want your help as a leader among the poor white people to save the country from these rebel aristocrats who have ruined it,” said Ezra.

“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree!” answered Tom dryly.

“The poor men have got to stand together now and get their rights.”

“Well if I’ve got to stand with niggers, have ’em hug me and blow their breath in my face, as you fellers are doin’, you can count me out!—and if that’s all you want with me, you’ll find the door open.”

Haley tried his hand.

“Look here, Camp, we ain’t got no hard feelin’s agin you, but there’s agoin’ to be trouble for every rebel in this county who don’t git on our side and do it quick.”

“I’m used to trouble pardner,” replied Tom.

“You’ve got a nice little cabin home and ten acres of land. Fight us, and we will give this house and lot to a nigger.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried Tom.

“Come, come,” said Perkins, “you’re not fool enough to fight us when we’ve got a dead sure thing, a majority fixed before the voting begins, Congress and the whole army back of us?”

“I ain’t er nigger!” said Tom, doggedly.

“What’s the use to be a fool Camp,&rdqu............