The Flight of Reverend Selkirk.
There is a great deal said about the fatality of the wind of Boston Bay.
Even the native Bostonian dreads its icy touch, and when winter comes to
re-enforce its intensity, as many as can, seek warmer climes. A few
winters ago, among the many tourists who sought accommodations on a
train South-bound were Rev. Hiland Silkirk, wife and two children. Rev.
Silkirk's many years of ministerial work in the old cradle of liberty
had somewhat told upon his health, and he felt that a few months or
years in a warmer clime would result in the recovery of lost vigor. He
had purchased a ticket for Wilmington, N. C. The air there was mild,
bracing and dry and made health giving and mellow by the sweet odor of
the yellow pine. And then, again, a field was open for the continuance
of his work while he recuperated, a certain Baptist church in the old
city had called him to its pastorate. Being a man of exceptional
ability, affable and of sunny temperament, Rev. Hiland Silkirk was just
the man to win friends among Southern people, and he won them among both
white and black citizens in that old town. This is the case in every
Southern community. A Negro man of prominence can retain his popularity
on certain lines among the whites if he keeps out of politics and in all
race troubles remains neutral. But he cannot take this stand and be
universally loved. His reward will inevitably be the contempt of his own
race, which he cannot afford to engender. And no man who loves his
people can hide his light under a bushel; can keep quiet when they are
assailed. He must, he will raise hand and voice in their defense. Moses
refused to dwell in the king's palace while his people suffered about
him. No! he went forth, and in his zeal smote an uncircumcised Egyptian
oppressor to death and fled into a strange land and there fitted himself
for their deliverer. Rev. Hiland Silkirk counted his friends among some
leading ministers and laymen of the opposite race. But Rev. Silkirk was
true to his own, and when the time came to test that devotion, he
arrayed himself with his own people and endangered his own life. When,
in the early part of August, 1898, the fight between the editor of the
Record and the editor of the Messenger waxed hot over the inflammatory
letters on the race question from the pen of Mrs. Fells, of Georgia,
which had its final result in the destruction of the Record's property
and the banishment of its editor, Rev. Silkirk did not hesitate to join
in the controversy. This caused many of his white friends to cool
towards him, and it placed his name upon the list of dangerous(?)
Negroes to be killed or banished. After the general raid which
terrorized and put the city in a state of panic on the 10th of November,
the mobs divided into squads, and, as deputy sheriffs, begun to arrest
and drive from the city the objects of their spleen. The duly elected
Mayor and other officials having been deposed, bandits were put in their
places. A portion of the mob which destroyed the Record building on the
morning of the 10th, started northward toward Walnut street, on which
the hated Negro minister resided. But among the white ministers in
Wilmington there was one at least who would not allow his prejudice to
impair his devotion to a worthy friend. He, aware of the plot to murder
the black divine, set out on that morning to warn him of his danger. The
Rev. Silkirk, aroused and alarmed by the noise of guns coming from every
direction in the city, had just mounted his bicycle and started in the
direction of Dry Pond. As he turned into Seventh street he saw, more
than two blocks away, another bicyclist breathlessly pedaling toward
him. "Why, Dr. Sawyer, I was just starting to your house!" said the
colored man, as the white one rode up and dismounted. "And I was just
coming to your house to inform you that a ride in my direction is
dangerous! Return! There is no time to be lost. Get into the woods! They
are on the way to your house now to kill you. I must not be seen with
you. Go! Make haste!" This was all said in one breath, and before the
colored man could recover from his astonishment to ask a question the
white one was gone. Down the street a cloud of dust rose before the
colored minister's eyes. The bandits were only a few blocks away. There
was not even time to return to his home. He hastened down Walnut street,
crossed Red Cross into Campbell, and made for the woods. The bandits
rode up to the minister's house, dismounted and surrounded it, but the
quarry was gone. From the frightened wife and little ones they could
glean no information as to the whereabouts of the minister. They were
about to satisfy their vengeance by subjecting the helpless woman to
revolting indignities, when a boy ran up to inform them of the direction
in which the man had fled. The mob mounted their horses and made a dash
for Oak Dale Cemetery. The colored people in the neighborhood, afraid to
approach to offer protection to poor Mrs. Silkirk, now gathered about
her. All were unanimous in the belief that the bandits would return
should they fail to find the minister, and not only molest her, but
shoot into the houses of others as well. So they decided to take her to
the church, yea, gather the whole neighborhood in there. "Sho, dey won't
shoot in de house er God," said an old lady. "Le'us git dar an' pray; we
kin do nuth'n better. Le' us ask de Lawd wot it all means?"
