In the month of May, 1871, an intelligent mulatto--in whose veins flowed
the blood of some ardent advocate of the _white_ man's race,
unquestionably judging from his light color--whose name was William
Washington, resided in a small shanty or cabin, about two miles and a-half
from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Washington had been a slave in the early part of
his life, and was one of those unfortunates who chafed under the abuses
and the yoke that held him in servitude to a "master."
He was high-spirited, and had learned to read and write before the
Emancipation Proclamation had given him freedom, to act upon his own
volition, untrammelled by his nominal "owner." Upon becoming a freeman, he
left Montgomery County, Ala., near which place he had been reared, and
settled in the vicinity of Tuscaloosa.
He was quiet in his deportment, orderly and well disposed. He had given
general satisfaction to all who had employed him. But in the early part of
the year 1870, it began to be observed that Washington was actively
exerting an influence over the negroes in the vicinity, to such an extent
as to cause the Ku Klux Camp organized under Philip J. Brady, as Commander
to take the alarm.
The mulatto Washington was charged with being a Republican, of the radical
sort, with presuming to teach the negroes to read, (shocking offence?) and
of instructing them in Northern principles. This wouldn't answer, surely.
And so William was "warned" by the Camp that he must cease this kind of
practice, and leave the country at once.
He paid no heed to this warning, and a second one came, notifying him that
unless he departed within the succeeding thirty days, he should suffer
death--for "though the moon was then bright, it would turn to blood--K.
K. K." Instead of seeing this fearful summons in the light it was intended
he should, the mulatto industriously circulated the story that he went
well armed always, and was ready to die, if he must, in defence of his
principles. But that "he wouldn't run away--no how."
Matters went on thus for nearly a year. On the night of the 15th of May,
1871, Washington shut and barred his cabin door, as was his custom upon
retiring, placed his gun and a single barrelled pistol by his bedside, and
turned in, to sleep. About eleven o'clock, he was suddenly awaked by a
thumping upon the closed shutter of the only window in the hut, and upon
inquiring who was there, he recognized the voice of a friendly negro,
outside, who answered--
"Day's a pow'r o' men a comin' up der road, yender--an' yer muss look out
for yar se'f Wash'n't'n, dass a fack."
This timely and kindly warning from his friend was very gratefully
listened to by Washington, who replied that his informer must try to get
help to him, if possible. And quickly dressing himself, the former slave
awaited the assault which he now anticipated, from the look of affairs
outside, so near his hut.
The mounted band rode up very soon afterwards, and having been refused
admittance, some of them dashed in the door. Washington was a powerful
man, well built and very muscular--while his self-possession was always
remarkable, when in peril. The interior of the shanty being quite dark, he
crouched down in one corner, and fired upon his assailants with the pistol
first and then immediately discharged the gun. Both shots took effect, and
two of the Klan fell heavily to the floor.
Clubbing his musket, he then desperately rushed upon the enemy,
determined, if he must die, that he would sell his life as dearly as
possible; but the odds were altogether too heavy against him. The
gun-stock in his brawny hands, was shattered at the first blow struck by
his powerful arm, and then the band sprang forward and secured him, though
not without a furious struggle. He was at once taken out of the cabin, a
rope was placed about his neck, and thrown over the projecting limb of the
nearest convenient tree, from which his body was quickly dangling, a
lifeless corpse. They hung him without accusation, judge or jury, until he
was dead, dead, dead--in accordance with the terms of the bitter oath of
the Ku Klux Klan, whose victims are doomed "for opinion's sake!"
One of the gang had been mortally wounded by Washington's first shots, and
died on the following day. Two others had been seriously hurt, and one of
them was crippled for life. The body of Washington was left hanging
beneath the tree for several days after this conflict, and until the
negroes in the neighborhood gathered courage sufficient to cut it down,
and give it decent burial; which they did at night, secretly and
mournfully, for their late friend's sudden and violent death, proved an
affliction indeed to the poor creatures, towards whom he had been so kind
and clever an instructor and companion.
And thus this poor negro paid the penalty of his offence in being a
radical, and like many a one before him who had been similarly sacrificed,
"his soul goes marching on."