On Saturday afternoon, May 25th, 1822, a slave named Devany, belonging to Colonel Prioleau of Charleston, South Carolina, was sent to market by his mistress.—­the Colonel being absent in the country.  After doing his errands, he strolled down upon the wharves, in the enjoyment of that magnificent wealth of leisure which usually characterizes the “house-servant” of the South, when once beyond hail of the street-door.  He presently noticed a small vessel lying in the stream, with a peculiar flag flying; and while looking at it, he was accosted by a slave named William, belonging to Mr. John Paul, who remarked to him,—­“I have often seen a flag with the number 76, but never one with the number 96 upon it before.”  After some further conversation on this trifling point, he continued with earnestness,—­“Do you know that something serious is about to take place?” Devany disclaiming the knowledge of any graver impending crisis than the family dinner, the other went on to inform him that many of the slaves were “determined to right themselves.”  “We are determined,” he added, “to shake off our bondage, and for that purpose we stand on a good foundation; many have joined, and if you will go with me, I will show you the man who has the list of names, and who will take yours down.”

This startling disclosure was quite too much for Devany; he was made of the wrong material for so daring a project; his genius was culinary, not revolutionary.  Giving some excuse for breaking off the conversation, he went forthwith to consult a free colored man, named Pensil or Pencell, who advised him to warn his master instantly.  So he lost no time in telling the secret to his mistress and her young son; and on the return of Colonel Prioleau from the country, five days afterward, it was at once revealed to him.  Within an hour or two he stated the facts to Mr. Hamilton, the Intendant, or, as we should say, Mayor; Mr. Hamilton at once summoned the Corporation, and by five o’clock Devany and William were under examination.

This was the first warning of a plot which ultimately filled Charleston with terror.  And yet so thorough and so secret was the organization of the negroes, that a fortnight passed without yielding the slightest information beyond the very little which was obtained from these two.  William Paul was, indeed, put in confinement and soon gave evidence inculpating two slaves as his employers,—­Mingo Harth and Peter Poyas.  But these men, when arrested, behaved with such perfect coolness and treated the charge with such entire levity, their trunks and premises, when searched, were so innocent of all alarming contents, that they were soon discharged by the Wardens.  William Paul at length became alarmed for his own safety, and began to let out further facts piecemeal, and to inculpate other men.  But some of those very men came voluntarily to the Intendant, on hearing that they were suspected, and indignantly offered themselves for examination.  Puzzled and bewildered, the municipal government kept the thing as secret as possible, placed the city guard in an efficient condition, provided sixteen hundred rounds of ball cartridges, and ordered the sentinels and patrols to be armed with loaded muskets.  “Such had been our fancied security, that the guard had previously gone on duty without muskets and with only sheathed bayonets and bludgeons.”