by Jack Thorne
CHAPTER XIV.
The Flight of Reverend Selkirk.
There is a great deal said about the fatality of the wind of Boston Bay.Even the native Bostonian dreads its icy touch, and when winter comes tore-enforce its intensity, as many as can, seek warmer climes. A fewwinters ago, among the many tourists who sought accommodations on atrain South-bound were Rev. Hiland Silkirk, wife and two children. Rev.Silkirk's many years of ministerial work in the old cradle of libertyhad somewhat told upon his health, and he felt that a few months oryears in a warmer clime would result in the recovery of lost vigor. Hehad purchased a ticket for Wilmington, N. C. The air there was mild,bracing and dry and made health giving and mellow by the sweet odor ofthe yellow pine. And then, again, a field was open for the continuanceof his work while he recuperated, a certain Baptist church in the oldcity had called him to its pastorate. Being a man of exceptionalability, affable and of sunny temperament, Rev. Hiland Silkirk was justthe man to win friends among Southern people, and he won them among bothwhite and black citizens in that old town. This is the case in everySouthern community. A Negro man of prominence can retain his popularityon certain lines among the whites if he keeps out of politics and in allrace troubles remains neutral. But he cannot take this stand and beuniversally loved. His reward will inevitably be the contempt of his ownrace, which he cannot afford to engender. And no man who loves hispeople can hide his light under a bushel; can keep quiet when they areassailed. He must, he will raise hand and voice in their defense. Mosesrefused to dwell in the king's palace while his people suffered abouthim. No! he went forth, and in his zeal smote an uncircumcised Egyptianoppressor to death and fled into a strange land and there fitted himselffor their deliverer. Rev. Hiland Silkirk counted his friends among someleading ministers and laymen of the opposite race. But Rev. Silkirk wastrue to his own, and when the time came to test that devotion, hearrayed himself with his own people and endangered his own life. When,in the early part of August, 1898, the fight between the editor of theRecord and the editor of the Messenger waxed hot over the inflammatoryletters on the race question from the pen of Mrs. Fells, of Georgia,which had its final result in the destruction of the Record's propertyand the banishment of its editor, Rev. Silkirk did not hesitate to joinin the controversy. This caused many of his white friends to cooltowards him, and it placed his name upon the list of dangerous(?)Negroes to be killed or banished. After the general raid whichterrorized and put the city in a state of panic on the 10th of November,the mobs divided into squads, and, as deputy sheriffs, begun to arrestand drive from the city the objects of their spleen. The duly electedMayor and other officials having been deposed, bandits were put in theirplaces. A portion of the mob which destroyed the Record building on themorning of the 10th, started northward toward Walnut street, on whichthe hated Negro minister resided. But among the white ministers inWilmington there was one at least who would not allow his prejudice toimpair his devotion to a worthy friend. He, aware of the plot to murderthe black divine, set out on that morning to warn him of his danger. TheRev. Silkirk, aroused and alarmed by the noise of guns coming from everydirection in the city, had just mounted his bicycle and started in thedirection of Dry Pond. As he turned into Seventh street he saw, morethan two blocks away, another bicyclist breathlessly pedaling towardhim. "Why, Dr. Sawyer, I was just starting to your house!" said thecolored man, as the white one rode up and dismounted. "And I was justcoming to your house to inform you that a ride in my direction isdangerous! Return! There is no time to be lost. Get into the woods! Theyare on the way to your house now to kill you. I must not be seen withyou. Go! Make haste!" This was all said in one breath, and before thecolored man could recover from his astonishment to ask a question thewhite one was gone. Down the street a cloud of dust rose before thecolored minister's eyes. The bandits were only a few blocks away. Therewas not even time to return to his home. He hastened down Walnut street,crossed Red Cross into Campbell, and made for the woods. The banditsrode up to the minister's house, dismounted and surrounded it, but thequarry was gone. From the frightened wife and little ones they couldglean no information as to the whereabouts of the minister. They wereabout to satisfy their vengeance by subjecting the helpless woman torevolting indignities, when a boy ran up to inform them of the directionin which the man had fled. The mob mounted their horses and made a dashfor Oak Dale Cemetery. The colored people in the neighborhood, afraid toapproach to offer protection to poor Mrs. Silkirk, now gathered abouther. All were unanimous in the belief that the bandits would returnshould they fail to find the minister, and not only molest her, butshoot into the houses of others as well. So they decided to take her tothe church, yea, gather the whole neighborhood in there. "Sho, dey won'tshoot in de house er God," said an old lady. "Le'us git dar an' pray; wekin do nuth'n better. Le' us ask de Lawd wot it all means?"
