Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly

by Jack Thorne

  CHAPTER XVII.

  At Mrs. McLane's.

  It was Thanksgiving Day. The political storm increased tenfold invelocity and destructiveness by race hatred that had swept through theold city of Wilmington, devastating homes, leaving orphans, widows andruined fortunes in its wake, was slowly abating. A city in a state ofsiege could not have presented a more distressing appearance. Soldiersand armed white men and boys stood in groups on every street ready topounce upon and disperse any assemblage of black citizens upon thestreets. The ringing of church bells, the call to praise only served tointensify the fear of colored worshippers whose meetings had beenpreviously broken up by armed mobs. These dusky worshippers, devout asthey were, had not the faith sufficient to enable them to discern thesmiling face of God through the clouds which hung over them.Demoralized, dejected, disconsolate, they dodged about here and therelike sheep having no shepherd. Just as the bell in the tall steeple ofthe old Baptist Church on Market street was making its last long andmeasured peals there crept out from behind the old Marine Hospital awoman leading a little child by the hand. Both were wretchedly clad.Thrown about the woman's shoulders was an old quilt. Her shoes were tiedwith strings, which were wrapped around the soles to keep from leavingher feet. Her skirt, tattered and torn, hung dejectedly about her scantform. The child, barefooted and with only one piece to hide itsnakedness, dodged behind its mother as it walked to keep the wind fromstriking with its full force its emaciated body. The woman, though youngin years, was old and haggard in face. Her woolly hair, unkempt andsprinkled with gray, the result of just three weeks of privation,apprehension and dread, bulged out from beneath the old shawl whichcovered her head. At the northwest corner of the hospital fence shepaused, looked cheerfully toward her own cottage, but a few blocks away,then slowly walked on in that direction, the child toddling at herside. "What is the bells ringin' for, mamma?" asked the little one. "Itain't Sunday." "It's Thanksgiving Day, and we usually go to church onthat day," answered the mother, slowly. "What is Thanksgiving Day?" "Itis a day set apart by the President for the people to assemble and givethanks for--for--blessings--received during the year, my child." Thislast answer tore that disconsolate mother's heart till it bled. She hadreached the gate of her cottage, from which she had fled on the night ofNovember 10th to escape insult and murder. A white woman sat upon thesteps knitting, her children playing about the yard. The colored womanstood and momentarily gazed in amazement at the intruder upon herpremises. "Well, whart du you wannt?" said the white one, looking upfrom her work and then down again. "What do I want?" returned thecolored one. "That's the question for me to ask. What are you doing inmy house?" "Your house?" "Yes, my house!" "Niggers don't own houses indis here town no mo'; white uns air rulin' now," was the saucy response."We uns air in these houses, an' we air goin' ter stay in um. An' mo'nthet; them's ther Mair's orders." "You poor white trash; I worked hardfor this house, and hold the deed for it, so you get out!" So saying,she caught hold of the latch. The white woman rushed to the corner ofthe fence and screamed "Police!" at the top of her voice.

  "Well, what's ther mater here?" asked one of the four men who camerunning up in response to the woman's call. "This nigger cums here terpurt me out er this house." "This is my house!" broke in the other. "Myhouse," repeated the man, with a sneer. "Pocession is nine-tents er th'law. She's in, you air out, so git." Several colored people hadresponded to the call, most of them women. "Come, Eliza," said one,putting her arms affectionately about the wretched and angry woman'swaist, while another took the little one in her arms. "It's no use towaste words; we all have suffered at the hands of these superior (?)people. But God will give the wrong-doer his reward in due season. Comewith us, my dear, and wait patiently." "All my nice furniture beingruined by this dirty cracker, and I can do nothing to prevent it,"sobbed Eliza, struggling to free herself that she might fly at thethroat of the intruder, who stood glaring at her in triumph.

  "Take her er long," said the white bully, "Or I'll lock her up. The timefer Niggers ter sass white fo'ks is past in Wilmington."

  "Come, Eliza; that's a good woman." The woman walked reluctantly away,to be cared for by her neighbors.

  * * * * *

  That evening at about dusk Mrs. McLane, an old and wealthy whitecitizen, stood at the window of her palatial dwelling on Third streetwatching the twilight fade--watching the Thanksgiving Day of 1898 slowlydie. Mrs. McLane had not attended church; she felt more like hiding awayfrom the world to be alone with God. In her devotions that morning shehad cried out with all the fervency of her soul that God would turn awayhis anger from a people with whom He was justly displeased.

