+ A DEAF EAR TO THE PITYING CRIES+
of the black wretch and the drubbing continued. The cries subsided into
moans, and soon the black swooned away into unconsciousness. Still not
content with their heartless work, they pulled the Negro out and kicked
him into the gutter. For the time those who had beaten the black seemed
satisfied and left him groaning in the gutter, but others came up, and,
regretting that they had not had a hand in the affair, they determined
to evidence their bravery to their fellows and beat the man while he was
in the gutter, hurling rocks and stones at his black form. One
thoughtless white brute, worse even than the black slayer of the police
officers, thought to make himself a hero in the eyes of his fellows and
fired his revolver repeatedly into the helpless wretch. It was dark and
the fellow probably aimed carelessly. After firing three or four shots
he also left without knowing what extent of injury he inflicted on the
black wretch who was left lying in the gutter.
+MURDER ON THE LEVEE+
One part of the crowd made a raid on the tenderloin district, hoping to
find there some belated Negro for a sacrifice. They were urged on by the
white prostitutes, who applauded their murderous mission. Says an account:
The red light district was all excitement. Women--that is, the white
women--were out on their stoops and peeping over their galleries and
through their windows and doors, shouting to the crowd to go on with
their work, and kill Negroes for them.
"Our best wishes, boys," they encouraged; and the mob answered with
shouts, and whenever a Negro house was sighted a bombardment was started
on the doors and windows.
No colored men were found on the streets until the mob reached Custom
House Place and Villiers Streets. Here a victim was found and brutally put
to death. The _Picayune_ description is as follows:
Some stragglers had run a Negro into a car at the corner of Bienville
and Villere Streets. He was seeking refuge in the conveyance, and he
believed that the car would not be stopped and could speed along. But
the mob determined to stop the car, and ordered the motorman to halt. He
put on his brake. Some white men were in the car.
"Get out, fellows," shouted several of the mob.
"All whites fall out," was the second cry, and the poor Negro understood
that it was meant that he should stay in the car.
He wanted to save his life. The poor fellow crawled under the seats. But
some one in the crowd saw him and yelled that he was hiding. Two or
three men climbed through the windows with their pistols; others jumped
over the motorman's board, and dozens tumbled into the rear of the car.
Big, strong hands got the Negro by the shirt. He was dragged out of the
conveyance, and was pushed to the street. Some fellow ran up and struck
him with a club. The blow was heavy, but it did not fell him, and the
Negro ran toward Canal Street, stealing along the wall of the Tulane
Medical Building. Fifty men ran after him, caught the poor fellow and
hurried him back into the crowd. Fists were aimed at him, then clubs
went upon his shoulders, and finally the black plunged into the gutter.
A gun was fired, and the Negro, who had just gotten to his feet, dropped
again. He tried to get up, but a volley was sent after him, and in a
little while he was dead.
The crowd looked on at the terrible work. Then the lights in the houses
of ill-fame began to light up again, and women peeped out of the blinds.
The motorman was given the order to go on. The gong clanged and the
conveyance sped out of the way. For half an hour the crowd held their
place at the corner, then the patrol wagon came and the body was picked
up and hurried to the morgue.
Coroner Richard held an autopsy on the body of the Negro who was forced
out of car 98 of the Villere line and shot down. It was found that he
was wounded four times, the most serious wound being that which struck
him in the right side, passing through the lungs, and causing
hemorrhages, which brought about death.
Nobody tried to identify the poor fellow and his name is unknown.
+A VICTIM IN THE MARKET+
Soon after the murder of the man on the street car many of the same mob
marched down to the market place. There they found a colored market man
named Louis Taylor, who had gone to begin his early morning's work. He was
at once set upon by the mob and killed. The _Picayune_ account says:
Between 1 and 2 o'clock this morning a mob of several hundred men and
boys, made up of participants in many of the earlier affairs, marched on
the French Market. Louis Taylor, a Negro vegetable carrier, who is about
thirty years of age, was sitting at the soda water stand. As soon as the
mob saw him fire was opened and the Negro took to his heels. He ran
directly into another section of the mob and any number of shots were
fired at him. He fell, face down, on the floor of the market.
