MURDER!
It is Labor Day. Business houses are closed, buildings are decorated,
excursionists are present by the thousands from neighboring cities, the
roads leading from rural districts are alive with buggies, wagons and
carts, all full of people, crowding into Richmond. As a consequence,
Richmond is all agog with excitement. There is to be a grand parade of
all the local Labor Unions, together with delegations from Unions in
neighboring cities.
To add zest to the occasion, the Master Workman of the Labor Union of
the United States is present and will make a speech that all are looking
forward to with burning interest. The day's celebration is to wind up
with a banquet, which is to rival in brilliancy any that the South has
ever known. The excitement of the people of Richmond is keyed to the
very highest pitch.
A carriage drove up to the hotel door, where the Master Workman was
stopping, and he and the Mayor of the city got in, to be driven to the
starting point of the parade, to ride at the head of the procession.
John Wysong was the driver of this carriage. Being shut out from all of
the departments of skilled labor on account of his color, he had been
forced to join the large army of unskilled laborers, grabbing here and
there in a desultory manner at every little job of work that appeared,
having no steady employment. The greater part of his time he was idle,
the labor market among the colored men being glutted. On account of the
abnormal demand for carriages on this occasion, scores of men were
pressed into service as drivers. Thus John happens to be a carriage
driver on this day, and the Master Workman of the Labor Union and the
Mayor are to occupy the carriage which he drives.
Surely, there must be somewhere in the universe a powerful,
conscienceless being, who delights in bringing together the two beings
who, more than any others of the millions of the earth, ought to be
untold miles apart, and brings them together at that moment which of all
others in the cycle of time is the most inappropriate. Either that, or
there is a Providence who permits this disastrous meeting of uncongenial
spirits, in order that out of the collision, evil in itself, there may
come a spark of light, as when a negative pole meets a positive, and the
electric spark results.
Fit or unfit, John Wysong is the driver of the carriage of the Master
Workman of the Labor Union. Thus the chief officer of an organization
whose hand had fallen heavier upon the head of John Wysong than upon any
other individual in Richmond, filling his heart with a brood of vipers,
to be fed and kept alive by continued misfortunes, is committed to his
care.
The parade commences and winds from street to street, the Master Workman
and the Mayor riding at the head of the procession. Finally, they came
to a magnificent brick edifice in the course of erection. The Mayor
pointed over to the building, and said, "Now, Master Workman, that
building is a potent example of how well we have the labor situation in
hand in the South. That church edifice is one of the very finest in the
city, and is being erected by a congregation of poor Negroes, and yet,
not a brick is being laid, nor a nail being driven by a Negro. Our Labor
Union controls exclusively the work of the race to which it belongs and
has just as absolute control of the work of the other race. Our
factories make their shoes, our tailors their clothes, our machinists
their stoves, our brick-layers build their houses. Our clerks sell them
supplies, and at the same time we exclude them from all such
employment." This remark precipitated a discussion of the relation of
the Labor Union to Negro labor, and as to why the Negroes were debarred.
The Master Workman, a Northerner, the honored guest of a Southern city
(an honor rarely accorded to men of the North), riding with an
ex-General of the Confederate Army, the Mayor, out-Heroded Herod in his
denunciation of Negroes, and expressed unalterable opposition to their
ever being allowed to enter the Unions. He said, "The home, the
fireside, is the dearest spot to the Anglo-Saxon, and in his family all
his pride centers. Through centuries the Anglo-Saxon has been evolving
his ideals and sentiments concerning home life and the place it should
occupy socially in the congregation of other homes. In order to sustain
these ideals a larger amount of money is needed than is needed to
sustain the home life of the Negro with his ideals at their present
stage of evolution. Hence, we cannot afford to enter into competition
with the Negro. For it would not be a question of dollars. It would be a
question of home against home. So we of the Labor Unions have decided
that either our homes must be crushed out or the Negro. And you know
what the Anglo-Saxon does to a weaker foe that does not accept his
standard. He simply destroys him."
