THE days that followed were full of interest for Kenneth and Jane.
The constitution and bylaws were drafted and approved and sent to
Atlanta to be printed by a coloured printing firm. Judge Stevenson
prepared the articles of incorporation and did the necessary legal
work, still refusing any pay for his services. Kenneth had offered
to pay him out of his own pocket, but the judge told him: "Keep your
money, Ken, I c'n wait. I'm gettin' along in years now and I've been
hopin' that this problem that's cursin' the South would be settled
befo' I passed on. But what with these damn fool Kluxers kickin' up
hell 'round here, I don't know whether I'll see it or not. Your idea
may do some good—I don't know whether it will or not—but if I c'n
help, let me know." Kenneth thanked him and had been immeasurably
encouraged by the old man's attitude.
As soon as the literature they had ordered was received, the first
meeting was called by Tucker and Tracy at Ashland. Jane and her
father drove out with Kenneth, who was to present the plan to the
group gathered. The meeting was held at a little wooden church,
whitewashed on the outside, and furnished within only with rude
benches. On the walls were one or two highly coloured lithographs of
religious subjects. The hall seated not more than two hundred and
was crowded to capacity. Even the windows were comfortably filled by
those unable to obtain a seat on the floor. The illumination was
furnished by four kerosene lamps attached to the walls, two on each
side.
Hiram Tucker acted as chairman, while Tom Tracy took minutes of the
meeting. After a preliminary announcement of the purpose of the
gathering by the chairman, Kenneth was called upon to outline the
plan that had been proposed. At the outset, having had no experience
as a public speaker, he stumbled and faltered and knew not what to
do with his hands. After a few minutes he jammed them into the side
pockets of his coat and, warming to his subject, swung into a clear,
forceful, and convincing recital of the purpose and possibilities of
the co-operative societies. His enthusiasm became infectious. His
audience began to share his zeal. Humble and lowly folks, their
vision limited by the life they led, they had the feeling, as
Kenneth talked on, of having been face to face with a blank wall of
immeasurable height and impenetrable thickness. Under the spell of
his words they seemed to see the miraculous opening of a door in
this wall. Hope, which had been crushed to earth year after year by
disappointing settlements for their labour, began to mount.
As for Kenneth, he had forgotten his self-imposed inhibitions and
prohibitions. Gone was the hesitation and doubt. He had seen a light
where he had thought there was no light. His voice rang true and
firm, and there was a look of eager earnestness on his face as the
pale, flickering light from the oil lamps illumined it.
He finished with a flourish so dear to the hearts of coloured
audiences. It was what the old-style coloured preacher used to call
"de 'rousements."
"You husbands and sons and brothers, three years ago you were called
on to fight for liberty and justice and democracy! Are you getting
it?" He was answered by a rousing "No!" "What are you going to do
about it?" he demanded. "Single-handed, you can do nothing!
Organized, you can strike a blow for freedom, not only for
yourselves but for countless generations of coloured children yet
unborn! No race in all history has ever had its liberties and rights
handed to it on a silver platter—such rights can come only when men
are willing to struggle and sacrifice and work and die, if need be,
to obtain them! I call on you here to-night to join in this movement
which shall in time strike from our hands and feet the shackles
which bind them, that we may move on as a race together to that
greater freedom which we have so long desired and which so long has
been denied us! Only slaves and cowards whine and beg! Men and women
stand true and firm and struggle onwards and upwards until they
reach their goal!" He paused impressively while the audience sat
mute. He looked over the assemblage for a full minute and then
demanded in a ringing voice: "What do you choose to be slaves or
men?"
He sat down. A salvo of applause greeted him. A Daniel had arisen to
lead them! Kenneth took on a new importance and affection in the
eyes and minds of his hearers. He had heard their Macedonian cry and
answered it.
As he mopped his brow, Kenneth felt that he had made a good
beginning, although he was a bit ashamed of having made so direct an
appeal at the end to emotion instead of to reason. At the same time
he knew that it had been necessary. "'Rousements" were absolutely
essential to awaken the response needed to get the co-operative
societies under way. Without them his humble audience might not have
been aroused to the point of action that was so necessary.
Following Kenneth, Mr. Wilson made a stirring appeal to the crowd to
come forward and give their names if they wanted to join the newly
formed society. Those who had the money were urged to join at once.
At first, only a few came forward. Then they came in numbers until
around the table at which sat Secretary Tracy there was an excited,
chattering, milling throng.
After the meeting Mr. Phillips accepted Mr. Wilson's invitation to
ride home in his car. Kenneth did not object—it enabled him to be
alone with Jane. They talked of the meeting as they walked to the
car. Jane gave Kenneth's hand a faint squeeze. "Oh, Kenneth, you
were splendid!" she declared.
It was a perfect night—one created for making love. A soft light
filtered through the leaves of the trees, casting a lace-like shadow
on the earth. The air was soft and languorous, as it can be only on
a spring evening in the South, as soft and caressing as the touch of
a baby's hands. From near at hand came the mingled odour of
honeysuckle and cape jasmine and magnolia blossoms and roses. The
world seemed at peace. No sound disturbed the air save the
chattering and singing of a mockingbird, as lovely as the sob of
velvety, full-throated violins, and the voices, growing fainter and
fainter, of the crowd leaving the now deserted church. It would have
taken a much stronger man than Kenneth to resist the spell of so
perfect an evening. He was not mawkishly sentimental—rather he
detested the moon-calfish type of man who rolled his eyes and
whispered empty, silly compliments in the ear of whatever girl he
met. On the other hand, he was amazingly ignorant of women. As a
youngster he had been exceedingly chary of the little girls of the
neighbourhood, preferring to spend his time playing baseball or
shooting marbles. This shyness had never entirely left him. From his
youth on he had had but one strong passion in his life that passion
had possessed his every thought and in it was centred his every
ambition—his desire and determination to become a great surgeon. His
one serious venture into the realm of love-making had been the
affair with the girl in New York, but that had not taken a strong
enough hold upon him to leave much of a mark. So rapidly had it
begun and ended that he had had in it little experience in the great
American sport of "petting." It was thus easy for him to fall head
over heels in love with Jane, for she was, in fact, the first girl
in his life outside of his sister who had come into his life in more
than a casual way.
Jane, on the other hand, had, innocently enough, flirted as every
pretty girl (and many who are not pretty) will do. She appreciated
Kenneth's fine qualities: he was capable, industrious, and handsome
in a way. He annoyed her at times by his almost bovine stupidity in
expressing his love. She naturally liked the idea of having the love
of a man who is naïve, who has not run the whole gamut of emotions
in affairs with other girls; yet, also naturally enough, she did
expect him to have at least some _savoir faire_, to be able to win
her with some degree of the finesse that every girl wants and
expects. She resented his business-like matter-of-factness in
seeking her—as coldly calculating, it seemed to her, as though he
were operating on one of his patients. In this she was doing him an
injustice. Underneath his surface placidity Kenneth's love had
become a raging flame—he cursed the shell of professional dignity
which had crossed over and become a part of himself.
Thus they walked through the soft spring air, she wishing he would
do that which he in his ignorance felt would be the unwisest thing
he could attempt. Thus is life made up of paradoxical situations
where a word, a look, an otherwise insignificant gesture, would
clear away at one fell swoop mountainous clouds of doubt and
misunderstanding.
Jane stood, one foot on the ground, the other on the step, her hand
resting on the opened door of the car. A faintly provocative smile
flitted over her face. Kenneth longed to seize this elusive,
seductive girl in his arms, press her close to him, and tell her of
his love. She wanted him to. Instead he steeled himself against
yielding to the impulse that almost overcame him, and helped her
with complete decorum into the car. …
They did not say much on the way home. Jane bade him good night, he
thought somewhat coldly—as though she were vexed. He told her he was
leaving the next morning for Atlanta to operate on Mrs. Tucker. She
made no comment. He wondered as he drove home what he had done to
offend her. …
As he neared the house, he suddenly remembered that he had promised
to look in on old Mrs. Amos, whose "rheumatics" had been giving her
considerable pain. It was charity work, as she would never be able
to pay him. She had sent for him several times during the day, but
he had been kept so busy he had had no time to go. He was annoyed at
himself for promising to call to see the quarrelsome old woman who
was far more dictatorial and exacting than most of the patients who
paid him promptly. With a muttered imprecation at being bothered
with her just after his annoying experience with Jane and her
inexplicable behaviour, he drove through the darkened streets to
Mrs. Amos' home. He found her sitting in a creaky rocking-chair. She
began immediately to pour maledictions on his head for neglecting
her all day. He answered her shortly, gave her her medicine, and
left.
Carefully guiding the car through the gullies and holes in the
unpaved street, he set out for home. Nearing the corner of Harris
and State Streets, he heard a sound as of several automobiles. He
looked down Harris Street just in time to see three closed cars stop
suddenly at the corner. From one of them two white-robed figures
descended, lifting a large, black bundle that seemed exceedingly
heavy. This done, the figures jumped hurriedly into the car, and it
with the other two speeded away in the direction from which they had
come.
Kenneth, his curiosity aroused, turned his car around and drove to
the spot to see what was going on. As he slowed his car at the
corner, a muffled groan came from the object lying there in the
street. Hastily getting down, he turned it over and in the
half-light found it to be the body of a human being. His hands felt
sticky. Holding them close to his face, he found them smeared with
tar.