  "My people are to-day imbued with the feeling of boastfulness in theirown strength rather than thankfulness to God. For can any of us feelthat God has countenanced the murder, pillage and intimidation which thewhites of Wilmington have resorted to? And for what?" Thus shesoliloquized as she watched the day die. The clock in the oldPresbyterian Church slowly chimed the hour of six. A long jingle of thedoorbell awoke Mrs. McLane from her reverie. "Mrs. Hill, Mrs. Bruce andMrs. Engel, missis," said a servant, slightly pulling the door ajar andpushing her head in. "All right, Margaret, I'll be right down," answeredthe lady. "Tell Aunt Susan that the guests I expected to tea are here.""Yes m'm." The servant disappeared, and Mrs. McLane slowly descended tothe parlor. "Why, Marjorie!" exclaimed Mrs. Bruce, as the hostess glidedinto the parlor, where the three women sat chatting. "How could you stayat home from church on such a lovely day! You missed a treat, you--""Tea's ready, missis," said Margaret, appearing suddenly in the parlordoor. "Now, ladies, we must retire to the dining room and letconversation aid digestion; remember that my tea has waited until halfan hour past the usual time for you. So, without further delay, let melead the way to tea," and Mrs. McLane proceeded to the dining room,followed by her three visitors. "Well, from Mrs. Bruce's exclamationwhen I entered a while ago I must infer that you all enjoyed churchservice immensely." "Well, I should say so," promptly answered Mrs.Bruce. "I don't see how any one could have remained at home on such aday as this. And, you know, we have so much to be thankful for. Dr. Josequoted for his text, 'He that is slow to anger is better than themighty, and he that controlleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.''We have taken a city,' said he, 'our city; freed it from ignorance andmisrule.' I, for one, am grateful to see our men have so nobly shown tothe women of Wilmington that they are worthy of our loyalty anddevotion. I said to my husband, after reading that infamous andslanderous article in the Record, that our men were too pigeon-liveredto take that Nigger out and give him what he deserves; and I think itwas just such talk from our women in the households that brought aboutthis revolution. Such as the white people of Wilmington have beencompelled to resort to would never have happened had thegood-for-nothing Yankee left the black where he belonged, instead ofwrenching him from his master and then educating him into the beliefthat he is as good as he who owned him. This Manly is a new Nigger--aproduct of Yankee schools and colleges. Freedom and education haveworked only harm to the Negro by putting high notions into his head.Blacks of Wilmington have had more sway than was for their good, andthey need checking, and it has come at last. We will have no more blacklawyers, doctors, editors and so forth, taking the support from our ownprofessional men. And no more such disgraceful scenes as we have beencompelled to endure--well-dressed Negro women flaunting about ourstreets in finery, when they ought to be in their places. Why, we can'torder a gown or bonnet, but what, before we can get into the street withit on our backs, some Nigger woman flirts by with the very same thingon, style, material and all. It is preposterous! How I have burned indesire to jump upon them and tear the things off and flog them, as theydeserve. And to go to Seventh street on a Sunday or on a week-day, forthat matter, the sight is heart sickening! There Sambo and his woman,dressed to death, strut along with heads erect, looking as important asthough they owned the city, or, astride their bicycles, they'll rideplumb over you. But we have put a stop to
Nigger high-stepping for awhile at least, thanks to our true and patriotic men, blue-bloodedSouthern gentlemen." "And our boys, who did so nobly!" chimed in Mrs.Engel. "Yes! yes!" exclaimed Mrs. Bruce, with a triumphant laugh. "Howfull of zeal and love for home and country they are! It was indeedcharming to see them hold up big, burly blacks and make them stand untilbidden to pass on. One of the most amusing and gratifying sights was theholding up of a big Nigger woman, right in front of my gate. She rearedand charged, but to no purpose; those boys made her shake her duds. Theypulled her clothes almost off her back trying to make her stand untilsearched." "And you didn't protest against such ungallant treatment ofa woman, and by mere lads?" asked Mrs. McLane. "Protest! Why, MarjorieMcLane! You must not, my dear, allow yourself to think of such creaturesas women entitled to such consideration as is due white women. How did Iknow but what that creature had set out to burn some lady's dwelling.Protest? No! decidedly no! I just stood there and enjoyed the fun. I amafraid you are too full of Yankeeism, Marjorie. You should be thankfulthat our enemies are vanquished. When Colonel Moss reached Dry Pond,instead of showing fight and standing by their editor, whom they upheldin slandering white women, they scampered to the woods." "And the poorfrightened creatures are still there. They cannot be induced to return,and the suffering among them is intense. Mothers have given birth outthere, and they and their offspring have died from exposure." "Poorcreatures!" exclaimed Mrs. Engel. "God pity them and us!" continued Mrs.McLane. "If what has been done in Wilmington within the last few days isthe work of gentlemen, then in the name of God let us have a few men inWilmington, if such can be found." "But, my dear--" "Don't interrupt me,Mrs. Bruce! Hear me through," said Mrs. McLane, raising her voice. "Maythe groans of these suffering women and children ever ring in the earsof Colonels Moss and Wade, and may the spirits of their murdered victimsunrelentingly pursue them through the regions of hell." "MarjorieMcLane!" exclaimed Mrs. Bruce, in astonishment. "Such language from aSouthern lady!" said Mrs. Hill. "Yes, a Southern lady clothed in herright mind," returned the hostess. "These men in their blind zeal torestore white supremacy, and to defend women, have unmistakablydemonstrated their weakness. White supremacy cannot be maintained byresorting to brute force, neither can the women of one race be protectedand defended while the defender of virtue looks upon the destruction ofthe other race as only an indiscretion.

