Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly Part 7

wanter search me I'll take off ma clothes, so yo' won't have ter tear 'em," and Lizzie began to hurriedly unfasten her bodice. "Yo've got ter search me right," she continued, throwing off piece after piece; "yo'll fin' I am jes' like yo' sisters an' mammies, yo' po' tackies." "That'll do," growled one of the men, as Lizzie was unb.u.t.toning the last piece.

"Oh, no," returned the girl, "I'm goin' ter git naked; yer got ter see that I'm er woman." White women were looking on from their windows at this sight so shocking. One had the courage to shout "Shame! how dare you expose that woman in that manner?" "Them's the curnel's orders,"

replied the leader, raising his hat. "Who is the Colonel, and what right has he to give such orders?" shrieked the woman. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves for your own wives and daughters' sakes." The men skulked away and left Lizzie victor on the field. Yours for justice and right,

ADELAIDE PETERSON.

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 to re-enforce its intensity, as many as can, seek warmer climes. A few winters ago, among the many tourists who sought accommodations on a train South-bound were Rev. Hiland Silkirk, wife and two children. Rev.

Silkirk's many years of ministerial work in the old cradle of liberty had somewhat told upon his health, and he felt that a few months or years in a warmer clime would result in the recovery of lost vigor. He had 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 of the yellow pine. And then, again, a field was open for the continuance of his work while he recuperated, a certain Baptist church in the old city had called him to its pastorate. Being a man of exceptional ability, affable and of sunny temperament, Rev. Hiland Silkirk was just the man to win friends among Southern people, and he won them among both white and black citizens in that old town. This is the case in every Southern community. A Negro man of prominence can retain his popularity on certain lines among the whites if he keeps out of politics and in all race troubles remains neutral. But he cannot take this stand and be universally loved. His reward will inevitably be the contempt of his own race, which he cannot afford to engender. And no man who loves his people can hide his light under a bushel; can keep quiet when they are a.s.sailed. He must, he will raise hand and voice in their defense. Moses refused to dwell in the king's palace while his people suffered about him. No! he went forth, and in his zeal smote an uncirc.u.mcised Egyptian oppressor to death and fled into a strange land and there fitted himself for their deliverer. Rev. Hiland Silkirk counted his friends among some leading ministers and laymen of the opposite race. But Rev. Silkirk was true to his own, and when the time came to test that devotion, he arrayed himself with his own people and endangered his own life. When, in the early part of August, 1898, the fight between the editor of the Record and the editor of the Messenger waxed hot over the inflammatory letters on the race question from the pen of Mrs. Fells, of Georgia, which had its final result in the destruction of the Record's property and the banishment of its editor, Rev. Silkirk did not hesitate to join in the controversy. This caused many of his white friends to cool towards him, and it placed his name upon the list of dangerous(?) Negroes to be killed or banished. After the general raid which terrorized 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 arrest and drive from the city the objects of their spleen. The duly elected Mayor and other officials having been deposed, bandits were put in their places. A portion of the mob which destroyed the Record building on the morning of the 10th, started northward toward Walnut street, on which the hated Negro minister resided. But among the white ministers in Wilmington there was one at least who would not allow his prejudice to impair his devotion to a worthy friend. He, aware of the plot to murder the black divine, set out on that morning to warn him of his danger. The Rev. Silkirk, aroused and alarmed by the noise of guns coming from every direction in the city, had just mounted his bicycle and started in the direction of Dry Pond. As he turned into Seventh street he saw, more than two blocks away, another bicyclist breathlessly pedaling toward him. "Why, Dr. Sawyer, I was just starting to your house!" said the colored man, as the white one rode up and dismounted. "And I was just coming to your house to inform you that a ride in my direction is dangerous! Return! There is no time to be lost. Get into the woods! They are on the way to your house now to kill you. I must not be seen with you. Go! Make haste!" This was all said in one breath, and before the colored man could recover from his astonishment to ask a question the white one was gone. Down the street a cloud of dust rose before the colored minister's eyes. The bandits were only a few blocks away. There was not even time to return to his home. He hastened down Walnut street, crossed Red Cross into Campbell, and made for the woods. The bandits rode up to the minister's house, dismounted and surrounded it, but the quarry was gone. From the frightened wife and little ones they could glean no information as to the whereabouts of the minister. They were about to satisfy their vengeance by subjecting the helpless woman to revolting indignities, when a boy ran up to inform them of the direction in which the man had fled. The mob mounted their horses and made a dash for Oak Dale Cemetery. The colored people in the neighborhood, afraid to approach to offer protection to poor Mrs. Silkirk, now gathered about her. All were unanimous in the belief that the bandits would return should they fail to find the minister, and not only molest her, but shoot into the houses of others as well. So they decided to take her to the church, yea, gather the whole neighborhood in there. "Sho, dey won't shoot in de house er G.o.d," said an old lady. "Le'us git dar an' pray; we kin 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, sore and exhausted from wading through marshes and being scratched by briars.