The police in the neighborhood rallied hurriedly and found the victim of
mob violence seemingly lifeless. Before they arrived the Negro had been
beaten severely about the head and body. The ambulance was summoned and
Taylor was carried to the charity hospital, where it was found that he
had been shot through the abdomen and arm. The examination was a hurried
one, but it sufficed to show that Taylor was mortally wounded.
After shooting Taylor the members of the mob were pluming themselves on
their exploit. "The Nigger was at the soda water stand and we commenced
shooting him," said one of the rioters. "He put his hands up and ran,
and we shot until he fell. I understand that he is still alive. If he
is, he is a wonder. He was certainly shot enough to be killed."
The members of the mob readily admitted that they had taken part in the
assaults which marked the earlier part of the evening.
"We were up on Jackson Avenue and killed a Nigger on Villere Street. We
came down here, saw a nigger and killed him, too." This was the way they
told the story.
"Boys, we are out of ammunition," said someone.
"Well, we will keep on like we are, and if we can't get some before
morning, we will take it. We have got to keep this thing up, now we have
started."
This declaration was greeted by a chorus of applauding yells, and the
crowd started up the levee. Half of the men in the crowd, and they were
all of them young, were drunk.
Taylor, when seen at the charity hospital, was suffering greatly, and
presented a pitiable spectacle. His clothing was covered with blood, and
his face was beaten almost into a pulp. He said that he had gone to the
market to work and was quietly sitting down when the mob came and began
to fire on him. He was not aware at first that the crowd was after him.
When he saw its purpose he tried to run, but fell. He didn't know any of
the men in the crowd. There is hardly a chance that Taylor will recover.
The police told the crowd to move on, but no attempt was made to arrest
anyone.
+A GRAY-HAIRED VICTIM+
The bloodthirsty barbarians, having tasted blood, continued their hunt and
soon ran across an old man of seventy-five years. His life had been spent
in hard work about the French market, and he was well known as an
unoffending, peaceable and industrious old man.
But that made no difference to the mob. He was a Negro, and with a
fiendishness that was worse than that of cannibals they beat his life out.
The report says:
There was another gang of men parading the streets in the lower part of
the city, looking for any stray Negro who might be on the streets. As
they neared the corner of Dauphine and Kerlerec, a square below
Esplanade Avenue, they came upon Baptiste Thilo, an aged Negro, who
works in the French Market.
Thilo for years has been employed by the butchers and fish merchants to
carry baskets from the stalls to the wagons, and unload the wagons as
they arrive in the morning. He was on his way to the market, when the
mob came upon him. One of the gang struck the old Negro, and as he fell,
another in the crowd, supposed to be a young fellow, fired a shot. The
bullet entered the body just below the right nipple.
As the Negro fell the crowd looked into his face and they discovered
then that the victim was very old. The young man who did the shooting
said: "Oh, he is an old Negro. I'm sorry that I shot him."
This is all the old Negro received in the way of consolation.
He was left where he fell, but later staggered to his feet and made his
way to the third precinct station. There the police summoned the
ambulance and the students pronounced the wound very dangerous. He was
carried to the hospital as rapidly as possible.
There was no arrest.
Just before daybreak the mob found another victim. He, too, was on his way
to market, driving a meat wagon. But little is told of his treatment,
nothing more than the following brief statement:
At nearly 3 o'clock this morning a report was sent to the Third Precinct
station that a Negro was lying on the sidewalk at the corner of Decatur
and St. Philip. The man had been pulled off of a meat wagon and riddled
with bullets.
When the police arrived he was insensible and apparently dying. The
ambulance students attended the Negro and pronounced the wounds fatal.
There was nothing found which would lead to the discovery of his
identity.