When Rev. Silkirk reached a secluded spot in the woods he was wet, sore
and exhausted from wading through marshes and being scratched by briars.
Night had set in. He lay down beneath a clump of bushes to rest; but
there was no rest for this poor innocent wretch, outlawed by ruffians
and compelled to leave his wife and little ones, and be hunted as a wild
beast in the forest. This is the fate of many a Negro who had committed
no more offense against law and order. But this, to such characters as
Rev. Silkirk, was no evidence of God's displeasure. Men more righteous
than he had been compelled to flee for their lives; yea, suffer death
for truth's sake; men of whom the world was not worthy. He pillowed his
head upon a tuft of wire grass, and gazed upward towards the spangled
skies. "Lord, we cannot tell why this, thy people, are so severely
tried; yet we believe that all things work together for good to them
that trust in Thee. Strengthen our faith, Lord. Save our wives and
little ones from a fate worse than death at the hands of the wicked, who
glory and take delight in shameful treatment of the defenseless." He
heard the tramping of horses' feet among the bushes only a short
distance away, and soon several men galloped past where he lay--so close
that one of the horses brushed against the bush which sheltered him. The
frightened minister lay perfectly still until the footsteps died away,
then he arose and went cautiously back to the city to see, if possible,
what had been the fate of his wife and children, left to the mercy of a
disappointed and angry mob.
The feeling that the church was the only place for safety filled the
breasts of most of the frightened souls in the neighborhood of Seventh
and Red Cross streets on the evening of the dreadful 10th of November,
after the band of Red Shirts had terrorized the people in their
blusterous hunt for the negro minister. "It seemed like the day of
Judgment," said an eye witness. "There were no loud lamentations, as is
usual when colored people are wrought up under excitement, but sobs,
groans and whispered petitions. Bless our pastor, Lord, an' save him ef
it be Thy will," came from many lips, followed by "Amens" and "Do,
Lord." Suddenly the church was thrown into a spasm of excitement that
could not be suppressed, for while they were breathing prayers for his
deliverance, the pastor, wet, footsore and tired, entered and strode
slowly up the aisle. "Why did you, oh, why did you come back?" exclaimed
his wife, throwing her arms about the minister's neck, while others in
their excitement gathered about them. The Rev. Silkirk gently led his
wife, who had almost fainted in his arms, to a chair and raised his hand
for silence. "Brethren and sisters," he began, "my escape from death
to-day has been a narrow one. I knew that my attitude in the Manly-Fells
controversy had caused some of my friends to cool toward me, but I did
not believe that it would ripen into a desire to murder me, because of
my opinions. Nevertheless, my attitude is the same. I do not retract a
single word said in defense of my people. Twenty or more men were killed
to-day--men who are innocent of any wrong. I may be numbered with them
before morning; yet love for my wife and little ones and you caused me
to tempt death by returning here to console and speak a word of comfort
to you. These may be evidences of God's displeasure; we may have in our
prosperity forgotten to give Him the glory due unto His name; yet by
these afflictions we may know that we are beloved of God, for whom he
loveth He chasteneth. We are too well schooled in affliction to be
dismayed, and they who are responsible for this rioting may just as well
try to stop the river in its flow as to try to triumph permanently over
a people who by affliction have waxed so strong in faith. We are as firm
as Mount Zion, which cannot be moved. You, all of you, deem it expedient
that I go away; so to-night, by the help of the Lord, I shall try to get
away from this place. I may see you again, I cannot tell; if not, there
are twelve gates to the City, and, with God's help, we'll meet up there.
