The Clansman Part 41

The election judge straightened himself up with great dignity:

"What wuz de rapscallion doin'?"

"In de line, tryin' ter vote."

"Fetch 'im befo' de judgment bar," said Aleck, taking a drink from one of his canteens.

The troopers brought Jake before the judge.

"Tryin' ter vote, is yer?"

"'Lowed I would."

"You hear 'bout de great sa.s.sieties de Gubment's fomentin' in dis country?"

"Yas, I hear erbout 'em."

"Is yer er member er de Union League?"

"Na-sah. I'd rudder steal by myself. I doan' lak too many in de party!"

"En yer ain't er No'f Ca'liny gemmen, is yer--yer ain't er member er de 'Red Strings?'"

"Na-sah, I come when I'se called--dey doan' hatter put er string on me--ner er block, ner er collar, ner er chain, ner er muzzle----"

"Will yer 'splain ter dis cote----" railed Aleck.

"What cote? Dat ole army cote?" Jake laughed in loud peals that rang over the square.

Aleck recovered his dignity and demanded angrily:

"Does yer belong ter de Heroes ob Americky?"

"Na-sah. I ain't burnt n.o.body's house ner barn yet, ner hamstrung no stock, ner waylaid n.o.body atter night--honey, I ain't fit ter jine. Heroes ob Americky! Is you er hero?"

"Ef yer doan' b'long ter no s'iety," said Aleck with judicial deliberation, "what is you?"

"Des er ole-fashun all-wool-en-er-yard-wide n.i.g.g.e.r dat stan's by his ole marster 'cause he's his bes' frien', stays at home, en tends ter his own business."

"En yer pay no 'tenshun ter de orders I sent yer ter jine de League?"

"Na-sah. I ain't er takin' orders f'um er skeer-crow."

Aleck ignored his insolence, secure in his power.

"You doan b'long ter no s'iety, what yer git in dat line ter vote for?"

"Ain't I er n.i.g.g.e.r?"

"But yer ain't de right kin' er n.i.g.g.e.r. 'Res' dat man fer 'sturbin' de peace."

They put Jake in jail, persuaded his wife to leave him, and expelled him from the Baptist church, all within the week.

As the troopers led Jake to prison, a young negro apparently about fifteen years old approached Aleck, holding in his hand one of the peddler's rat labels, which had gotten well distributed among the crowd. A group of negro boys followed him with these rat labels in their hands, studying them intently.

"Look at dis ticket, Uncle Aleck," said the leader.

"Mr. Alexander Lenoir, sah--is I yo' uncle, n.i.g.g.e.r?"

The youth walled his eyes angrily.

"Den doan' you call me er n.i.g.g.e.r!"

"Who' yer talkin to, sah? You kin fling yer sa.s.s at white folks, but, honey, yuse er projeckin' wid death now!"

"I ain't er n.i.g.g.e.r--I'se er gemman, I is," was the sullen answer.

"How ole is you?" asked Aleck in milder tones.

"Me mudder say sixteen--but de Buro man say I'se twenty-one yistiddy, de day 'fo' 'lection."

"Is you voted to-day?"

"Yessah; vote in all de boxes 'cept'n dis one. Look at dat ticket. Is dat de straight ticket?"

Aleck, who couldn't read the twelve-inch letters of his favourite bar-room sign, took the rat label and examined it critically.

"What ail it?" he asked at length.

The boy pointed at the picture of the rat.

"What dat rat doin', lyin' dar on his back, wid his heels c.o.c.ked up in de air--'pear ter me lak a rat otter be standin' on his feet!"

Aleck reexamined it carefully, and then smiled benignly on the youth.

"De ignance er dese folks. What ud yer do widout er man lak me enjued wid de sperit en de power ter splain tings?"

"You sho' got de sperits," said the boy impudently, touching a canteen.

Aleck ignored the remark and looked at the rat label smilingly.

"Ain't we er votin', ter-day, on de Constertooshun what's ter take de ballot away f'um de white folks en gib all de power ter de cullud gemmen--I axes yer dat?"

The boy stuck his thumbs under his arms and walled his eyes.

"Yessah!"

"Den dat means de ratification ob de Constertooshun!"