Night had set in. He lay down beneath a clump of bushes to rest; but there was no rest for this poor innocent wretch, outlawed by ruffians and compelled to leave his wife and little ones, and be hunted as a wild beast in the forest. This is the fate of many a Negro who had committed no more offense against law and order. But this, to such characters as Rev. Silkirk, was no evidence of G.o.d's displeasure. Men more righteous than he had been compelled to flee for their lives; yea, suffer death for truth's sake; men of whom the world was not worthy. He pillowed his head upon a tuft of wire gra.s.s, and gazed upward towards the spangled skies. "Lord, we cannot tell why this, thy people, are so severely tried; yet we believe that all things work together for good to them that trust in Thee. Strengthen our faith, Lord. Save our wives and little ones from a fate worse than death at the hands of the wicked, who glory and take delight in shameful treatment of the defenseless." He heard the tramping of horses' feet among the bushes only a short distance away, and soon several men galloped past where he lay--so close that one of the horses brushed against the bush which sheltered him. The frightened 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 a disappointed and angry mob.

The feeling that the church was the only place for safety filled the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of most of the frightened souls in the neighborhood of Seventh and Red Cross streets on the evening of the dreadful 10th of November, after the band of Red Shirts had terrorized the people in their bl.u.s.terous hunt for the negro minister. "It seemed like the day of Judgment," said an eye witness. "There were no loud lamentations, as is usual when colored people are wrought up under excitement, but sobs, groans and whispered pet.i.tions. Bless our pastor, Lord, an' save him ef it be Thy will," came from many lips, followed by "Amens" and "Do, Lord." Suddenly the church was thrown into a spasm of excitement that could not be suppressed, for while they were breathing prayers for his deliverance, the pastor, wet, footsore and tired, entered and strode slowly up the aisle. "Why did you, oh, why did you come back?" exclaimed his wife, throwing her arms about the minister's neck, while others in their excitement gathered about them. The Rev. Silkirk gently led his wife, who had almost fainted in his arms, to a chair and raised his hand for silence. "Brethren and sisters," he began, "my escape from death to-day has been a narrow one. I knew that my att.i.tude in the Manly-Fells controversy had caused some of my friends to cool toward me, but I did not believe that it would ripen into a desire to murder me, because of my opinions. Nevertheless, my att.i.tude is the same. I do not retract a single word said in defense of my people. Twenty or more men were killed to-day--men who are innocent of any wrong. I may be numbered with them before morning; yet love for my wife and little ones and you caused me to tempt death by returning here to console and speak a word of comfort to you. These may be evidences of G.o.d's displeasure; we may have in our prosperity forgotten to give Him the glory due unto His name; yet by these afflictions we may know that we are beloved of G.o.d, for whom he loveth He chasteneth. We are too well schooled in affliction to be dismayed, and they who are responsible for this rioting may just as well try to stop the river in its flow as to try to triumph permanently over a people who by affliction have waxed so strong in faith. We are as firm as Mount Zion, which cannot be moved. You, all of you, deem it expedient that I go away; so to-night, by the help of the Lord, I shall try to get away from this place. I may see you again, I cannot tell; if not, there are twelve gates to the City, and, with G.o.d's help, we'll meet up there.

Let us have a few moments of silent prayer." Every knee was bended on that terrible night; but so emotional is the colored American that silence in a meeting of this kind is maintained with difficulty. A silence of two minutes elapsed--followed by sobs and groans painful to listen to. Then a voice tremulous with emotion floated over the a.s.semblage--a woman's voice:

"Father in heaven, we have evidence that thou didst hear thy children's cry in days past and gone, and we believe that Thou wilt hear us now.