Let us have a few moments of silent prayer." Every knee was bended on
that terrible night; but so emotional is the colored American that
silence in a meeting of this kind is maintained with difficulty. A
silence of two minutes elapsed--followed by sobs and groans painful to
listen to. Then a voice tremulous with emotion floated over the
assemblage--a woman's voice:
"Father in heaven, we have evidence that thou didst hear thy children's
cry in days past and gone, and we believe that Thou wilt hear us now.
(Yes, Lord.) Thou didst hear the Hebrew children. (Yes.) Thou didst
deliver Daniel. (Yes.) Thou didst hear Africa's groans, and didst break
her chains. (Yes, Lord.) Oh Jesus, Master, hear us to-night. (Do,
Jesus.) We cannot tell, Lord, why we are buffeted, beaten, murdered and
driven from our homes, and made to seek refuge among strangers; but Thou
knowest. Perhaps in our prosperity we have forgotten to give Thee the
glory, blessed Lord, and these demons that have flocked to Wilmington
from all quarters may be the scourgers that Thou art using to bring us
closer to Thee. Hear, O Lord, the groans and cries of the widows and
orphans of the slaughtered ones; men who gave up their lives in the
feeble efforts to defend their homes and firesides. (Do, Lord.) Bless
Brother Silkirk and his little family (Amen), who are about to start
upon a perilous journey. The way is beset by demons thirsting for his
blood. (Lord, help.) But he's in Thy hands, and Thou canst save him and
save us from further persecution, if it be Thy will. Amen!"
Rev. Silkirk was visibly moved by this earnest and pathetic plea. He
thanked the petitioner and the entire church for their solicitude. He
was dissuaded from attempting to take his wife and little ones with him
on his perilous journey, and they were left in care of friends until an
opportune season presented itself. The parting between that good man and
his wife and friends was indeed touching. A substantial bank note was
hurriedly thrust into his hand, and, with two deacons, he stepped out
into the darkness and disappeared.
* * * * *
When the North-bound passenger train leaving Wilmington at 12.01 slowed
up at Castle Hayne on the morning of the 12th of November a
wretched-looking Negro minister stepped aboard. The trains had for two
days been leaving the city ladened with undesirable citizens, white and
black, and the trainmen had been earnest abettors in the injury and
insult offered them. From Wilmington to Weldon at every stop crowds
waited to do injury, if possible, to "Nigger" and radical refugees.
Thomas Miller, Aria Bryant and other citizens had been taken off and
jailed at Goldsboro, and one man in trying to escape was shot to death.
The Rev. Silkirk did not feel very comfortable under the searching eye
of the conductor who lifted his fare, and that individual's refusal to
give satisfactory answers to inquiries concerning connections at Rocky
Mount increased his feeling of uneasiness. He felt assured that failing
to capture him in the woods, his would-be murderers had telegraphed his
description, etc., along the road. At Dudley Station two men came into
the smoker and took seats immediately in front of him, and continued the
discussion of the topic which doubtless absorbed their minds before
entering. "I was saying," said one, an elderly man, with quite a refined
appearance, "that impertinent article by that Negro preacher was equally
as spicy as the editorial, and as the editor took time by the forelock
and made good his escape, the determination was to make sure of this
preacher. But he was warned in time to get out, and the impression is
that he was warned by a white man." "Shame," said the other, slapping
his knee vigorously. "He got away, then." "Yes, but it's likely he'll
sneak back before taking final leave, as he has a family there, and they
are on the lookout for him; besides, the boys have been notified along
the road to be on the lookout." "What's his name?" "Silkirk; he is er
Boston darkey, an' doubtless is heading for that place, as Southern
climate has got too hot for 'im."
"Goldsboro! Change cars for Newbern," shouted the porter. "Well,
good-bye!" said the genteel man, rising and making a bolt for the door.
As the train slowly clanged its way through the old town the remaining
passenger settled himself back in the seat and went to sleep.
Several men passed through the train, the conductor in the lead. Each
man slyly glanced at the minister, but said nothing. The train sped on
its way through the town.