  'Thou must be true thyself If thou the truth wouldst teach. Thy soul must overflow If thou another's soul would reach.'

  "Enduring supremacy, the supremacy that will be acknowledged issupremacy of character, supremacy of deportment, supremacy in justiceand fair play. We have irreparably lost our hold upon the Negro becausewe lack these attributes. We must not allow ourselves to feel that theNegro in this enlightened age is incapable of knowing and appreciatingtrue manhood and true gallantry. To shoot men after they have beentotally disarmed, and after they have surrendered everything as a peaceoffering is cowardice without parallel.

  "What would Lee and Jackson have said should their departed spiritsreturn to gaze upon men who so bravely followed them through thewilderness, in perilous times, leading in such dastardly work as wasdone in Wilmington on the 10th of November? 'Whatsoever a man soweththat shall he also reap.' It is not in future fires that men are to getthe reward for their doings, but here in this life. Our fathers havesowed the seeds that are sprung up now in race troubles and discord. TheNorth was first to see the danger, and gave the warning; but we blindlyplunged into four years of bitter strife, to maintain what we thoughtwas our right. The troubles through which we are passing are the reapingof the fruits of the sowing of our fathers. The conduct of our people onthe 10th of November shows plainly to my mind that we are making thesame mistakes. We are foolish enough to sow that which will cause theharvester to curse us in his misery. Here were boys not over twelveyears of age armed and licensed to insult women, tear their clothes fromthem and humiliate them." "Humiliate them!" echoed Mrs. Bruce, with asneer, "as though such creatures could be humiliated. They are entitledto no respect from white men." "And we should not allow ourselves tothink of them as women with the same feelings and propensities that wehave," said Mrs. Engel. "I say," continued Mrs. McLane, "that the Negrowoman should be considered a woman in the fullest sense of the term, andthose men and boys who in their zeal to protect white women humiliatedand disgraced black ones, insulted and humbled their own mothers,sisters and sweethearts; for what disgraces one woman disgraces another,be she white, black, red or brown. We, the white people of the South,have acknowledged the black woman's right to all the sympathy that weourselves may expect. She has carried us in her arms and suckled us ather breast, and in thousands of instances her word has been the only lawamong our children in our nurseries. She heard and faithfully kept thesecrets of our lives. We sought her advice, and believed in the efficacyof her prayers." "Now, Marjorie, you know," said Mrs. Bruce, "that suchNegro women are still dear to us; these old mammies and uncles who knowand keep in their places are never troubled in the South. The Yankee didus a great injury by lifting the Negro out of his place, and making himfeel that he is as good as we are. It is this new Nigger that iscausing all the trouble. The black woman, allowed to dress and flauntabout illures, tempts and often robs our domestic life of its sweetness,while the black man, with the wrong conception of freedom, often makesit impossible for our men to leave their homes unguarded." "Bah! awaywith such nonsensical babbling! You are saying, Mrs. Bruce, that whichdown in your innermost soul you do not believe. Such talk as that hasgiven Southern women undesirable notoriety, and is making the worldbelieve that to keep us pure it costs yearly hundreds of ignominioushuman sacrifices, a thing that we should rise up and brand as a lie! Whois to guard the home of the Negro man? Can we look around Wilmington andbelieve that his home does not need a stronger arsenal than ours? Whilewe are boiling over with sympathy for Mrs. Hartright, do we think for amoment of the humble home of that Negro father made unhappy by Mr.Hartright? Do we feel pity for Dan Hawes, John Maxim, Charlotte Jones?The Negro no longer feels that the appearance of a white illegitimateamong his honestly begotten piccaninnies is an honor bestowed upon hishousehold. Charlotte's case was indeed a sad one. No one knows betterthan I what a heavy heart she carried after her favorite child, the oneshe had taken such pains to educate, and from whom she expected so much,fell a victim to the flatteries of a Jew." "Well, must white women stopto lament over such things?" asked Mrs. Hill. "Are we to blame for theshortcomings of these people?" "Yes," answered the hostess. "We havelooked on unmoved and beheld our sister in black shorn of all protectionby the laws upon the State books of every Southern State, that she maybe humiliated with impunity, and we have gloried in her shame."