+FUN IN GRETNA+
If there are any persons so deluded as to think that human life in the
South is valued any more than the life of a brute, he will be speedily
undeceived by reading the accounts of unspeakable barbarism committed by
the mob in and around New Orleans. In no other civilized country in the
world, nay, more, in no land of barbarians would it be possible to
duplicate the scenes of brutality that are reported from New Orleans. In
the heat of blind fury one might conceive how a mad mob might beat and
kill a man taken red-handed in a brutal murder. But it is almost past
belief to read that civilized white people, men who boast of their
chivalry and blue blood, actually had fun in beating, chasing and shooting
men who had no possible connection with any crime.
But this actually happened in Gretna, a few miles from New Orleans. In its
description of the scenes of Tuesday night, the _Picayune_ mentions the
brutal chase of several colored men whom the mob sought to kill. In the
instances mentioned, the paper said:
Gretna had its full share of excitement between 8 and 11 o'clock last
night, in connection with a report that spread through the town that a
Negro resembling the slayer of Police Captain Day, of New Orleans, had
been seen on the outskirts of the place.
It is true that a suspicious-looking Negro was observed by the residents
of Madison and Amelia Streets lurking about the fences of that
neighborhood just after dark, and shortly before 8 o'clock John Fist, a
young white man, saw the Negro on Fourth Street. He followed the darkey
a short distance, and, coming upon Robert Moore, who is known about town
as the "black detective," Fist pointed the Negro out and Moore at once
made a move toward the stranger. The latter observed Moore making in his
direction, and, without a word, he sped in the direction of the Brooklyn
pasture, Moore following and firing several shots at him. In a few
minutes a half hundred white men, including Chief of Police Miller,
Constable Dannenhauer, Patrolman Keegan and several special officers,
all well-armed, joined in the chase, but in the darkness the Negro
escaped.
Just as the pursuing party reached town again, two of the residents of
Lafayette Avenue, Peter Leson and Robert Henning, reported that they had
just chased and shot at a Negro, who had been seen in the yard of the
former's house. They were positive the Negro had not escaped from the
square. Their report was enough to set the appetite of the crowd on
edge, and the square was quickly surrounded, while several dozens of
men, armed with lanterns and revolvers, made a search of every yard and
under every house in the square. No Negro was found.
The crowd of armed men was constantly swelling, and at 10 o'clock it had
reached the proportions of a small army. At 10:30 o'clock an outbound
freight train is due to pass through Gretna on the Texas and Pacific
Road, and the crowd, believing that Captain Day's slayer might be aboard
one of the cars attempting to leave the scene of his crime, resolved to
inspect the train. As the train stopped at the Madison Street crossing
the engineer was requested to pull very slowly through the town, in
order that the trucks of the cars might be examined. There was a string
of armed men on each side of the railroad track and in a few moments a
Negro was espied riding between two cars. A half dozen weapons were
pointed at him and he was ordered to come out. He sprang out with
alacrity and was pounced upon almost before he reached the ground.
Robert Moore grabbed him and pushed an ugly-looking Derringer under his
nose and the Negro threw up both hands. Constable Dannenhauer and
Patrolman Keegan took charge of him and hustled him off to jail, where
he was locked up. The Negro does not at all resemble Robert Charles, but
it was best for his sake that he was placed under lock and key. The
crowd was not in a humor to let any Negro pass muster last night. The
prisoner gave his name as Luke Wallace.
But now came the real excitement. The train had slowed down almost to a
standstill, in the very heart of town. Somebody shouted: "There he goes,
on top of the train!" And sure enough, somebody was going. It was a
Negro, too, and he was making a bee-line for the front end of the train.
A veritable shower of bullets, shot and rifle balls greeted the flying
form, but on it sped. The locomotive had stopped in the middle of the
square between La voisier and Newton Streets, and the Negro, flying with
the speed of the wind along the top of the cars, reached the first car
of the train and jumped to the tender and then into the cab. As he did
several white men standing at the locomotive made a rush into the cab.
The Negro sprang swiftly out of the other side, on to the sidewalk. But
there were several more men, and as he realized that he was rushing
right into their arms he made a spring to leap over the fence of Mrs.
