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Updated: June 4, 2025
Teck Pervis, the chairman of White Supremacy League of Dry Pond and leader of the raiders on the 10th of November, pushed his way through the crowd and faced the Mayor, who, seeing them approaching, had sent forward a platoon of police to intercept them, but without effect. "I say, Mr. Mare," said the leader, fumbling with his hat, "we uns heard that you sont orders fer us ter turn in our guns."
Pervis gave her a permanent place in one of the wagons, and the other women were taken up by turns, whenever the poor creatures could step no longer. The men dragged along, handcuffed in pairs, and their low, brutal, and profane conversation was dreadful to Tidy. Oh, how often she wished she had staid contentedly with Mammy Grace, and not tried to run away.
Pervis, jumping to her feet. "An' I wish ter say jes' here that Teck Pervis, who perfessed religion las' year, has jes' gone back to ther deval bekase, ses he, the preachers war in this thing. Preachers whose han's air full er blood air not fit ter handle ther word er God." The motion was carried with but few opposers. Mrs.
Lee was considerate enough to suggest to Mr. Pervis, that, as she had been brought up as a house-servant, and not accustomed to very hard work, she would not be able to walk much, and if she was not allowed to ride, there would be no Tidy left by the time they got to their journey's end, and the thousand dollars which had just been paid for her would have been thrown away. So Mr.
Mare, yo' speech is all right 'nough, but it don't suit we uns ernough ter give up ther guns. We went back on our colored frends ter giv' yo' 'ristocrats ther gov'ment, and we uns'll combine wi' ther colored men an' take hit from yer, see?" Teck Pervis turned and faced the men who stood like a wall at his back. "Gentermen, go home an' keep yer guns an' yer powder dry, for yo'll need 'em!
Aamanda Pervis was addressing the above to Deacon Littleton, as arm in arm they proceeded toward the church a few evenings after Thanksgiving Day. Ever since the massacre she had been busily trying to awaken sentiment in the church against the pastor, who on that fatal day had stood with Dr. Jose upon the firing line to shoot down his fellow citizens of color.
I never seed ther beat er thet ol hen; make hase ter gulp her own co'n down ter driv ther turkeys way from their'n." Thus spoke Mrs. Amanda Pervis as she stood in the door of her humble wooden dwelling on Kidder's Hill a brisk morning in October. "Thanksgiving haint fur off, an turkey meat's er gittin high. Shoo ther yer hussy!"
"Why, Mandy, yo ought ter git er license ter preach, why you kin spit scripter lik er bon evangilis," and Teck Pervis reached over and slapped his wife upon the shoulder. This compliment from her husband stimulated the old lady to more earnest effort. "Now look er here," she continued. "What do them risticrats kere er bout the likes er we?
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