  "Harriet Beecher Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is no exaggeration. SimonLegree stalks abroad unrebuked in the South, and Cassies with sadstories of betrayal and humiliation are plentiful." "I do not think itpossible to better the black woman morally," said Mrs. Hill. "The germsof high and lofty thought are not in her, that is certain." "Have youever tried to put that theory to a test?" asked Mrs. McLane sharply. "Icant say that I have," returned Mrs. Hill slowly. "If the Negro ismorally low, we are ourselves responsible, and God will call us toaccount for it. In our greed for gain we stifled every good impulse,fostered and encouraged immorality and unholy living among our slaves bydisregarding the sacredness of the marriage relation. 'That which Godhath joined together let no man put asunder!' We have done that. Wehave made a discord in the sweetest music that ever thrilled the humanheart--the music of love. I believe that there is that pathos, that truepoetry in Negro love-making that no other race possesses. When a child Iused to love to listen to the simple and yet pathetic pleading of theNegro boy for the hand of the girl, whom to protect and defend he ownednot himself. My very heart would weep when I pictured those fond heartstorn asunder by the slave trader. I could see the boy far away, in somelonely cornfield in Georgia, pause, lean upon his plow and sigh for hislost love as he listened to the cooing of the dove,
while she, far awayin Tennessee or in some Virginia cornfield mournfully sang as shedropped the yellow corn.

  'Ebry time the sun goes down I hangs ma head an' cries.'

