The Colonel.
There strode out of a humble but neatly furnished dwelling in the
Southern section of the city of Wilmington on a sultry morning in
August, 1898, a man not over the average height, neatly dressed in a
well-brushed suit of black. His full and well kept beard of mixed gray
hung low upon his immaculate shirt front. His head classic and perfectly
fashioned, set well poised upon shoulders as perfectly proportioned as
an Apollo. His gray hair parted upon the side of his head, was carefully
brushed over his forehead to hide its baldness, and from beneath
abundant shaggy eyebrows, looked forth a pair of cold gray eyes. Though
past sixty, he was erect, and his step was as firm as a man of thirty.
This was "The Colonel," typical Southern gentleman of the old school, a
descendant of the genuine aristocracy, the embodiment of arrogance.
The Southerners' definition of the term "gentleman" is a peculiar one.
The gentleman is born, and there is no possible way for him to lose the
title. He is a gentleman, drunk or sober, honest or dishonest, in prison
or out of prison. He is a gentleman with the stains of murder unwashed
from his hands. It is birth and not character with the Southerner,
appearance, rather than worth.
While in New England settled the tanner, the wheelwright, the
blacksmith, the hardy son of the soil who came over to escape religious
persecution, and to serve God according to the dictates of his own
conscience, with none to molest or make him afraid, in the South there
settled England and Europe's aristocrat, lazy and self-indulgent,
satisfied to live upon the unrequited toil of others.
The "Colonel," aside from having a brilliant war record, had also a
lofty political career in North Carolina during and following the
reconstruction period. Twenty years or more ago he, in the height of his
career, was the idol of Eastern North Carolina. "The silver-tongued
orator of the East," his appearance in any town or hamlet was greeted
with the greatest enthusiasm. Holidays were proclaimed and houses were
decked with flags and bunting in honor of the hero of the day and hour.
The workman forgot his toil, the merchant his business; old and young,
little and big thronged the streets, women raised their little ones in
their arms and cried, "See, the Colonel comes!" We listened with rapt
attention to his superior eloquence, and no man was more deeply rooted
in the affections of his people. We esteemed him too high to be low, too
lofty in thought and aspiration to do a mean thing. Republican aspirants
to Congress in those days were easily turned down by the Colonel who
represented that district for three or more terms at the National
Capitol. But there came a time when the Colonel's influence began to
wane; whisperings were current that he was indulging too freely in the
Southern gentleman's besetting sin--poker and mint julips, and that the
business of the people whose interests he had been sent to look after
was being neglected. Still Wilmingtonians' confidence in the Colonel did
not slacken, and when the time for Congressional nominations came, we
went to Fayetteville with bands playing and banners flying, and we
cheered ourselves hoarse in order to quicken slumbering interest in the
Colonel, but failed. Cumberland, Bladen, Mecklinburg and other counties
came down unanimously in favor of one Shackleford, of the upper section,
a name almost unknown to us, and New Hanover, which stood alone for the
Colonel, was defeated. After the expiration of his term in Congress the
Colonel went to his home in Wilmington, and resumed the practice of law.
The last time that I visited the old city, the Colonel was solicitor in
the Criminal Court. He had also moved out of his palatial dwelling on
Third street, and sought cheaper quarters. Twenty years ago he would
have scorned the thought of doing this deed which he was now
contemplating as he strode down the street on this sultry August
morning.
"I will carry this election or choke the river with their carcasses," he
said slowly to himself. But why this ghastly sentence from the mouth of
a representative Wilmingtonian? What had plunged the Colonel into such a
desperate state of mind? Poverty! lost honor, unsatisfied ambition. The
Negro and the "low white" are prospering, holding positions in the city
government that rightfully belong to first families who are better
qualified to hold said positions and more entitled to the remunerations;
but the changing of this order of things cannot be brought about by
honest methods, so like the hungry wolf, the Colonel is preparing to
make a desperate charge to carry the election and place himself in
office, even if the streets of the old city flow with blood. Yea,
although the usual state election time is some distance off, plans have
been already secretly perfected not only to carry the election by the
Democrats, but to reduce the Negro majorities by banishment,
intimidation and murder.