When Rev. Silkirk reached a secluded spot in the woods he was wet, soreand exhausted from wading through marshes and being scratched by briars.Night had set in. He lay down beneath a clump of bushes to rest; butthere was no rest for this poor innocent wretch, outlawed by ruffiansand compelled to leave his wife and little ones, and be hunted as a wildbeast in the forest. This is the fate of many a Negro who had committedno more offense against law and order. But this, to such characters asRev. Silkirk, was no evidence of God's displeasure. Men more righteousthan he had been compelled to flee for their lives; yea, suffer deathfor truth's sake; men of whom the world was not worthy. He pillowed hishead upon a tuft of wire grass, and gazed upward towards the spangledskies. "Lord, we cannot tell why this, thy people, are so severelytried; yet we believe that all things work together for good to themthat trust in Thee. Strengthen our faith, Lord. Save our wives andlittle ones from a fate worse than death at the hands of the wicked, whoglory and take delight in shameful treatment of the defenseless." Heheard the tramping of horses' feet among the bushes only a shortdistance away, and soon several men galloped past where he lay--so closethat one of the horses brushed against the bush which sheltered him. Thefrightened minister lay perfectly still until the footsteps died away,then he arose and went cautiously back to the city to see, if possible,what had been the fate of his wife and children, left to the mercy of adisappointed and angry mob.
The feeling that the church was the only place for safety filled thebreasts of most of the frightened souls in the neighborhood of Seventhand Red Cross streets on the evening of the dreadful 10th of November,after the band of Red Shirts had terrorized the people in theirblusterous hunt for the negro minister. "It seemed like the day ofJudgment," said an eye witness. "There were no loud lamentations, as isusual when colored people are wrought up under excitement, but sobs,groans and whispered petitions. Bless our pastor, Lord, an' save him efit be Thy will," came from many lips, followed by "Amens" and "Do,Lord." Suddenly the church was thrown into a spasm of excitement thatcould not be suppressed, for while they were breathing prayers for hisdeliverance, the pastor, wet, footsore and tired, entered and strodeslowly up the aisle. "Why did you, oh, why did you come back?" exclaimedhis wife, throwing her arms about the minister's neck, while others intheir excitement gathered about them. The Rev. Silkirk gently led hiswife, who had almost fainted in his arms, to a chair and raised his handfor silence. "Brethren and sisters," he began, "my escape from deathto-day has been a narrow one. I knew that my attitude in the Manly-Fellscontroversy had caused some of my friends to cool toward me, but I didnot believe that it would ripen into a desire to murder me, because ofmy opinions. Nevertheless, my attitude is the same. I do not retract asingle word said in defense of my people. Twenty or more men were killedto-day--men who are innocent of any wrong. I may be numbered with thembefore morning; yet love for my wife and little ones and you caused meto tempt death by returning here to console and speak a word of comfortto you. These may be evidences of God's displeasure; we may have in ourprosperity forgotten to give Him the glory due unto His name; yet bythese afflictions we may know that we are beloved of God, for whom heloveth He chasteneth. W
e are too well schooled in affliction to bedismayed, and they who are responsible for this rioting may just as welltry to stop the river in its flow as to try to triumph permanently overa people who by affliction have waxed so strong in faith. We are as firmas Mount Zion, which cannot be moved. You, all of you, deem it expedientthat I go away; so to-night, by the help of the Lord, I shall try to getaway from this place. I may see you again, I cannot tell; if not, thereare twelve gates to the City, and, with God's help, we'll meet up there.Let us have a few moments of silent prayer." Every knee was bended onthat terrible night; but so emotional is the colored American thatsilence in a meeting of this kind is maintained with difficulty. Asilence of two minutes elapsed--followed by sobs and groans painful tolisten to. Then a voice tremulous with emotion floated over theassemblage--a woman's voice:
"Father in heaven, we have evidence that thou didst hear thy children'scry in days past and gone, and we believe that Thou wilt hear us now.(Yes, Lord.) Thou didst hear the Hebrew children. (Yes.) Thou didstdeliver Daniel. (Yes.) Thou didst hear Africa's groans, and didst breakher chains. (Yes, Lord.) Oh Jesus, Master, hear us to-night. (Do,Jesus.) We cannot tell, Lord, why we are buffeted, beaten, murdered anddriven from our homes, and made to seek refuge among strangers; but Thouknowest. Perhaps in our prosperity we have forgotten to give Thee theglory, blessed Lord, and these demons that have flocked to Wilmingtonfrom all quarters may be the scourgers that Thou art using to bring uscloser to Thee. Hear, O Lord, the groans and cries of the widows andorphans of the slaughtered ones; men who gave up their lives in thefeeble efforts to defend their homes and firesides. (Do, Lord.) BlessBrother Silkirk and his little family (Amen), who are about to startupon a perilous journey. The way is beset by demons thirsting for hisblood. (Lord, help.) But he's in Thy hands, and Thou canst save him andsave us from further persecution, if it be Thy will. Amen!"
Rev. Silkirk was visibly moved by this earnest and pathetic plea. Hethanked the petitioner and the entire church for their solicitude. Hewas dissuaded from attempting to take his wife and little ones with himon his perilous journey, and they were left in care of friends until anopportune season presented itself. The parting between that good man andhis wife and friends was indeed touching. A substantial bank note washurriedly thrust into his hand, and, with two deacons, he stepped outinto the darkness and disappeared.
* * * * *
When the North-bound passenger train leaving Wilmington at 12.01 slowedup at Castle Hayne on the morning of the 12th of November awretched-looking Negro minister stepped aboard. The trains had for twodays been leaving the city ladened with undesirable citizens, white andblack, and the trainmen had been earnest abettors in the injury andinsult offered them. From Wilmington to Weldon at every stop crowdswaited to do injury, if possible, to "Nigger" and radical refugees.Thomas Miller, Aria Bryant and other citizens had been taken off andjailed at Goldsboro, and one man in trying to escape was shot to death.
The Rev. Silkirk did not feel very comfortable under the searching eyeof the conductor who lifted his fare, and that individual's refusal togive satisfactory answers to inquiries concerning connections at RockyMount increased his feeling of uneasiness. He felt assured that failingto capture him in the woods, his would-be murderers had telegraphed hisdescription, etc., along the road. At Dudley Station two men came intothe smoker and took seats immediately in front of him, and continued thediscussion of the topic which doubtless absorbed their minds beforeentering. "I was saying," said one, an elderly man, with quite a refinedappearance, "that impertinent article by that Negro preacher was equallyas spicy as the editorial, and as the editor took time by the forelockand made good his escape, the determination was to make sure of thispreacher. But he was warned in time to get out, and the impression isthat he was warned by a white man." "Shame," said the other, slappinghis knee vigorously. "He got away, then." "Yes, but it's likely he'llsneak back before taking final leave, as he has a family there, and theyare on the lookout for him; besides, the boys have been notified alongthe road to be on the lookout." "What's his name?" "Silkirk; he is erBoston darkey, an' doubtless is heading for that place, as Southernclimate has got too hot for 'im."
"Goldsboro! Change cars for Newbern," shouted the porter. "Well,good-bye!" said the genteel man, rising and making a bolt for the door.As the train slowly clanged its way through the old town the remainingpassenger settled himself back in the seat and went to sleep.
Several men passed through the train, the conductor in the lead. Eachman slyly glanced at the minister, but said nothing. The train sped onits way through the town.