  Have we not done enough to a forgiving race? The case of Richard Holmesis a strong proof of the Negroes' high and lofty conception of purityand virtue, and had he been a white man, his actions would have beenapplauded to the echo. My opinion is that just so long as the safeguardsaround Negro women are so weak, so long as the laws upon the statutebooks of Southern States brand her as a harlot, pure or impure, and keepher outside the pale of pity and consideration, just so long will ourrepresentatives have to resort to murder and intimidation to get toCongress. The strength of any race rests in the purity of its women, andwhen the womanhood is degraded, the life blood of a race is sapped.Should we be disappointed under this showing because the Negro does notvote with us? You know as well as I that the Negro's vote was at thebottom of all this trouble. And we will always have trouble as long asthe destruction of Negro womanhood is only an indiscretion. Mrs. Fellsof Georgia shows the narrowness of her soul when she cries aloud for theprotection of white women in isolated sections of Georgia againstlustful Negroes, when she knows perfectly well that Negro girls inGeorgia need the same protection against lustful whites. A woman who isnot desirous of protecting the innocent of any race is insincere, andshould be branded as a hypocrite." "Mrs. Fells should not be blamed forignoring Negro women. They are all fallen creatures," said Mrs. Engle."That's a broad assertion for any woman to make, and there's no whitewoman that believes it in her innermost soul," returned Mrs. McLane."The best white blood of the South flows through the veins of Negroes,and this reveals the unmistakable weakness of a superior race." * * *"The weakness of the men of a superior race! Be careful and make thatdistinction, Marjorie," said Mrs. Bruce. "Southern white women are themost virtuous women in the world." "That's the general boast," returnedMrs. McLane. "And a boast that cannot be gainsaid," said Mrs. Hill."Visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children to the thirdand fourth generation," quoted Mrs. McLane slowly. "Do you believe inthe truthfulness of God's word?" There was no answer. "You all arewilling to admit that the fathers have eaten sour grapes, that the sinof unlawful inter-mixture with the alien is the fault of the men. Butcan we prove that the taint of lust in the blood of the fathers has comedown through the generations to effect the male child only, and leavethe female uncontaminated? God has not so ordained it. Our men sin andboast in it. Consorting with the women of the alien race to them is onlyan indiscretion. While even to acknowledge that in the Negro man are theelements of genuine manhood would make a Southern white women a socialexile, and make her the butt of ridicule. Does not this account for thehuman sacrifices that have shocked the nation? If the Negro's life ischeap and a frank acknowledgement of preference for him means so much toher, and knowing that her word is judge and jury, is it not likely thatshe would pursue the easiest course? The passing of laws since the warprohibiting the intermarriage of the races is proof that the men do nottrust us as implicitly as they pretend. The lynchings and burnings thatare daily occurring in the South are intended as warnings to white womenas well as checks to Negro men. Men who constitute these mobs care nomore for virtue than so many beasts; and saying that they are composedof best citizens does not alter my opinion. Instead of going about asMrs. Fells is doing, crying for more of the blood of the black men, andvilifying defenseless black women as Mrs. Harris of that same State isdoing, we the Southern white women better be doing a little missionarywork among the men of our own race. It is time for us to rise up and letour voices be heard against the making of our protection an excuse forcrime. Women like Mrs. Harris have done nothing, and would do nothing tobetter the condition of the woman whom they vilify. Nathan said untoDavid: 'Thou art the man.' This poor wretch will rise up in the judgmentand cry aloud against us as her unnatural sisters who stood upon her andtrampled her in the mud and mire. As inferior and morally low as we maydeem her, it may be more tolerable for her in the judgment than for us.I wonder sometimes how the black woman could even look with favor uponthe man who to her has been and is a sneaking coward, as well as ahypocrite in conduct toward the women of his own race. To us he abusesthe Negro women, makes her the subject of ridiculous cartoons, shows herup before the world as a beast with his lips wet with kisses from hermouth, and she suckles at her breast the child of his begetting." "Wecan't afford to be too plain on that subject, Marjorie," interruptedMrs. Bruce. "Southern women, not being independent and self-supporting,like our Northern sisters, cannot afford to call the men to account,though we, some of us, see the situation just as you have presented it.""But I for one will speak plainly," said Mrs. McLane. "Officer Bunts,instead of being driven from the city and hung in effigy, should havebeen treated differently, because in publicly acknowledging that hepreferred a Negro woman as a companion he showed that he was more of aman than those who, like the Pharisees, rose up against him. If we asparents should refuse to give our daughters in marriage to men who havenot clandestinely consorted with women of the alien race, how many couldhold up clean hands?"

  "She who comes through environments of temptation unprotected from theassaults of the devil to glory and immortality will have a moreexceeding and eternal weight of glory than she who has been shut in, asit were, by the walls of a nunnery." "If we could have kept the Negrofrom the Bible, kept the religion of Jesus Christ out of his heart, themassacre of November 10th might have the effect that those who plannedit desired. But such demonstrations of barbarism will never be the meansof vanquishing a trusting people. There's my cook, Susan. Her faith issimply astonishing. That young Negro man who was shot to death trying toescape from the Naval Reserves who were taking him from his home andfamily was her son. When my son read the news to her, she said no word,there was no sign of distress in her face, but I could see that herheart was deeply moved. She arose after a few minutes' silentmeditation, then went on with her work. That evening I stole up to herroom to speak a comforting word to her. I found her reading her Bible.She took off her glasses and wiped the water from her eyes as Ientered." "I'm jes' layin' hold of God's promises," she said with asmile. "God is our refuge an' strength in all kinds er trouble, Honey."She threw her arms about my neck and drew me down beside her, andpointing to a verse in the prayer of Habakkuk said: "Read it loud,Honey. That's whar I stan'. 'Although the fig tree shall not blossom,neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive shall fail,and the fields shall yield no meat.' 'The flock shall be cut off fromthe fold and there shall be no herd in the stalls. Yet will I rejoice inthe Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.' These are hersentiments." "This demonstrates the strength of her faith. She will notbelieve that her child was killed. In some miraculous way he must haveescaped, and will some day come to her. For the faith of the simpleNegro woman I would give a world." It was near the midnight hour whenMrs. McLane's visitors departed, wiser women by that Thanksgiving Dayvisit, we hope.