Senator ----, by invitation, had visited the state, and advised the
carrying of the election with the shotgun, and had offered the loan of
five hundred guns from South Carolina. Merchants, most of them in
Wilmington, had promised to discharge all colored help who showed a
disposition to vote, and had also subscribed to a fund for the purpose
of purchasing powder, guns and dynamite. A railroad company operating
into the city had subscribed five hundred guns. Stump orators had
secured the aid of the poor whites both in the city and rural districts
by promising them that by assisting to kill and chase the Negro from the
city, the property owned by the colored citizens would be turned over to
them. This was the work of hungry politicians who, to get office told an
infamous lie, and were ready to deluge a city in blood just to get into
office. Certain Negroes and white men had been listed for slaughter and
banishment. Negro men and women who had had any difficulty in which they
had gotten the best of a white person before the courts or otherwise,
for even ten years back, were to be killed or driven from the city.
Those who owned houses in white neighborhoods were to be driven out and
their property taken. All this was being done quietly while the old city
rested peacefully upon this smouldering volcano. The Negro, unaware of
the doom that awaited him, went quietly about his work; but there were a
few white men in the city who, although Southerners by birth and
education, did not coincide with the methods adopted for the securing
of white supremacy. Among these was Mr. Gideon who could not be
persuaded to assist in such a movement, even in the minutest way. A few
mornings previous to the opening of my story, there had appeared in the
columns of a small Negro journal edited in Wilmington, a short article
which had been interpreted as an intent to slander white women. This had
thrown the city into a fever of excitement, and dire threats had been
made against the editor, and the flocking of the colored people to his
aid had made the whites that much more bitter toward Negroes in general.
But they soon quieted down, and waited the "final day." The Colonel
feeling assured that this article in the Negro Journal would be the
means of driving all lukewarm whites into line, leisurely strolled on
this particular day toward the office of Mr. Gideon.
"Why, good morning, Colonel!" said Mr. Gideon, arising from his desk and
extending his hand toward the Colonel who strode noiselessly across the
large office and gently tapped him upon the shoulder. The Colonel sank
into a chair, and opening the little sheet which he had drawn from his
coat pocket, laid it on the desk before Mr. Gideon.
"Now, is it not time for white men to act?"
Mr. Gideon made no answer, but fastened his eyes upon the paper before
him. The Colonel continued, "We have taken care of the Negro, paid his
taxes, educated his children, tried to show to him that we were more
interested in his well-being than the Yankee Radical Carpet-bagger he
has chosen to follow; but he has persistently disregarded us, unheeded
our advice, rode rough shod over us, and fretted us until patience is no
longer a virtue. The Negro has reached the end of his rope. Emboldened
by successful domination, and the long suffering of the white people of
this community, this nigger has made an unpardonable attack upon our
white women. Now, Gideon, if this article is not sufficient to stimulate
you to join in with your brethren in driving the ungrateful nigger out
of Wilmington and inducing white labor into it, you are not true to your
race."
Mr. Gideon turned in his chair and faced the Colonel, "I have
previously read the article," he answered slowly "I have read also
with--I must say--considerable disgust, the letters on the Negro
question from the pen of Mrs. Fells, of Georgia, and the editorials of
Kingston upon the subject; and to tell you the truth, Colonel, I must
commend the boy for his courage; he was simply defending his race
against the attack."
The Colonel jumped to his feet; "In the name of God, Gideon, do you
believe that a nigger should answer a white man back?"
"Under certain circumstances, Colonel, I do. Mrs. Fells style is
extremely brazen, and can we expect to harp with impunity upon the
shortcomings of the Negro? Let us blame the right persons; those whose
uncalled for assaults provoked the issuing of the article. But that's a
small matter just at this time. I have refrained from entering into the
scheme of driving out Negroes, because I am concerned about the business
interests of this city; sit down, Colonel, sit down and hear me out.
Now, when we have driven out the Negro, whose to take his place? We have
tried the poor white."
"Why, encourage thrifty emigrants from the North." "Thrifty emigrants
from the North," echoed Mr. Gideon.
"Invite labor unions, strikes, incendiarism, anarchy into our midst.
Look at Illinois; can the South cope with such? The Negro we understand;
he has stood by us in all of our ups and downs, stood manfully by our
wives and children while we fought for his enslavement. After the war we
found no more faithful ally than the Negro has been; he has helped us to
build waste places and to bring order out of chaos. Now pray tell me
where do we get the right to drive him from his home where he has as
much right to dwell as we have?"
"Then you believe in Negro rule?"
"No!"