Here he paused for an instant, and then resumed, "But the greatest
objection we have to the Negro is that his nature does not seem to have
in it the seditious element to any appreciable degree. He will move
along patiently, enduring evils and debating his right--actually his
right--to rebel against oppression. He has an abnormal respect for
constituted authority. He does not admit to himself the inherent right
to throw off the hand of an oppressor. He stands and looks pleadingly at
him, waiting for the time to come when the better sense of the oppressor
will assert itself. He really expects for the tyrannous spirit to
develop forces within that will overthrow itself. Ignorant of history,
he does not know that the spirit of oppression will yield only to force
or the fear of it. The Anglo-Saxon has never gotten anything for which
he did not fight, or impress the party concerned that he was ready to
fight for it.
"Now, our Union wants it distinctly understood that what we labor for WE
MUST HAVE. We shall have it if we ignore all laws, defy all constituted
authority, overthrow all government, violate all tradition. Our end MUST
be attained, at whatever cost. If a foe stands in our way, and nothing
will dislodge him but death, then he must die. That is the dictum of the
Anglo-Saxon. The Negro, lacking this spirit, has no place in our ranks."
John Wysong had heard every word of the conversation up to this point,
but his mind could go no further. It was in a whirl. Over and over again
the words of the Master Workman rang in his ears: "If a foe stands in
our way and nothing will dislodge him but death, then he must die." The
clatter of the horses' hoofs seemed to say this; the revolving wheels of
the carriage seemed to repeat it over and over, and the hum and noise of
the city seemed to be but a loud echo of the sentiment that had fallen
into Wysong's already disordered brain. Time and again he had to be
hallooed to by the policemen to keep in the line mapped out for the
parade. His hands trembled with nervous excitement, and his eyes were
red and wild-looking.
At length the parade was over. The Mayor suggested that the Master
Workman go to the City Hall and enter the tower, rising two hundred feet
in the air, so that he could have a view of the entire city. John Wysong
heard the suggestion and it made him tremble all the more violently, his
heart thumping loudly the while. "If a foe stands in our way and nothing
will dislodge him but death, then he must die," kept ringing in his
ears.
The Reception Committee, in a carriage following that of the Master
Workman, went with him to the City Hall. They entered that magnificent
building and went from floor to floor, John Wysong following them,
unnoticed. They entered the tower and ascended to the small, dark room
at the very top, having a large window with a low window sill, through
which window a person looking out could command a view of the city. The
news spread that the Master Workman was going to the tower, and crowds
of holiday loungers gathered about to cheer him when he appeared at the
tower window. Others gathered to find out the meaning of this crowd, so
the throng swelled and swelled. The Master Workman and his group are now
in the small tower room. All the members of the group stand back to
allow him to look out of the large, open window. When the crowd below
sees his stalwart form appear at this window, it raises cheer after
cheer. The remainder of the group rush to the window to look out over
the Master Workman's shoulders to see the meaning of the noise and the
crowd.
John Wysong, who had stood just outside of the door of the tower, saw
the rush to the window, and, the soil being prepared, the seed of murder
dropped into his heart. His breath came hot and fast. He stepped with
the stealthiness of a cat toward the group surrounding the Master
Workman. They were all intent upon the cheering crowd beneath, and did
not notice him. He pressed for room, but those he touched, having their
heads out of the window, supposed it to be a fellow committeeman, and
did not look round. John stooped down and as quick as a flash seized
hold of the Master Workman's ankles, and gave him a quick, powerful,
upward jerk that threw him forward, out of the window. As he went
tossing out, a committeeman seized his coat and held him thus for an
instant. But it was only for an instant. The committeeman pressed his
side against the window facing and held to the coat; but it began to
rip, aided by the violent, but fruitless clutching of the Master
Workman. Slowly but surely the coat was ripping.
Two hundred feet below, the people were paralyzed with horror. They saw
the form of the man whom they were so wildly cheering a moment before
suspended in mid-air, sustained by a ripping coat. A thousand hearts
stood still; a thousand voices were mute; a thousand chills of terror
crept over men's shuddering frames. The coat gave way and the Master
Workman started down on his awful journey. The people turned their heads
away from the sickening sight to follow. Fifty feet from the top of the
tower the body struck a protuberance, bounded outward, and fell plump
upon the iron palings two hundred feet below, and they ran their narrow
shaped heads through his body as unconcernedly as though they were
stationed there from all eternity to receive him.