Linden's home, on the wood side of the track. Before the Negro got to
the top one white man had hold of his legs, while another rushed up,
pistol in hand. The man who was holding the darkey's legs was jostled
out of the way and the man with the pistol, standing directly beneath
the Negro, sent two bullets at him.
There was a wild scramble, and the vision of a fleeing form in the
Linden yard, but that was the last seen of the black man. The yard was
entered and searched, and neighboring yards were also searched, but not
even the trace of blood was found. It is almost impossible to believe
that the Negro was not wounded, for the man who fired at him held the
pistol almost against the Negro's body.
The shots brought out almost everybody--white--in town, and though there
was nothing to show for the exciting work, except the arrest of the
Negro, who doesn't answer the description of the man wanted, Gretna's
male population had its little fan and felt amply repaid for all the
trouble it was put to, and all the ammunition it wasted.
+BRUTALITY IN NEW ORLEANS+
Mob rule reigned supreme Wednesday, and the scenes that were enacted
challenge belief. How many colored men and women were abused and injured
is not known, for those who escaped were glad to make a place of refuge
and took no time to publish their troubles. The mob made no attempt to
find Charles; its only purpose was to pursue, beat and kill any colored
man or woman who happened to come in sight. Speaking editorially, the
_Picayune_ of Thursday, the twenty-sixth of July, said:
+ESCAPED WITH THEIR LIVES+
At the Charity Hospital Wednesday night more than a score of people were
treated for wounds received at the hands of the mob. Some were able to
tell of their mistreatment, and their recitals are briefly given in the
_Picayune_ as follows:
Alex. Ruffin, who is quite seriously injured, is a Pullman car porter, a
native of Chicago. He reached New Orleans at 9:20 o'clock last night,
and after finishing his work, boarded a Henry Clay Avenue car to go to
Delachaise Street, where he has a sick son.
"I hadn't ridden any way," said he, "when I saw a lot of white folks.
They were shouting to 'Get the Niggers.' I didn't know they were after
every colored man they saw, and sat still. Two or three men jumped on
the car and started at me. One of them hit me over the head with a
slungshot, and they started to shooting at me. I jumped out of the car
and ran, although I had done nothing. They shot me in the arm and in the
leg. I would certainly have been killed had not some gentleman taken my
part. If I had known New Orleans was so excited I would never have left
my car."
George Morris is the name of a Negro who was badly injured by a mob
which went through the Poydras Market. Morris is employed as watchman
there. He heard the noise of the passing crowd and looked out to see
what the matter was. As soon as the mob saw him its members started
after him.
"One man hit me over the head with a club," said George, after his
wounds had been dressed, "and somebody cut me in the back. I didn't
hardly think what was the matter at first, but when I saw they were
after me I ran for my life. I ran to the coffee stand, where I work, for
protection, but they were right after me, and somebody shot me in the
back. At last the police got me away from the crowd. Just before I was
hit a friend of mine, who was in the crowd, said, 'You had better go
home, Nigger; they're after your kind.' I didn't know then what he
meant. I found out pretty quick."
Morris is at the hospital. He is a perfect wreck, and while he will
probably get well, he will have had a close call.
Esther Fields is a Negro washerwoman who lives at South Claiborne and
Toledano Streets. She was at home when she heard a big noise and went
out to investigate. She ran into the arms of the mob, and was beaten
into insensibility in less time than it takes to tell it. Esther is
being treated at the charity hospital, and should be able to get about
in a few days. The majority of her bruises are about the head.
T.P. Sanders fell at the hands of the Jackson Avenue mob. He lives at
1927 Jackson Avenue, and was sitting in front of his home when he saw
the crowd marching out the street. He stayed to see what the excitement
was all about, and was shot in the knee and thorax and horribly beaten
about the head before the mob came to the conclusion that he had been
done for, and passed on. The ambulance was called and he was picked up
and carried to the charity hospital, where his wounds were dressed and
pronounced serious.
Oswald McMahon is nothing more than a boy. He was shot in the leg and
afterward carried to the hospital. His injuries are very slight.