Now, Wilson is the place where through passengers change cars and board
North-bound trains from the far South. Wilson for the past few days had
been the rendezvous for a well-organized vigilance committee, who had
vied with the ruffians at Goldsboro in offering violence to citizens
driven out of Wilmington. The leader of this gang was a young farmer by
the name of Bull. That afternoon Mr. Bull and quite a number of his
fellow-committeemen sat on the steps of the railroad station whittling
sticks when the station operator came up and handed him a telegram,
which ran as follows: "Goldsboro--Man on train 78 answering description
of Silkirk. Look out for him. Barnet."
"By Joe!" exclaimed Captain Bull, jumping to his feet. "Well, what's
up?" asked three or four of his companions, gathering around the leader.
"Nothing, only that Boston black Yankee is on train 78, an' he mustn't
git any further 'an Wilson, that's all," returned Bull. "Go, Buxton," he
said to a sallow-faced young man leaning against the wall, "an' tell the
boys ter git ready for er feast ter night. That Nigger editor slipped
through like grease, an' ef we let this Nigger do so we all uns ought
ter be gibbited. We want er be ready ter mount the train time she stops.
I've got no description of the man, but, then, its no hard tas' to pick
out er preacher from the tother uns." With that Captain Bull started
toward home to get his gun, and the crowd dispersed.
At Wilson trains usually pause at the water tank, a few yards below, for
coal and water, before making the final stop at the station. Just as
train 78 paused at this place, a colored man with a buggy whip under his
arm got aboard. He walked briskly through the train, scanning the faces
of the passengers as he went. "The' ain't but one colored man on here,"
he said, as he reached the door of the smoking car and looked in.
Walking up and touching this man on the shoulder, he said: "Looker here,
mister, you goin' North?" "I want to," returned the colored passenger.
"Well, come with me an' get somethin' ter eat foe you go; you look like
you hungry. I keep er resterant, put up thar jes' fer my people, bekase
thar's no show fer 'em in the other place. Come on! No time ter be los',
train don't stay up thar more 'an twenty minutes." With that he led the
passenger from the train. "Git up in thar," he said, pointing to a small
wagon. "Got er trunk?" "No, just this bag," returned the other. "Well,
let's go. Git up, Nell," and the horse started off in a brisk trot.
"Looker here, mister, I ain't got no more resterant then er dog. Ain't
your name Silkirk?" "That's may name," returned the passenger in
astonishment. "I knowed it," said the driver. "I got on that train ter
save yer life ter night. Slower dar, Nell! This road's full er mud holes
sence the big rain we had tother day. I jes' happen ter that depot ter
day jes' in time ter see thet telegraph when hit cum an' was put inter
Captain Bull's han'. Sence dem riots in Wilmin'ton he's bin er getin'
telegraphs an' sarchin' trains, an' insultin' women an' killin' col'd
mens. An' I jes' slied erroun' tell I hear what that telegraph say. Hit
say, look out fer Silkirk. Thar's er gang of crackers waitin' ter kill
you as sho es yo' er bo'n; but Bob Jones is goin' ter cheat um dis time.
Go on thar!" "God moves in a mysterious way," murmured the minister,
slowly. "You'll bet he does. Come, gal, pick um up an' put um down;
thar's no time ter be los'. Gwine ter take yer cross de country here,
an' put yer on er frate train, an' dat train gwine take yer to Norfolk,
for yo' sholy ain't safe on dat coas' line road. Dis is what we call
throwin' de houn's off de scent. Pure Nigger cunnin', here me? Git up,
Nell."
It was near the midnight hour when the horse, panting for breath, paused
at a lonely rickety old station. The men alighted. "Hit's jes' twenty
minutes pas' eleven," said Bob Jones glancing at his watch. "Now that
train's comin' long here in er few minutes. Jes' git er board an' treat
de Cap'n right, an' he'll put yer through." "God bless you and all of
yours," said the minister, gratefully. "My people in Wilmington and
Boston must know of you and what you have done for me to-night." "Dat's
all right, parson, keep de change. Ise jes' doin' my duty, that's all.
We should feel each other's keer, an' bear each other's cross, says de
good word. Dar's de train now!" The old freight train panted slowly up
and stopped to look for freight. The Rev. Hiland Silkirk, with tears of
gratitude in his eyes, got aboard, and the triumphant Jehu turned his
horse and started homeward.
"Well done, good and faithful servant, forasmuch as you have done good
unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me."