Now, Wilson is the place where through passengers change cars and boardNorth-bound trains from the far South. Wilson for the past few days hadbeen the rendezvous for a well-organized vigilance committee, who hadvied with the ruffians at Goldsboro in offering violence to citizensdriven out of Wilmington. The leader of this gang was a young farmer bythe name of Bull. That afternoon Mr. Bull and quite a number of hisfellow-committeemen sat on the steps of the railroad station whittlingsticks when the station operator came up and handed him a telegram,which ran as follows: "Goldsboro--Man on train 78 answering descriptionof Silkirk. Look out for him. Barnet."
"By Joe!" exclaimed Captain Bull, jumping to his feet. "Well, what'sup?" asked three or four of his companions, gathering around the leader."Nothing, only that Boston black Yankee is on train 78, an' he mustn'tgit any further 'an Wilson, that's all," returned Bull. "Go, Buxton," hesaid to a sallow-faced young man leaning against the wall, "an' tell theboys ter git ready for er feast ter night. That Nigger editor slippedthrough like grease, an' ef we let this Nigger do so we all uns oughtter be gibbited. We want er be ready ter mount the train time she stops.I've got no description of the man, but, then, its no hard tas' to pickout er preacher from the tother uns." With that Captain Bull startedtoward home to get his gun, and the crowd dispersed.
At Wilson trains usually pause at the water tank, a few yards below, forcoal and water, before making the final stop at the station. Just astrain 78 paused at this place, a colored man with a buggy whip under hisarm got aboard. He walked briskly through the train, scanning the facesof the passengers as he went. "The' ain't but one colored man on here,"he said, as he reached the door of the smoking car and looked in.Walking up and touching this man on the shoulder, he said: "Looker here,mister, you goin' North?" "I want to," returned the colored passenger."Well, come with me an' get somethin' ter eat foe you go; you look likeyou hungry. I keep er resterant, put up thar jes' fer my people, bekasethar's no show fer 'em in the other place. Come on! No time ter be los',train don't stay up thar more 'an twenty minutes." With that he led thepassenger from the train. "Git up in thar," he said, pointing to a smallwagon. "Got er trunk?" "No, just this bag," returned the other. "Well,let's go. Git up, Nell," and the horse started off in a brisk trot."Looker here, mister, I ain't got no more resterant then er dog. Ain'tyour name Silkirk?" "That's may name," returned the passenger inastonishment. "I knowed it," said the driver. "I got on that train tersave yer life ter night. Slower dar, Nell! This road's full er mud holessence the big rain we had tother day. I jes' happen ter that depot terday jes' in time ter see thet telegraph when hit cum an' was put interCaptain Bull's han'. Sence dem riots in Wilmin'ton he's bin er getin'telegraphs an' sarchin' trains, an' insultin' women an' killin' col'dmens. An' I jes' slied erroun' tell I hear what that telegraph say. Hitsay, look out fer Silkirk. Thar's er gang of crackers waitin' ter killyou as sho es yo' er bo'n; but Bob Jones is goin' ter cheat um dis time.Go on thar!" "God moves in a mysterious way," murmured the minister,slowly. "You'll bet he does. Come, gal, pick um up an' put um down;thar's no time ter be los'. Gwine ter take yer cross de country here,an' put yer on er frate train, an' dat train gwine take yer to Norfolk,for yo' sholy ain't safe on dat coas' line road. Dis is what we callthrowin' de houn's off de scent. Pure Nigger cunnin', here me? Git up,Nell."
It was near the midnight hour when the horse, panting for breath, pausedat a lonely
rickety old station. The men alighted. "Hit's jes' twentyminutes pas' eleven," said Bob Jones glancing at his watch. "Now thattrain's comin' long here in er few minutes. Jes' git er board an' treatde Cap'n right, an' he'll put yer through." "God bless you and all ofyours," said the minister, gratefully. "My people in Wilmington andBoston must know of you and what you have done for me to-night." "Dat'sall right, parson, keep de change. Ise jes' doin' my duty, that's all.We should feel each other's keer, an' bear each other's cross, says degood word. Dar's de train now!" The old freight train panted slowly upand stopped to look for freight. The Rev. Hiland Silkirk, with tears ofgratitude in his eyes, got aboard, and the triumphant Jehu turned hishorse and started homeward.
"Well done, good and faithful servant, forasmuch as you have done goodunto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me."