(Yes, Lord.) Thou didst hear the Hebrew children. (Yes.) Thou didst deliver Daniel. (Yes.) Thou didst hear Africa's groans, and didst break her chains. (Yes, Lord.) Oh Jesus, Master, hear us to-night. (Do, Jesus.) We cannot tell, Lord, why we are buffeted, beaten, murdered and driven from our homes, and made to seek refuge among strangers; but Thou knowest. Perhaps in our prosperity we have forgotten to give Thee the glory, blessed Lord, and these demons that have flocked to Wilmington from all quarters may be the scourgers that Thou art using to bring us closer to Thee. Hear, O Lord, the groans and cries of the widows and orphans of the slaughtered ones; men who gave up their lives in the feeble efforts to defend their homes and firesides. (Do, Lord.) Bless Brother Silkirk and his little family (Amen), who are about to start upon a perilous journey. The way is beset by demons thirsting for his blood. (Lord, help.) But he's in Thy hands, and Thou canst save him and save us from further persecution, if it be Thy will. Amen!"

Rev. Silkirk was visibly moved by this earnest and pathetic plea. He thanked the pet.i.tioner and the entire church for their solicitude. He was dissuaded from attempting to take his wife and little ones with him on his perilous journey, and they were left in care of friends until an opportune season presented itself. The parting between that good man and his wife and friends was indeed touching. A substantial bank note was hurriedly thrust into his hand, and, with two deacons, he stepped out into the darkness and disappeared.

When the North-bound pa.s.senger train leaving Wilmington at 12.01 slowed up at Castle Hayne on the morning of the 12th of November a wretched-looking Negro minister stepped aboard. The trains had for two days been leaving the city ladened with undesirable citizens, white and black, and the trainmen had been earnest abettors in the injury and insult offered them. From Wilmington to Weldon at every stop crowds waited to do injury, if possible, to "n.i.g.g.e.r" and radical refugees.

Thomas Miller, Aria Bryant and other citizens had been taken off and jailed at Goldsboro, and one man in trying to escape was shot to death.

The Rev. Silkirk did not feel very comfortable under the searching eye of the conductor who lifted his fare, and that individual's refusal to give satisfactory answers to inquiries concerning connections at Rocky Mount increased his feeling of uneasiness. He felt a.s.sured that failing to capture him in the woods, his would-be murderers had telegraphed his description, etc., along the road. At Dudley Station two men came into the smoker and took seats immediately in front of him, and continued the discussion of the topic which doubtless absorbed their minds before entering. "I was saying," said one, an elderly man, with quite a refined appearance, "that impertinent article by that Negro preacher was equally as spicy as the editorial, and as the editor took time by the forelock and made good his escape, the determination was to make sure of this preacher. But he was warned in time to get out, and the impression is that he was warned by a white man." "Shame," said the other, slapping his knee vigorously. "He got away, then." "Yes, but it's likely he'll sneak back before taking final leave, as he has a family there, and they are on the lookout for him; besides, the boys have been notified along the road to be on the lookout." "What's his name?" "Silkirk; he is er Boston darkey, an' doubtless is heading for that place, as Southern climate 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 remaining pa.s.senger settled himself back in the seat and went to sleep.

Several men pa.s.sed through the train, the conductor in the lead. Each man slyly glanced at the minister, but said nothing. The train sped on its way through the town.

Now, Wilson is the place where through pa.s.sengers change cars and board North-bound trains from the far South. Wilson for the past few days had been the rendezvous for a well-organized vigilance committee, who had vied with the ruffians at Goldsboro in offering violence to citizens driven out of Wilmington. The leader of this gang was a young farmer by the name of Bull. That afternoon Mr. Bull and quite a number of his fellow-committeemen sat on the steps of the railroad station whittling sticks when the station operator came up and handed him a telegram, which ran as follows: "Goldsboro--Man on train 78 answering description of Silkirk. Look out for him. Barnet."

"By Joe!" exclaimed Captain Bull, jumping to his feet. "Well, what's up?" asked three or four of his companions, gathering around the leader.

"Nothing, only that Boston black Yankee is on train 78, an' he mustn't git any further 'an Wilson, that's all," returned Bull. "Go, Buxton," he said to a sallow-faced young man leaning against the wall, "an' tell the boys ter git ready for er feast ter night. That n.i.g.g.e.r editor slipped through like grease, an' ef we let this n.i.g.g.e.r do so we all uns ought ter 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 pick out er preacher from the tother uns." With that Captain Bull started toward home to get his gun, and the crowd dispersed.

At Wilson trains usually pause at the water tank, a few yards below, for coal and water, before making the final stop at the station. Just as train 78 paused at this place, a colored man with a buggy whip under his arm got aboard. He walked briskly through the train, scanning the faces of the pa.s.sengers 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 pa.s.senger.

