"Well if I don't, I know how not to vote for a rebel."

"How do you know you didn't vote for a rebel?" said Louis to another one
who came from one of the most benighted districts.

"I voted for one of my own color," as if treason and a black skin were
incompatible.

In the evening Louis called the people together, and talked with them,
trying to keep them from being discouraged, for the times were evil, and
the days were very gloomy. The impeachment had failed. State after State
in the North had voted against enfranchising the colored man in their
midst. The spirit of the lost cause revived, murders multiplied. The Ku
Klux spread terror and death around. Every item of Northern meanness to
the colored people in their midst was a message of hope to the rebel
element of the South, which had only changed. Ballot and bullet had
failed, but another resort was found in secret assassination. Men
advocating equal rights did so at the peril of their lives, for violence
and murder were rampant in the land. Oh those dark and weary days when
politicians were flattering for place and murdered Union men were
sleeping in their bloody shrouds. Louis' courage did not desert him, and
he tried to nerve the hearts of those that were sinking with fear in
those days of gloom and terror. His advice to the people was, "Defend
your firesides if they are invaded, live as peaceably as you can, spare
no pains to educate your children, be saving and industrious, try to get
land under your feet and homes over your heads. My faith is very strong
in political parties, but, as the world has outgrown other forms of
wrong, I believe that it will outgrow this also. We must trust and hope
for better things." What else could he say? And yet there were times when
his words seemed to him almost like bitter mockery. Here was outrage