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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Well, gentlemen," demanded McBane impatiently, "what are we going to do with the scoundrel when we catch him?" "They've got the murderer," announced a reporter, entering the room. "Who is he?" they demanded in a breath. "A nigger by the name of Sandy Campbell, a servant of old Mr. Delamere." "How did they catch him?" "Our Jerry saw him last night, going toward Mrs.
"Yes, he's one of the best of 'em," sneered McBane. "He'll call any man 'master' for a quarter, or 'God' for half a dollar; for a dollar he'll grovel at your feet, and for a cast-off coat you can buy an option on his immortal soul, if he has one! I've handled niggers for ten years, and I know 'em from the ground up.
Jerry did not like Captain McBane, to begin with, and it was clear that the captain was no gentleman, or he would not have thrown the money at him. Considering the source, Jerry might have overlooked this discourtesy had it not been coupled with the remark about the change, which seemed to him in very poor taste.
The change that now came over it suggested a concentrated hatred almost uncanny in its murderousness. With awakened curiosity Miller followed the direction of the negro's glance, and saw that it rested upon a window where Captain McBane sat looking out. When Miller looked back, the negro had disappeared.
Captain McBane wore a frock coat and a slouch hat; several buttons of his vest were unbuttoned, and his solitaire diamond blazed in his soiled shirt-front like the headlight of a locomotive. The conductor in his turn looked back at Miller, and retraced his steps. Miller braced himself for what he feared was coming, though he had hoped, on account of his friend's presence, that it might be avoided.
About ten o'clock on the morning of the discovery of the murder, Captain McBane and General Belmont, as though moved by a common impulse, found themselves at the office of the Morning Chronicle. Carteret was expecting them, though there had been no appointment made.
"It ain't bad liquor," assented McBane, smacking his lips. Jerry received the empty glasses on the tray and left the room. He had scarcely gained the hall when the general called him back. "O Lawd!" groaned Jerry, "he's gwine ter ax me fer de change. Yas, suh, yas, suh; comin', gin'l, comin', suh!" "You may keep the change, Jerry," said the general. Jerry's face grew radiant at this announcement.
He had sloping shoulders, small hands and feet, and walked with the leisurely step characteristic of those who have been reared under hot suns. Carteret gave his hand cordially to the gentleman thus described. "How do you do, Captain McBane," he said, turning to the second visitor. The individual thus addressed was strikingly different in appearance from his companion.
"But dere's somethin' gwine on in dere, dere sho' is! 'No nigger damnation! Dat soun's all right, I'm sho' dere ain' no nigger I knows w'at wants damnation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'at deserves it; but ef dat one-eyed Cap'n McBane got anything ter do wid it, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers, damnation'd be better fer 'em dan dat Cap'n McBane!
We wish to right a wrong, to remedy an abuse, to save our state from anarchy and our race from humiliation. I don't object to frightening the negroes, but I am opposed to unnecessary bloodshed." "I'm not quite so particular," struck in McBane. "They need to be taught a lesson, and a nigger more or less wouldn't be missed. There's too many of 'em now."
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