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Milam's Trestle, with several bullet-holes through his head and body; and, by his side, the body of a negro man, also murdered as brutally as himself.

Near Martin's Depot, also on the public road, the body of Wade Perrin, negro member of the Legislature, was found, pierced with one or more bullet-holes. These three last mentioned outrages were perpetrated on the public road, running along the track of the old Laurens Railroad, and might have been the work of one and the same party. The most distant was Perrin, some fifteen miles from the village; the single negro being found near Clinton, about nine miles off, and Powell and his companion not more than four miles.

The case first mentioned was three or four miles from town, but in a different direction from all the others. The commonly received opinion, or surmise, was that the three last mentioned cases were the brutal work of one and the same party of desperadoes, who were really out in search of Crews. That, maddened by the events of the day, and the whisky of the night, to say nothing of " the instigations of the devil," they wantonly and brutally murdered those of the same party whom they chanced to meet.

Whoever they may have been, by their diabolical work, they disgusted and horrified those they pretended to befriend, even more than those who were distant and disinterested. The whole community regarded these horrible acts not only as repugnant to our institutions and the civilization of the age, but as against the instincts of a common humanity, barbarous or civilized, heathen or Christian.

CHAPTER FIFTH.

JOE CREWS.

The reader will naturally ask, what became of Joe Crews in these exciting scenes? Surely, this military aid to the Governor, or rather his Lieutenant-Governor, as far as Laurens was concerned, must have had a prominent place in the picture. He who had made so many speeches, threatening carnage and blood, would now, certainly, come to the front, sweep the "white trash" out of his way, and thus unify his dominions.

Alas for him, the truth of history must be told! He was on the ground, he heard the reports of his costly rifles, and he rushed but it was the other

way.

His escape gives the lie to any charge of "conspiracy," in bringing on the " riot." Had there been any thing of the kind, his fate would have been fixed at the very outset. On the contrary, he was allowed to run from the scene unnoticed; the attention of all being fixed on the real point of danger-the armory.

He afterwards published an account of his escape in a Columbia newspaper, telling how he secreted himself in a large hollow log in the immediate vicinity of the town; how he was fed there for three days and nights, and how he was kept constantly in

formed of all that was going on. That within the three days, limited by law, he had opened and counted the ballot boxes, which had been safely brought to him from his house, and had taken the result of the count safely to Columbia.

What a picture is here presented to the imagination of the patriot! Remember, we were, at this time, approaching the first "Centennial of American Independence," and that this scene is laid near the heart of South Carolina, one of the "old thirteen." That the cardinal principle established by this "independence," is the sovereignty of the people.

But let us creep up to that little copse of wood, and what do we see? There, at the mouth of a large hollow log, where his own conduct had driven him for refuge from an outraged people, sits this old degraded negro trader, with the suffrages of some three thousand of the "sovereign people," sealed, in several boxes, before him. He is, at one and the same time, a candidate for the votes of these people, and sole Commissioner of Elections to take charge of them. He was, a day or two before, the chief manipulator of these voters themselves, and now had the sole right to count out the votes and record the result. His managers of elections who should have assisted him, had all fled to parts unknown; but he was equal to the occasion. Not wishing to be troubled with handling so many small bits of paper, he pulls out of his side pocket a greasy memorandum book, writes down a few figures to satisfy his congenial "powers that be," and the work is done! The political fate of a

whole county is thus fixed for two years to come. Can Dahomey or even Louisiana exceed this in broad farce?

Joe did not let the public know how he got out of the county, but Capt. Estes, of the United States Infantry, gave all the particulars to the writer of this

narrative.

Capt. Estes had reached Laurens with a small garrison, the fourth day after the riot, and had taken quarters for himself and men in the abandoned depot of the Laurens Railroad. On Sunday night, October 30th, Joe presented himself at head-quarters, and demanded protection from the United States forces, and safe transportation beyond the limits of Laurens. County. Joe was looking very seedy and haggard, and the Captain's sympathy was soon enlisted. He told him to return about five o'clock in the morning, and, if he would implicitly obey all orders, he would soon take him to a place of safety. Joe came, long before the hour fixed, and rendered himself so disgusting by his boasts and threats, that the captain determined to have a little innocent revenge.

The conveyance was to be a square-bodied handcar, and the passengers, all told-two men at the crank, two armed soldiers, one on each side of the captain; and Joe was to be wrapped in canvas and deposited in the bottom of the car, to represent a quarter of beef. This arrangement was literally carried out; and they had not proceeded many miles before sounds of distress were heard from the canvas. In answer to his inquiry, Joe told the captain he

would certainly die, if he continued to breathe the same air much longer. Estes reminded him of his promise, and assured him that he would no longer be responsible for his safety, if he ventured even to cut the sack. As the sounds of distress still continued, the captain cut a small slit just where his mouth was, and gave him partial relief.

With this small supply of oxygen, Joe began again to swagger, though lying in sackcloth and red clay. But the captain could easily silence him by asking his men if they did not notice some suspicious-looking groups of men, apparently watching them from a distance. This would so stir Joe's blood, that the oxygen would not serve the increased circulation, and sounds of distress were again mumbled through the crevice.

Sometimes the captain would order a sudden halt, and, while he whispered to his men that he believed the enemy was about to rush upon them, he declared he could hear Joe's heart beating distinctly. After one of these sudden halts, they all left the car, with Joe lying there alone, and, after a few minutes, the captain heard a feeble call from the car. Upon his assuring Joe that there was no immediate danger, and that they had only stopped to pick a few blackberries, Joe actually arose to a sitting position, with the exclamation, "D-n your blackberries, when a man's life is in danger." The captain simply ordered him down again, with the alternative of desertion to his fate; and instantly Joe was again metamorphosed into a quarter of beef. The captain avers that he

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