Dan White is another charity hospital patient. He is a Negro roustabout
and was sitting in the bar room at Poydras and Franklin Streets when a
mob passed along and espied him. He was shot in the hand, and would have
been roughly dealt with had some policeman not been luckily near and
rescued him.
In addition to the Negroes who suffered from the violence of the mob
there were several patients treated at the hospital during the night who
had been with the rioters and had been struck by stray bullets or
injured in scuffles. None of this class were hurt to any extent. They
got their wounds dressed and went out again.
+WAS CHARLES A DESPERADO?+
The press of the country has united in declaring that Robert Charles was a
desperado. As usual, when dealing with a negro, he is assumed to be guilty
because he is charged. Even the most conservative of journals refuse to
ask evidence to prove that the dead man was a criminal, and that his life
had been given over to lawbreaking. The minute that the news was flashed
across the country that he had shot a white man it was at once declared
that he was a fiend incarnate, and that when he was killed the community
would be ridden of a black-hearted desperado. The reporters of the New
Orleans papers, who were in the best position to trace the record of this
man's life, made every possible effort to find evidence to prove that he
was a villain unhung. With all the resources at their command, and
inspired by intense interest to paint him as black a villain as possible,
these reporters signally failed to disclose a single indictment which
charged Robert Charles with a crime. Because they failed to find any legal
evidence that Charles was a lawbreaker and desperado his accusers gave
full license to their imagination and distorted the facts that they had
obtained, in every way possible, to prove a course of criminality, which
the records absolutely refuse to show.
Charles had his first encounter with the police Monday night, in which he
was shot in the street duel which was begun by the police after Officer
Mora had beaten Charles three or four times over the head with his billy
in an attempt to make an illegal arrest. In defending himself against the
combined attack of two officers with a billy and their guns upon him,
Charles shot Officer Mora and escaped.
Early Tuesday morning Charles was traced to Dryades Street by officers who
were instructed to kill him on sight. There, again defending himself, he
shot and killed two officers. This, of course, in the eyes of the American
press, made him a desperado. The New Orleans press, in substantiating the
charges that he was a desperado, make statements which will be interesting
to examine.
In the first place the _New Orleans Times-Democrat_, of July 25, calls
Charles a "ravisher and a daredevil." It says that from all sources that
could be searched "the testimony was cumulative that the character of the
murderer, Robert Charles, is that of a daredevil and a fiend in human
form." Then in the same article it says:
The belongings of Robert Charles which were found in his room were a
complete index to the character of the man. Although the room and its
contents were in a state of chaos on account of the frenzied search for
clews by officers and citizens, an examination of his personal effects
revealed the mental state of the murderer and the rancor in his heart
toward the Caucasian race. Never was the adage, "A little learning is a
dangerous thing," better exemplified than in the case of the negro who
shot to death the two officers.
His room was searched, and the evidence upon which the charge that he was
a desperado consisted of pamphlets in support of Negro emigration to
Liberia. On his mantel-piece there was found a bullet mold and an outfit
for reloading cartridges. There were also two pistol scabbards and a
bottle of cocaine. The other evidences that Charles was a desperado the
writer described as follows:
In his room were found negro periodicals and other "race" propaganda,
most of which was in the interest of the negro's emigration to Liberia.
There were Police Gazettes strewn about his room and other papers of a
similar character. Well-worn textbooks, bearing his name written in his
own scrawling handwriting, and well-filled copybooks found in his trunk
showed that he had burnt the midnight oil, and was desirous of improving
himself intellectually in order that he might conquer the hated white
race. Much of the literature found among his chattels was of a
superlatively vituperative character, and attacked the white race in
unstinted language and asserted the equal rights of the Negro.
Charles was evidently the local agent of the _Voice of Missions_, a
"religious" paper, published at Atlanta, as great bundles of that sheet
were found. It is edited by one Bishop Turner, and seems to be the
official organ of all haters of the white race. Its editorials are
anarchistic in the extreme, and urge upon the negro that the sooner he
realizes that he is as good as the white man the better it will be for
him. The following verses were clipped from the journal; they were
marked "till forbidden," and appeared in several successive numbers: