by Jack Thorne
CHAPTER XII.
The Massacre.
The five days prior to the massacre Wilmington was the scene of turmoil,of bickerings between the factions in the political struggle; "RedShirts" and "Rough Riders" had paraded, and for two or three daysCaptain Keen had been displaying his gatling gun, testing its efficiencyas a deadly weapon before the Negroes.
All of these demonstrations had taken place to convince the Negro thatto try to exercise his right as an elector would have a disastrousresult. Upon the conservative and peace-loving these things had thedesired effect. But the bolder ones showed a rugged front, and onelection day hung about the polls and insisted upon exercising theirrights as citizens, and many clashings were the results. But the majorportion of black electors stayed at home in hope that the bloodshedwhich hot-headed Democrats had been clamoring for as the only means ofcarrying the election might be averted. When the sun set upon the littlecity on the 9th of November there seemed to be a rift in the storm cloudthat had for so many weeks hung over it, and the city had apparentlyresumed its wonted quiet. Far out on Dry Pond, in the old "Wigwam" agang of men had met, who ere the sun should set upon another day wouldmake Wilmington the scene of a tragedy astonishing to the State and tothe nation. They had gathered to await the signal to begin; they hadgood rifles and a plentiful supply of ammunition, and their tetheredsteeds standing about the old "Wigwam" were pawing and neighing for thefray. The clock in the old Presbyterian Church on Orange street dismallytolled out the hour of three. Teck Pervis arose, yawned, walked up andthen down the floor among the men who lay asleep with their weaponsbeside them. He made a deep, long, loud whistle; the men began to ariseone after another, and soon the room was in a bustle. Some were washingfaces, others sipping coffee as a forerunner of something hotter thatwould stimulate and give force to the spirit of deviltry that the workof the day required.
"Gentermen," said Teck Pervis, standing in the middle of the hall andholding a cup of coffee in his hand. "This is ther day thet ther whitepeople of North Ca'liny is going ter show Mr. Nigger who's ter rule inWilmin'ton, and there's ter be no drawin' back in this here bizness."Just then Dick Sands interrupted the leader by jumping out into thefloor. He shuffled, he danced, kissed his gun, threw it into the air,and twirled it between his fingers like a born drum major. "Gentermen!hit's ther happies' day I seed sence way foe ther war. This is er day Ibin er longin' fur and prayin' fur eber since ther ding Yanks cum andfreed Mr. Nigger an' sot im on ekal footin' wid er white man. Laws ermassy me'. Gentermen, I'se seed things happen in this here town senceFo't Fisher fell thet wus enuf ter make eny dec'nt white man go interhis hole, an' pull his hole after 'im. Think uv it, gentermen, think uvit! Nigger lawyers, Nigger doctors, Nigger storekeepers, Niggerteachers, Nigger preachers, Niggers in fine houses--why, gentermen,jedgmint hain't fur off. Who was in ther Cote House thet day when thetNigger White tole Colonel Buck he did'n no law? I wus thar, an' neverwanter see sich ergin. Evrybody jis' opened his mouth an' stared fus atther Nigger an' then at Colonel Buck. I felt thet ther merlineum wus athan', jus' waitin' ter see ther worl' turn een uppermos', an' go tersmash. Whoopalah! but we air goin' ter show um sump'n ter day, an' I jeswish thet Nigger White wus in Wilminton, fur these big Niggers'll be thefirs' whose cases we'll try. Oh. Mr. Peaman, Oh, Mr. Bryant, Mr. Millerand all you uns er the Afrikin foe hundered! yo time is cum!" Dick Sandsended his harangue by turning a somersault. "I jes bet Dick Sands owesTom Miller now," said a young chap who sat leaning against the wall withhis legs spread out, laughing at Dick's Indian-like antics. "Yes,"broke in another; "Tom's he'ped er lot er we po' devals; he's lent outthousans er dollars in all ter white men. Hits er shame ter do him!""Yes, I mus admit that I owe Tom, but this is er time fur me ter jumpbail," said Dick Sands. "I don't b'lieve thet er Nigger should hav esmuch money es Tom's got no way. Hit's ergin his helth. You know Niggersliv longer po' then they do when they air rich, bekase when they're po'they air in ther natruls, an air easier kept in their places. Hit'sthese foe hundred Niggers thet er raisin all ther trouble." ...
"Well, les git ter bizness, gentermen," broke in Teck Pervis "There's erlot befoe us ter do; Hell is ter begin at ther Cotton Press under KurnelMoss, while Cap'n Keen'll kinder peramerlate er roun in ther middle erther town with thet everlasting hell belcher uv his ter keep tings incheck. Kurnel Wade, Tom Strong, Hines an uther big uns will sortie erroun' to'ards Dry Pond an blow up ther print'n press; thets ter drawther Niggers out frum ther Cotton Press, so thet Kurnel Moss kin git atum, an mow em down. We uns will canter to'ards Brooklyn holdin' upNiggers as we go. Then we air to jine Hill, Sikes, Turpin, Isaacs an'others, an' raise hell in thet sexion. We uns air ter take no chanceswid theese Wilminton darkies. I ain't ferget Seventy-six. Let nun git bywithout bein' sarched, uman er man. Shoot ef they resiss. Them's theKurnel's orders." "Who is this man Isaacs?" asked a stranger fromGeorgia. "A Jew?" "Thet name's Jewey e'nuff fur yir, ain't it?" repliedDick Sands. "He is er Jew, an er good un, I tell yer. I never took muchstock in er Jew, but this here un is er bo'n genterman, mo fit ter beChristun. No church in hard circumstance is ever turned away from OleMose; he he'ps em all, don't kere what they be, Jewish, Protestan erCaterlick, white er black. He throde his influence with therProhibitionists some years er go, an foute hard ter make er dry townouter Wilminton, but ther luvers uv ole ginger wair too strong an jeswallop'd ther life out er ther cold water uns. Ole Mose tuk hit cool, hedied game, took his defeat like er bon fighter, bekase he'd done anfill'd his jugs an' stowd em up in de house afore ther fight begun, sohe cu'd erford ter be beat. Takin er drink in public was ergin hiscreed. Nice ole Jew tho. Keeps er paint store down street, and deals inpainters' merterial, but never buys er baral er biled oil wonc't in fiveyers; but, like de widder in the Scripter, he alers has er baral terdraw frum when er customer wants biled oil. Ole Mose is er fine man tho;jes go in his stoe ter buy sumthin, pat him on his back, and tell him heis er bo'n genterman, an thet you b'lieve he kin trace his geneologyback ter Moses an ther prophets, and thet his great-granddaddy's daddywas ther only Jew thet sined ther Dicleration of Independance; thet helooks like Napolyan, and he'll jes go inter his office an fetch yer therfines' segyar yer ever smoked an foller yer all over ther stoe. Nice oleJew Isaacs is. Ter see him stridin down ter bizniss ov er mawnin, yerair reminded uv ther prophets uv ole jurneyin toards Jarusalum ter readther law." "What is the feller's name?" soliloquized a sallow-lookingchap who stood with his back to the stove scratching his head inperplexity. "Name?" returned Dick Sands. "Why is you bin er listenin terme all this time an dunno who I'm talkin erbout?" "Excuse me," returnedthe sallow man; "I no powerful well who yer ware talking er bout, and Iwus tryin ter think uv ther name uv thet chap who's bin er stump speakinup in Sampson." "Fisher?" "No-o-o, thet ain't ther name; he's therfeller thet's runnin fur Congress." "Belden!" exclaimed several in onebreath. "Thet's ther feller. Look er here," continued the sallow man,"he tole we uns up there thet ef we cum an he'p ter make Wilminton erwhite man's town, we ware ter jes move inter ther Niggers' houses an ownem; thet's what brung me here ter jine in this here fite." "Well, I tellyer fren," answered Dick, "we air goin ter make this er white man'stown, thet's no lie, but ther ain't no shoity er bout ther othermatter." "Boots an saddles." Further conversation was cut off. Every manflew to his horse and the host of murderers were off in a jiffy.
The city of Wilmington was startled by the loud report of a cannon onthe morning of November 10th, 1898, which made her tremble as thoughshaken by an earthquake. Molly Pierrepont arose, hastened to the southwindow of her cottage and looked out; the clouds which hung low over DryPond were as brilliant in hue as though they hung over a lake of fire."Tis fire!" exclaimed Molly; "the hell hounds are at their work. BenHartwright is keeping his word. But it's at the Cotton Press that thedance of death was to really begin, where hundreds of unsuspecting menare at work. The fire and the cannon shot are only a ruse to entice themout to be shot down. They must be warned! I must warn them!" She hastilydressed herself, locked her cottage and hurried
away. Down Bladen streetshe hastened, turned into Fourth and across Bony bridge. At the cornerof Campbell street she came upon a large body of armed men who wereparleying with a negro who was making a futile protest against beingsearched. More than half a dozen of them thrust pistols into thehelpless and frightened man's face, while two others rifled his pocketsfor firearms. All this Molly took in at a glance, as she hurried downCampbell street toward the press. At the corner of Third street sheencountered five white boys, mere lads, who were proceeding up Campbellstreet. "Halt!" cried they all in one voice, and five pistols werethrust into her face. Molly paused, but with no show of embarrassment ordismay. "Come, hol up your hans!" commanded one of them, advancing astep nearer. "Hol on, fellers, we're not to search white ladies," saidanother, lowering his pistol, and attempting to push the others aside."O, she's no lady; she's er nigger; I know her," returned the lad whogave the command. "Search her! tear her clothes from her! All er thesenigger women are armed." The boy raised his hand to seize Molly, but wasnot quick enough. Molly stepped back; a quick raise of her foot sent theboy sprawling into the gutter. This completely demoralized hiscompanions, who broke and ran. A gang of men coming up Third streetinspired the boys to renew the attack upon the woman, who was hurryingon her way. "Nigger," cried the boy, raising himself up and scramblingfrom the gutter into which Molly's well-aimed kick had sent him. The menran and overtook Molly, spread themselves across the sidewalk in frontof her. "Will I never be permitted to reach the press?" she murmured toherself. "You've got ter be searched, ole gal," said one of the men,with a mocking smile of triumph in his face, "an' you jes' es well letthese boys go through them duds er your'n an' have done with it. Comenow, hands up!" and they all glared like hungry wolves at the woman, whostood apparently unmoved. Molly drew herself up to her full height."Cowards!" she shrieked. "Not satisfied at the cutting off of everymeans of defense from the black men of Wilmington, that you may shootthem down with impunity, you are low enough to take advantage of theirhelplessness to insult weak women. But here I stand!" she cried,stepping backward, and drawing a gleaming revolver from beneath hercloak. "Search me! but it must be done when the body is lifeless; I'llbe a target for the whole of you before I'm searched; so let the battlebegin."
The men stared at the woman in amazement. "Pluckies' Nigger gal we'retackled ter day!" exclaimed a gruff and rough-looking chap. "Got gritenough ter buil er fort. Let her go, men; not er hair un her hed mus' betech'd!" The men stepped to one side, and Molly proceeded on her way.When she reached Front street the sight which met her gaze caused herblood to chill. From Front to Water street below was choked with armedmen. To pass through such a crowd without much more difficulty wasimpossible. "Too late!" she sobbed. Rushing across the railroad bridge,she hastily descended the steps to the road below, crossed the tracks tothe shed of the great compress, and entered by one of the large sidedoors. News of burning and pillage on Dry Pond had been conveyed to theworkmen by another, and the news had brought confusion among themindescribable. At the main entrance to the press stood an army ofwhites, ready to shoot them down as they rushed forth to go to therescue of their wives and little ones whom they thought were beingmurdered. White men with a cannon mounted on a lighter anchored in theriver just opposite were waiting to fire upon those driven back by thefire from Colonel Moss' riflemen in Water street.
A crowd of frightened and angry men hastily retreating towards thisdeath-trap were suddenly confronted by a woman, who like an heavenlymessenger, stood with uplifted hand, her hair streaming in the wind."Back! Back men!" she cried. "To go to the river is to be killed also;they're waiting there for the opportunity." "Molly Pierrepont!"exclaimed one of the men in astonishment. "No time for questions now!"said the woman; "your only safety from slaughter is to remain in thisshed; you are not able to cope with that mob of cowards on the outside,who now are even searching women in a most shameful manner on thestreets. Back! Don't rush like fools to death." Molly's head began towhirl. Before any one could reach out a hand to catch her, she sank in aswoon upon the floor. Tenderly the prostrate form was lifted up, andborne to a place of safety, and an effort made to revive her. At thefront entrance were huddled hundreds of negroes, cursing and crying intheir desperation. On the opposite side of the street in front of acompany of armed whites stood Colonel Moss, his face red withdetermination. Above the oaths and groans of the helpless negroes hisharsh voice was heard: "Stand back, Mr. ----! I tell you again, standout of the way, that I may blow them into eternity." Mr. ---- heeded himnot, and Colonel Moss was afraid to fire for fear of injuring a BritishConsul. There were tears in the eyes of this good man as he went aboutamong his angry workmen imploring them to keep cool. It was his braveryand presence of mind that prevented the ignominious slaughter ofhundreds of defenseless men by a mob of armed cowards, who stood thereawaiting the signal from Colonel Moss to "Blow them into eternity."
Dispatching a messenger to Dry Pond, who returned with the assurancethat no one had been killed, was instrumental in cooling the negroes andinducing them to return to work. Mr. ---- kept at his post until thewhite mob melted away to join their fellows in other portions of thecity. Look! up Front Street comes an excited crowd of men and boys.Every one of them seems to be wrought up to the highest pitch ofexcitement. Every individual is struggling to get to some one who is inthe centre of the crowd. On they come! struggling, pushing and swearing.As the mob draws near, the tall, stately figure of an old man is seentowering above them. His abundant hair and beard are shaggy and gray. Hestares wildly at his tormenters, and begs them to spare his life. Theyshove, they kick, they slap him. "Shoot the Yankee dog! Hang him to alamp post! Nigger hearted carpet bagger! Kill him!" Still the crowdpushes towards the depot. "Who is this man? What has he done?" asked astranger. "Done!" exclaims a citizen close-by. '"Why he's been teachin'niggers they're es good es white men." "How long has he been inWilmington?" "Ever sence the fall er Fort Fisher." "Is he a tax payer?Is he or has he ever engaged in any business in the community?" "Well,yes; he owns er whole county up the road there er piece." "Think of it!Bin here all these years, an' we can't make er decent white man out'nhim!" "Well, if he has been in this community as long as you say, andis to the community what you acknowledge, I'd like to know what righthis fellow citizens have to--" "Well now, stranger, don't you thinkyou're gettin' too inquisitive? When er white man shows that he's erginer white man, the question of what he owns don't cut no ice; he's gotter go. This is er white man's country, an' white men are goin' ter ruleit." Saying this the citizen hastened away to join the mob, who werethen crossing the bridge to the depot to put the undesirable citizenupon the train to send him away.
The mob that had a few hours previous made a futile attempt to butcherthe negroes at the Compress had now moved in the direction of Brooklynlike a whirlwind, sweeping men, women and children before as it went.Negroes, filled with terror and astonishment, fled before this armedmob, who shot at them as they ran.
When in a certain battle during the Revolutionary War, terror strickencolonists were retreating before the superiorly equipped and disciplinedBritish soldiers, it was Israel Putnam who vainly implored thefrightened Americans to make a stand. General Putnam cursed and swore,when he saw that it was impossible to stop his men and induce them togive battle to the British. Was there a Putnam here to essay to inspirecourage into these frightened negroes, who left their wives and childrenat the mercy of the mob, and were fleeing toward Hillton? Yes, there wasone, and his name was DAN WRIGHT. Did Dan Wright fully realize theenormity of his act as he faced this mob of white men, armed to theteeth, now pressing down upon him? Did Dan Wright feel that death was tobe his reward for this act of bravery? Yes, but this did not deter himor affect the steadiness of his aim. Above the oaths and yells of thisband of cowards, now almost upon him, the report of his rifle rang out,and a bandit reeled and fell from his horse. But Dan was not to escape;the crowd pressed upon him and crushed him to the earth; they riddledhis body with bullets, and dragged him bleeding and torn through thes
treets. "Back wench!" cried a bandit, as poor Mrs. Wright pressedforward to succor her dying husband. "You shall not touch his blackcarcass; let the buzzards eat it!" But the mob did not tarry long besideDan's bleeding form; they swept on to Brunswick Street, where theydivided, some turning into Brunswick, while others rode toward Hillton.Dan Wright did not die in the street, however. Torn and riddled as hisbody was, he lingered a few days in agony in the city hospital beforedeath released him. "And the king followed the bier; and the king liftedup his voice and wept; and the king said, 'Died Abner as a fool dieth?'"
As we gaze upon the bleeding form of this simple negro, this questioncomes forcibly to us: Died Dan Wright as a fool dieth? Was it right forhim to stand alone against such fearful odds? Yes, that the chroniclerin recording this terrible one-sided fight might be able to mention oneact of true bravery; that among so many cowards there was one man.
I knew Dan Wright ever since he was a lad. He was simple, quiet,unobtrusive; pious in life and glorious in death.
"He was swifter than an eagle; he was stronger than a lion." Over thehumble grave in which he sleeps no shaft of granite rises to point topassers-by where this martyr to the cause of freedom lies. But whenJustice shall write the names of true heroes upon the immortal scroll,she will write the names of Leonidas, Buoy, Davy Crocket, Daniel Boone,Nathan Hale, Wolf, Napoleon, Smalls, Cushing, Lawrence, John Brown, NatTurner, and then far above them all, in letters that shall shine as thebrightness of the firmanent, the name of DAN WRIGHT.
Unlike most of the heroes named above, Dan's name will not in thisgeneration be engraved upon brass or steel, or carved in marble. To anunsympathetic world he was an outlaw, who raised his arms against kingsand princes, who feel that they have the sanction of God Himself totrample upon the lowly.
With tall pines as sentinels keeping watch over it, and stars for taperstall, the body of this immortal hero lies beneath the soil enriched byhis blood.
"Fleet foot on the corey, Brave counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is the slumber!"
Who killed this simple fellow, and the score of others of his race whofell on that eventful day? The blame is laid upon the Georgians, whowere invited there to assist in restoring white man's government, whenthere had never been any other government in existence there. But who isreally responsible for this cowardly massacre? Wilmington's best whitecitizens, by whose invitation and under whose directions the Georgiansacted. And what better market could have been sought for murderers andcowards and assassins, and intense haters of negroes than Georgia? Inante-bellum days Georgia outdid all other slave-holding States incruelty to its slave population. The North Carolina master could subduethe most unruly slave by threatening to sell him or her into Georgia.The old negro voo-doo doctor or fortune teller could fill any negro forwhom she had formed a dislike with terror, and bring him to her feetbegging for mercy by walking backward, making a cross with her heel andprophesying, "You'll walk Georgia road."
When Georgia, the altar for human sacrifices, perfumed by the odor ofcooked human flesh, travailed, she brought forth the prodegy of thenineteenth century, whose cries for blood would startle Catherine DeMedici and cause Bloody Mary to look aghast.
Georgia bore upon her sulphurous bosom an Andersonville, within whosewalls thousands of the nation's noblest sons suffered the most inhumantreatment and died the most agonizing and ignominious death. Georgiatrained her cannon upon these emaciated, starved vermin-eaten creaturesrather than submit to their rescue by an invading army. Georgia'sconvict camps of the present day are worse than slavery, and moreintolerable than the Siberian mines. The order of the States upon themap should be changed so as to read as follows: North Carolina, SouthCarolina, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisana, Texas, Georgia, Hell. Thepeople of Wilmington were bargaining for the genuine article when theysent to Georgia for trained murderers and assassins.
Josh Halsey was the second one to fall on that fatal day. Josh was deafand did not hear the command to halt, and ran until brought down by abandit's bullet. Josh Halsey was asleep in bed when the mob turned intoBrunswick Street, and his daughter awoke him, only to rush from hishouse to death. The mob swept on over his prostrate form, shooting intoprivate dwellings, and frightening men and children, who fled to thewoods for safety, or hid beneath their dwellings.
Let us go back and see what has become of Molly. To bring her around itrequired heroic efforts on the part of men and the women who were thesewers of bagging on the docks. Too weak for further effort in behalf ofher people, she was tenderly lifted into a buggy, carried up by way ofthe old Charlotte depot to her home in Brooklyn. Mrs. West, who knowingof her determination, and anxious as to her fate, had arrived at thecottage that morning too late to intercept Molly. She lingered about thecottage, however, and when they bore the exhausted and faint girl home,the foster mother was frantic with grief. "It was only a fainting spell,mother," said Molly, as Mrs. West bent over her. "I was there in time tosave them, but it cost me--oh so much." "You have done nobly," returnedthe mother, soothingly. "Your name should be placed upon the roll ofhonor, my dear. Go to sleep; rest serenely upon your laurels."
Dr. Philip Le Grand.
St. Stephen's Church on the corner of Red Cross and Fifth Streets, inWilmington, is among the finest and most refined of the A. M. E.Conference. In appointing ministers to this post the most diligent carehas always been exercised, for the appointee must be of the mosteloquent, the most learned and efficient in the gift of the assembly. SoSt. Stephen's audiences have listened to some of the world's bestorators, and have had the word expounded by superior doctors ofdivinity. Who of that great church can forget Frey Chambers, Thomas,Nichols, Gregg, Epps and others whose names I cannot now recall? St.Stephen's is among the finest of church edifices in the city, put up ata cost of over sixty thousand dollars, with a seating of twenty-twohundred. Back of her pulpit stands an immense and costly pipe organ,operated by water power, and presided over by a young woman raised up inthe church, educated in the public schools of Wilmington. During thepolitical upheaval in Eastern North Carolina, it was the fortune of Rev.Philip Le Grand, D. D., to be the pastor of St. Stephen's, inWilmington, and there is living to-day. Many men and women owe theirlives to the wonderful presence of mind, superior tact andpersuasiveness of this grave, good man. Besides being a minister, he hadfilled many positions of trust in the South. Yet Dr. Le Grand was bothunassuming and undemonstrative. He looked for and expected a clashing ofraces on election day in Wilmington, but that which took place on the10th of November was far more than he was prepared to grapple with. Thedawn of that fatal day found the streets of Wilmington crowded witharmed men and boys, who had sprung, as it were, by magic from the earth.Aroused by loud noises in the neighborhood of his residence, theminister arose early, dressed and hastened into the street. A largecrowd of colored citizens, mostly women, stood upon the street cornerhalf a block away, excitedly talking and brandishing broomsticks,stove-pokers, hoes, axes and other rude implements of war. All wasconfusion among them. There seemed to be no leader, but each individualwas wildly ejaculating in a manner that showed that she or he was highlywrought up. Dr. Le Grand came slowly up to them, paused and raised hishands for silence. "Why this excitement so early in the morning?" heasked. "We's prepared fer um ter day," said a woman, coming forward andbrandishing a broomstick. "Dey says dey gointer kill niggers, but we'sgwine ter tek er few er dem long wid us." "Bah!" exclaimed the minister."What will such a thing as that amount to against rifles? Disperse andgo home, or you'll be sorry." This command had but slight effect uponthis throng, whom Rev. Le Grand left and proceeded toward a crowd ofwhite men and boys who stood not far distant, apparently debating thequestion of bearing down upon and dispersing the blacks on the corner."Halt!" said one of the men, stepping in front of Mr. Le Grand andplacing his rifle against his breast. "You can't go no further; thistown's under military law now." "What means this demonstration?" calmlyasked the minister, with his eyes fixed steadily upon the face of theman who had give
n the command. "It means that white men are in charge ofthings from now on," said another fellow, stepping up and eying theminister contemptuously. "You educated nigger preachers have beenteaching your race that white men are not ordained to rule, and suchteaching has got 'em beside themselves, so much so that the white peopleare compelled to take stringent measures."
"Will you kindly inform me who the leader of this movement is?"persisted Dr. Le Grand calmly. "Big words these," said the first man whohad spoken. "I guess we'd better settle this nigger." "Hold on, Sam,"said the second man, pushing aside the gun the man had raised. "This isSt. Stephen's preacher. He is not on the list." "I'm out here in thename of peace," said Dr. Le Grand, "willing to do anything to bring thatend." "Well," said the leader, producing a notebook from his breastpocket, and scribbling something in it, "we came out to-day to wash thestreets in nigger gore, and if you can induce them to go home, you andothers of the leading men of your race, instead of encouraging them tobully white people, you can save many lives. Colonel Moss is thegentleman to go to. But you'll need a pass," tearing a leaf from thenotebook and handing it to Dr. Le Grand; "and I doubt if that will takeyou through the lines. You will doubtless find the colonel somewhere inthe down-town section of the city. Stand aside, men, and let him pass."Dr. Le Grand took the slip of paper and started for the section of thecity indicated, but the way was so choked with men and boys, whochallenged and parleyed with him in spite of the permit he carried, thatprogress was slow. Men whom he had met in his common every-day life inWilmington, men who had been cordial and gentlemanly in their greetings,now either hurled bitter epithets at him, or passed him with avertedeyes. Several times during that morning were guns pointed into his faceas he paused here and there to stop collisions that were constantlyoccurring between white and black men, fatal in every instance to theblacks, who, without arms, were no match for the well-equipped whites,who took advantage of their helplessness to bully them. The mostthrilling scene witnessed was that which made the minister's heartfaint, although the incident excited the admiration of all who beheldit. Above the oaths of excited men and boys was heard a wild cheer a fewblocks away, followed by the defiant cry of a negro boy, who camepanting up the street, unmindful of the cry of "halt" that issued frommany lips. Frantically waving a huge revolver in his hand, he fell uponhis face within a few yards of where the minister stood, pierced by arifle ball. Turning over slowly upon his back, he leveled his pistol andfired into the crowd of men closing in on him, shattering the arm of aGeorgia bandit. "He is dying!" exclaimed the minister, with upliftedhand to prevent the men from doing further violence to the dying lad,whose life-blood was making crimson the sand where he lay. One man inthe crowd stooped and picked up the pistol that had fallen from thelad's grasp. He raised it up before the crowd and said: "Let him die inpeace, boys; I admire a brave heart, if it is under a black skin." Thecrowd dispersed. The minister got down upon his knees and raised thelad's head into his arms. He opened his eyes and fixed them upon theface of the man of God, who had begun to stroke his forehead with hishand. "God be merciful to thee, my son," said the minister tenderly."Dat's all right, parson," returned the lad faintly, with a smile uponhis ebony face. "I tol' um I'd die foe I'd giv' up ma gun, an' I tinkdat when I tun ober dat time I got one er dem."
"What is your name, my son?" asked Dr. Le Grand, eagerly. There was noanswer; the boy was gone into undying life. The minister gently laid thelittle hero back upon the ground to await the arrival of theundertaker's wagon, and went on his way. This incident somewhat awed thebandits, some of whom stood off some little distance and watched himthrough the scene; and his progress was attended with but littlefurther difficulty. When he reached Front Street, however, the RecordOffice on Dry Pond had been burned, and the futile attempt to murder theworkmen at the cotton press had been made. Several black men had beenkilled during the morning, and their bodies left where they had beenshot down. At the corner of Front and Chestnut Streets three men passedhim under guard, walking rapidly toward the depot, and whom herecognized as prominent citizens--one a grocery man another quite anextensive real estate owner and money lender, while the third, a whiteman, had been a magistrate in the city for quite a number of years.These men were being escorted to the trains by soldiers, who hadconsiderable trouble in keeping a mob of men and boys from doing themviolence. "Well, what are you standing up here for?" asked a man,turning aside from the throng that surrounded the fugitives, andakimbowed in front of the minister. "No niggers are allowed to loiter;white men are in charge of affairs from now on." "I have a pass thatpermits me to interview the Colonel," answered Dr. Le Grand, holding upthe paper before the man's eyes. The man took the paper and read itslowly. "Come," said he in a gentler tone of voice, "I'll take youthrough to the Colonel, for you can't go by yourself." Across thestreet, and in the direction of the cotton press they proceeded. At thecorner of Mulberry Street they met Colonel Moss going southward, with acrowd of soldiers and citizens about him. He scowled at the minister,his face flushed with anger as the minister saluted. "What do you want?"he roared. "That's the question I have come to ask you," returned theminister. "What do you wish us to do? We are willing to do anything tostop this carnage." "We want nothing! We are masters of the situation,"answered the Colonel hotly. But the minister persisted. "Hear me,Colonel. This is indeed a one-sided fight. Our men are unarmed, and arethe chief sufferers in this affair." "It's your own fault," roaredColonel Moss. "We gave you colored leaders time to comply with ourrequest to burn the negro's printing outfit. We waited twelve hours foryour reply, and it came not, so we took the matter into our own hands.We propose to scourge this black pest out of Wilmington. If you caninduce them to go to their homes and recognize the authority of thewhite people, you can prevent further bloodshed." "I will do my best,"replied the minister. Dr. Le Grand was placed in a buggy, between twowhites, to protect him against violence. This man of God finished thatday, and the other days of terror to the unfortunate negroes, ininducing rebellious black citizens throughout the city to submit tooverwhelming odds against them, and staking his own life upon the goodcharacter of this or that man or woman in danger of being killed forsome trivial charge made by a white person, whether remote or recent.