He got from his car a small flashlight. Going back to the inert
mass, he turned the ray of light on the body and found it to be that
of a naked woman, covered with tar yet warm to the touch. Between
the dabs of the sticky mess on the woman's back were long welts,
some of them bleeding, as though a heavy-thonged whip had been
applied with great force. The hair was dishevelled and in its
strands were bits of the melted tar. Kenneth experienced a feeling
of nausea at the revolting sight. The woman lay on her face. From
her mouth and nose there ran a stream of blood which already was
forming a little pool beneath her face that became bloody mud as it
mixed with the dust in the road. Seizing her by her left shoulder,
Kenneth half raised the body and turned his flashlight on the
woman's face. It was Nancy Ware, the wife of the Negro killed by
George Parker. Half carrying, half dragging the limp form, Kenneth
managed in some fashion to get Nancy to her own home a few doors
away. The door stood open as though Nancy had left it for a minute
to call on one of her neighbours. On the table in the front room,
there stood a lamp yet burning, the chimney blackened with the soot
caused by the wind blowing upon it. Beside the lamp lay a garment on
which Nancy had been sewing.
Kenneth placed her on the bed and hurried next door to summon help.
His efforts were unsuccessful. He pounded on the door with both
fists, calling out in his excitement to the occupants to open up.
After what seemed an infinite delay, a window to the left of the
door cautiously opened and an inquiring voice wanted to know what
was the matter. Seeing who it was, the owner of the voice
disappeared and a minute later opened the door. Kenneth hastily told
what had happened, brushing aside a muttered excuse that the delay
in answering was due to the fact that "I didn' know but whut you
might ‘a' been the p'lice."
On going back to Nancy's cottage, Kenneth gave her a restorative and
endeavoured to relieve her suffering. She began to revive after a
few minutes. In the meantime the neighbours called by Kenneth
arrived, and they removed as much as they could of the tar from
Nancy's body. Kenneth then examined her back, finding it covered
with long and ugly gashes that bled profusedly. He dressed them and
Nancy was arranged as comfortably as possible. He found himself so
tired after the hard work and excitement of the day and evening that
he was almost ready to drop in his tracks. At the same time he had
an uncontrollable desire to find out just what had happened to Nancy
Ware. He was almost certain the Ku Klux Klan had done it, but he
wanted to hear the story from Nancy's own lips. The neighbours had
gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, elderly woman who had
volunteered to remain with Nancy until morning.
After the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she
began to show signs of returning consciousness. Kenneth watched her
eagerly. Five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. She gave a low
moan—almost a whimper. Suddenly she cried out in the terror of
delirium: "Doan let ‘em whip me no mo'! Doan let 'em whip me no
mo?!" and writhed in her agony. She struggled to arise but Kenneth,
sitting by the side of the bed, managed with the aid of the other
woman to restrain Nancy and calm her. Afterwards she became more
rational. Her eyes opened. In them was a gleam of recognition of
Kenneth and he knew she was regaining consciousness.
Another wait. Then, at Kenneth's questioning, she began to tell what
had happened. For weeks he had thought but little of her and the
tragedy that had taken place in this same house, other events having
crowded it out of his mind.
"Doc, you won't let 'em get me again, will you?" she pleaded with a
whimper like a child's. Kenneth assured her he wouldn't.
"Doc, I ain't done nuthin' t' them Kluxers. Hones' t' Gawd, I
ain't." Kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn't.
"I was jes' sittin' here tendin' to my own business when dey come a
rap on de do'. W'en I open de do', dere wuz two o; dem Kluxers
standin' dere—befo' I could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my
mouf." A shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to
her at the memory of what she had been through.
"Dey put me in a automobile and ca'ied me way out yonder in de woods
by de fact'ry. Dey pull all my clo'es off me and den dey whip me
till I couldn' stan' up no mo'. Den dey tell me I been talkin' too
much. Doc, I ain't said a word t' nobdy ‘cept dat dey oughter do
somethin't that man George Parker for killin' my man Bud. … Den dey
po'ed tar all over me and kick me and spit on me some mo'. … Said I
oughter had mo' sense dan t' talk 'bout no white gemmen.
Oh—oh—oh—ain't dey nothin' to he'p us po' cullud fo'ks—ain't dey
nobody—ain't dey nobody?"
It was just as Kenneth had suspected. Good God, and these were the
self-elected defenders of morals in the South! What if Nancy wasn't
all that she should have been?—whose was the greater fault—hers or
George Parker's? He could see him now in the bank—smug, a
hypocritical smile on his face, talking about what the white people
have got to do to stop these troublesome "niggers" from getting too
cheeky—about protecting "pure" Southern womanhood from attacks by
"black, burly brutes." And the Klan with all its boasted and
advertised chivalry—twenty or thirty strong men to beat up and
maltreat one lone woman, because she "talked too much" about the
brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! Kenneth's optimism over
the organization of the cooperative societies began to cool—in its
stead there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage
against the men who had done this deed to Nancy Ware. God, but he
would have given anything he owned to get them all together and kill
them one by one—slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! The
damned, cowardly devils! The filthy, smug-faced hypocrites!
Nancy was resting easily Kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger,
more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl
silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this
deed—impotent because his skin was black and he lived in the
South—went home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night
which remained before he took the train to Atlanta.