_Planning To Act._
On the morning following the Maulville tragedy, before Ensal was out of
bed Earl was tugging viciously at his door bell. Recognizing the note of
distress in the clang of the bell, Ensal arose, quickly attired himself
and hurried to the door.
"Oh, it is my good friend, Earl. Glad--"
Ensal stopped short in the midst of his cordial greeting, so struck was
he by that look on Earl's face that said plainly that some overmastering
purpose had full charge of the man.
"Walk back," said Ensal, in a more subdued manner, leading the way to
his room and steadying himself to meet some grave crisis which Earl's
demeanor plainly told him was at hand.
"And what may I do for my friend?" asked Ensal soothingly, when the two
had taken seats facing each other.
Earl placed an elbow on his knee, using his hand as a rest for his
throbbing temples. Turning his eyes full in the direction of Ensal, as
if searching for the very bottom of the latter's soul, he said,
"Have you read the morning paper?"
"No," replied Ensal.
"Read," said Earl, taking a paper from his pocket and handing it to
Ensal.
"My God! This cannot be true!" exclaimed Ensal in tones of horror, as he
read the detailed account of the Maulville burning. He arose and strode
to and fro across the room.
"Never in all my wide range of reading have I ever come across a more
reprehensible occurrence," muttered he.
"Listen," said Earl, in the tone of one having more to add.
Ensal paused in his walking and unconsciously lifted his hand as though
to ward off a blow.
"The man and his wife who were burned at the stake were Bud and
Foresta."
"What! Our Bud! Laughing, innocent, whole-souled Foresta!" almost
shouted Ensal, the horror, through the personal element brought into the
matter, now doubling its force.
"Poor Mrs. Crump! Poor Negro womanhood! Crucified at the stake, while we
men play the part of women, for, what can we do?" said Ensal, looking at
Earl, tears of pity for his people welling up in his eyes and stealing
their way down his noble face.
"This is at once the saddest and the sweetest moment of all my life,"
said Earl, rising. Continuing, he said:
"The fact that a race that lashes itself into a fury and cries aloud for
the sympathy of the outside world if a Negro casts a look of respectful
admiration in the direction of a white woman, finds no limit to what it
will do to the women of our race, fills my cup of humiliation to the
brim. But I find a measure of compensation in the fact that you, dear
Ensal, the arch-conservative, have at last been stirred to action."
Earl now paused to give emphasis to what he was to say next.
"Ensal, the Christ has bidden you, you say, to preach his Gospel to
every creature. If the white people of the South permitted you to preach
the Gospel to them, you would have some basis for the hope that you
would be contributing your due share to the work of altering these
untoward conditions. Since they deny you your way of reaching them, come
and go our way," said Earl.
"Have you at last found a plan of escape from our awful condition that
commends itself to your sober judgment, Earl?" asked Ensal, looking his
friend earnestly in the face.
"I have" said Earl.
"Earl, come back to-night. My spirit is tired, tired. Give me the day
for the finding of my truer self. I doubt whether the elements which
this terrible shock has brought to the surface can be trusted to pass
sanely upon matters of such vast importance."
Earl accepted the suggestion and departed.
During that day the two busiest brains in all the world, perhaps, were
the brains of these two Negroes: Earl, arranging for the successful
carrying out of his plans, and Ensal fortifying himself for events which
he knew would largely affect the destiny of his people. He knew not the
details nor even the direction of Earl's plans, but he knew that Earl
was every inch a soldier and that the blood of some of the mightiest
captains of the English speaking people was coursing through his veins.