undertook the management of the most difficult part of the enterprise,—­the capture of the main guard-house,—­and had pledged himself to advance alone and surprise the sentinel.  He was said to have a magnetism in his eye, of which his confederates stood in great awe; if he once got his eye upon a man, there was no resisting it.  A white witness has since narrated, that, after his arrest, he was chained to the floor in a cell, with another of the conspirators.  Men in authority came and sought by promises, threats, and even tortures, to ascertain the names of other accomplices.  His companion, wearied out with pain and suffering, and stimulated by the hope of saving his own life, at last began to yield.  Peter raised himself, leaned upon his elbow, looked at the poor fellow, saying quietly, “Die like a man,” and instantly lay down again.  It was enough; not another word was extorted.

One of the most notable individuals in the plot was a certain Jack Purcell, commonly called Gullah Jack,—­Gullah signifying Angola, the place of his origin.  A conjurer by profession and by lineal heritage in his own country, he had resumed the practice of his vocation on this side the Atlantic.  For fifteen years he had wielded in secret an immense influence among a sable constituency in Charleston; and as he had the reputation of being invulnerable, and of teaching invulnerability as an art, he was very good at beating up recruits for insurrection.  Over those of Angolese descent, especially, he was a perfect king, and made them join in the revolt as one man.  They met him monthly at a place called Bulkley’s Farm, selected because the black overseer on that plantation was one of the initiated, and because the farm was accessible by water, thus enabling them to elude the patrol.  There they prepared cartridges and pikes, and had primitive banquets, which assumed a melodramatic character under the inspiriting guidance of Jack.  If a fowl was privately roasted, that mystic individual muttered incantations over it, and then they all grasped at it, exclaiming, “Thus we pull Buckra to pieces!” He gave them parched corn and ground-nuts to be eaten as internal safeguards on the day before the outbreak, and a consecrated cullah, or crab’s claw, to be carried in the mouth by each, as an amulet.  These rather questionable means secured him a power which was very unquestionable; the witnesses examined in his presence all showed dread of his conjurations, and referred to him indirectly, with a kind of awe, as “the little man who can’t be shot.”

When Gullah Jack was otherwise engaged, there seems to have been a sort of deputy seer employed in the enterprise, a blind man named Philip.  He was a preacher, was said to have been born with a caul on his head, and so claimed the gift of second-sight.  Timid adherents were brought to his house for ghostly counsel.  “Why do you look so timorous?” he said to William Garner, and then quoted Scripture, “Let not your hearts be troubled.”  That a blind man should know how he looked was beyond the philosophy of the visitor, and this piece of rather cheap ingenuity carried the day.