"Yes you do Gideon, or you'd not talk in that manner," replied the
Colonel, now beside himself with rage. "Now, by heaven, we are going to
put the Negro in his place. Look at our city government in the hands of
ignorant niggers and carpet baggers. God did not intend that his white
faced children were ever to be ruled by black demons," and the Colonel
rose again and began to pace the floor.
"Calm yourself, Colonel, calm yourself," said Mr. Gideon. "Now we ought
to be ashamed of ourselves to raise the cry of Negro rule in North
Carolina, when we so largely outnumber them. I admit that there are
objectionable Negroes in Wilmington, Negroes who would greatly benefit
the community by leaving it; but shall we slay the righteous with the
wicked? Must the innocent and guilty suffer alike? Ten righteous men
would have saved the cities of the plains."
"But they could nt be found," interrupted the Colonel.
"I warrant you they can be found here," calmly replied Mr. Gideon.
"We the white people of this community, have often given expression of
our love and even veneration for such characters as Alfred Howe, Henry
Taylor, John Norwood, George Ganse, John H. Howe, Thomas Revera, Joe
Sampson, Henry Sampson, Isham Quick, and scores of others whom we must,
if we do the right thing, acknowledge as the black fathers of this city.
Thrifty and industrious Negroes have always been the objects of the envy
of poor whites who will eagerly grasp the opportunity when given, to
destroy the property of these people. While it is your object, Colonel,
to carry the election, and triumph politically, they will murder and
plunder, and when once licensed and started, you cannot check them. I
see that they are being armed--a dangerous proceeding. Take care
Colonel; I beg you to beware lest those guns in the hands of these
people be turned upon you, and the best white people of this community
be compelled to quit it. I listened with fear and apprehension a few
evenings ago, to Fisher's harrangue to the poor whites of Dry Pond. They
will take him at his word, for they are just that ignorant. Shall we for
the sake of political ascension plunge Wilmington into an abyss of
shame?"
"Now, Gideon," said the Colonel, "your talk is all nonsense, we are
trying to extricate Wilmington from the slough of infamy into which it
has been plunged by Radicals. We are going to elevate the white man to
his place and regulate Sambo to his sphere, if the streets have to flow
with blood to accomplish that end. Good niggers who know their places
will be protected; but these half educated black rascals who think
themselves as good as white men, must go. 'Nigger root doctors' are
crowding white physicians out of business; 'nigger' lawyers are sassing
white men in our courts; 'nigger' children are hustling white angels off
our sidewalks. Gideon, in the name of God, what next? what next?" and
the Colonel bounded into the air like an Indian in a war dance. "White
supremacy must be restored, and you Gideon will regret the day you
refused to assist your white brethren to throw off the yoke of
oppression. Good day, Gideon, good day"; and the Colonel stalked out of
the office.
Uncle Ephraim, one of the old Nimrods who supplied Wilmington's markets
with savory ducks and rice birds, stood with his gun on the corner of
Front and Market streets that morning, as the Colonel briskly strode
past on his way from the office of Mr. Gideon to the Court House.
"Good mawnin Co'nel," said Uncle Ephraim, saluting politely; but the
Colonel did not as usual pause to crack a joke with the docile old
darky; he did not even vouchsafe a nod of recognition, but moved hastily
on his way. Uncle Ephraim stood and wistfully watched the Colonel until
he turned the corner of Second and Market streets.
"Whoop! dar's er pow'ful big load on de Co'nel's mine sho. Dat white man
didn' eben see me; an' I his ole bodysarbant, too." Uncle Ephraim strode
slowly down Market street and entered the store of Sprague & Company.
"Look yer!" said he, "I wants er bout fo' ounce powder an er few cap."
The salesman shook his head.
"Wa fur yo' shake yer hed, you no got um?"
"We are selling nothing of the kind to darkies just now, uncle."
"But how I gwine fer kill duck?"
The salesman made him no answer.
Uncle Ephraim stood, looked about for a moment, then slowly sauntered
into the street, and made his way to Joslins, in South Front street, but
was also refused there. Going again to the corner of Market and Front
Streets, he saw several white men and boys enter Sprague & Company and
came out armed with shot guns and other fire-arms, and walk briskly
away. "De ole boy is gwine to tun heself loose in dis yer town soon; fer
I see um in de bery eye ob dese bocra. I can't buy um, but see how de
bocra go in an git um. Niggah, hit's time ter look er bout,"--and Uncle
Ephraim slowly walked up Front Street towards Morrow's.
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