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“It came to be well understood throughout the county.

“‘I believe you are hen-pecked,’ said a man to him one night.

“‘I believe I am, George,’ laughed Hallo-way, ‘and by Jings! I like it, too.’

“It was impossible to take offence at him, he was so good-natured. He would get out of his bed in the middle of the night, hitch up his horse and pull his bitterest enemy out of the mud. He had on an occasion ridden all night through a blizzard to get a doctor for the wife of a negro neighbor in a cabin near by who was suddenly taken ill. When someone expressed admiration for it, especially as it was known that the man had not long before been abusing Halloway to the provost-marshal, who at that time was in supreme command, he said:

“‘Well, what ‘s that got to do with it? Wa ‘n ‘t the man ‘s wife sick? I don’t deserve no credit, though; if I had n’t gone, my wife would n’ ‘a’ let me come in her house.’

“He was an outspoken man, too, not afraid of the devil, and when he believed a thing he spoke it, no matter whom it hit. In this way John had been in trouble several times while we were under ‘gun-rule’; and this, together with his personal character, had given him great influence in the county, and made him a power. He was one of my most ardent friends and supporters, and to him, perhaps, more than to any other two men in the county, I owed my position.

“Absalom Turnell’s rancorous speeches had stirred all the county, and the apprehension of the outbreak his violence was in danger of bringing might have caused trouble but for John Halloway’s coolness and level-headedness. John offered to go around and follow Absalom up at his meetings. He could ‘spike his guns,’ he said.

“Some of his friends wanted to go with him. ‘You ‘d better not try that,’ they argued. That fellow, Ab. Turnell ‘s got it in for you.’ But he said no. The only condition on which he would go was that he should go alone.

“‘They ain’t any of ’em going to trouble me. I know ’em all and I git along with ’em first rate. I don’t know as I know this fellow Ab.; he ‘s sort o’ grown out o’ my recollection; but I want to see. He knows me, I know. I got my hand on him once when he was a boy–about my age, and he ain’t forgot that, I know. He was a blusterer; but he did n ‘t have real grit. He won’t say nothin’ to my face. But I must go alone. You all are too flighty.’

“So Halloway went alone and followed Ab. up at his ‘camp-fires,’ and if report was true his mere presence served to curb Ab.’s fury, and take the fire out of his harangues. Even the negroes got to laughing and talking about it ‘Ab. was jest like a dog when a man faced him,’ they said; ‘he could n’ look him in the eye.’

“The night before the election there was a meeting at one of the worst places in the county, a country store at a point known as Burley’s Fork, and Halloway went there, alone–and for the first time in the canvass thought it necessary to interfere. Absalom, stung by the taunts of some of his friends, and having stimulated himself with mean whiskey, launched out in a furious tirade against the whites generally, and me in particular; and called on the negroes to go to the polls next day prepared to ‘wade in blood to their lips.’ For himself, he said, he had ‘drunk blood’ before, both of white men and women, and he meant to drink it again. He whipped out and flourished a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.

“His language exceeded belief, and the negroes, excited by his violence, were showing the effect on their emotions of his wild declamation, and were beginning to respond with shouts and cries when Halloway rose and walked forward. Absalom turned and started to meet him, yelling his fury and threats, and the audience were rising to their feet when they were stopped. It was described to me afterward.