"Well, come with me an' get somethin' ter eat foe you go; you look like you hungry. I keep er resterant, put up thar jes' fer my people, bekase thar'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 the pa.s.senger from the train. "Git up in thar," he said, pointing to a small wagon. "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't your name Silkirk?" "That's may name," returned the pa.s.senger in astonishment. "I knowed it," said the driver. "I got on that train ter save yer life ter night. Slower dar, Nell! This road's full er mud holes sence the big rain we had tother day. I jes' happen ter that depot ter day jes' in time ter see thet telegraph when hit c.u.m an' was put inter Captain Bull's han'. Sence dem riots in Wilmin'ton he's bin er getin'

telegraphs an' sarchin' trains, an' insultin' women an' killin' col'd mens. An' I jes' slied erroun' tell I hear what that telegraph say. Hit say, look out fer Silkirk. Thar's er gang of crackers waitin' ter kill you as sho es yo' er bo'n; but Bob Jones is goin' ter cheat um dis time.

Go on thar!" "G.o.d 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 call throwin' de houn's off de scent. Pure n.i.g.g.e.r cunnin', here me? Git up, Nell."

It was near the midnight hour when the horse, panting for breath, paused at a lonely rickety old station. The men alighted. "Hit's jes' twenty minutes pas' eleven," said Bob Jones glancing at his watch. "Now that train's comin' long here in er few minutes. Jes' git er board an' treat de Cap'n right, an' he'll put yer through." "G.o.d bless you and all of yours," said the minister, gratefully. "My people in Wilmington and Boston must know of you and what you have done for me to-night." "Dat's all 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 de good word. Dar's de train now!" The old freight train panted slowly up and stopped to look for freight. The Rev. Hiland Silkirk, with tears of grat.i.tude in his eyes, got aboard, and the triumphant Jehu turned his horse and started homeward.

"Well done, good and faithful servant, forasmuch as you have done good unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me."

CHAPTER XV.

Captain Nicholas McDuffy.

Before the introduction of the improved method of fire fighting in Southern cities--before the steam engine, the hook and ladder and water tower companies supplanted the old hand pump and bucket companies, the Negro was the chief fire fighter, and there was nothing that tended more to make fire fighting a pleasant pastime than those old volunteer organizations. For many years after the war Wilmington was supplied with water for the putting out of fires by means of cisterns which were built in the centre of streets. When the old bell in the market house tower sounded the alarm of fire, the volunteers left their work and hastened to headquarters to drag forth the old hand pump and make for the cistern nearest the scene of the fire, where, keeping time to the tune of some lively song, they pumped the fire out. There was peculiar sweetness in those old songs which made fire fighting a fascinating pastime in those old days. While a few men spannered the hose, directed the stream and did the work of rescuing and saving furniture, etc., the majority were required to man the pumps. Thirty or forty men in brilliant uniform lined up on either side of the huge engine, tugging away at the great horizontal handles, presented a spectacle which no one even in these days of advancement would despise. And the singing!

"O Lindy, Lindy my dear honey, Lindy, gal, I'm boun' to go; O Lindy, Lindy my dear honey, O Lindy, gal, I'm boun' to go," etc.

A few lines of another:

"The cows in de ole field, don't yo' hear de bell?

Let her go, let her go.

The cows in de ole field, don't yo' hear de bell?

Let her go, let her go," etc.

But the things that will make those old organizations live longest in the memory are their frolics, excursions and picnics, full of all that appealed to the appet.i.te for pleasure and excitement. There the dancer, the fighter, the runner, the wrestler, could indulge freely in his favorite pastime; there old scores could be settled and new ones made.

The most noteworthy and serviceable of those old volunteer organizations was the old "Brooklyn No. 4," which guarded that portion of the city known by that name. No. 2, in the middle section, and the "Old No. 3 Double Deck," in the southern part of the city. These old-fashioned machines have given place to the modern fire fighter, the steam engine.

But of all of these banished organizations, No. 3 will be the longest remembered. Upon her roll were the names of some of Wilmington's best citizens. In the year 1873 this company, too serviceable to be disbanded, was reorganized under the name of "Cape Fear Engine Company,"

and presented by the city with a handsome steam engine of that name. And although the Germans had replaced their hand pump by costly steamer, and a company had been organized among the aristocracy, this colored company kept and maintained the reputation of being the best fire fighters in the city, and second to none in the entire State. Upon the walls of their engine house hung trophies for superior firemanship won in nearly every city in the State. The insurance companies of the city recognized their value as savers of property, and upon more than one occasion made them valuable presents. Only men of good repute who could "stand the gaze of an honest eye" were eligible to membership in the Cape Fear Fire Company, and he who aspired to leadership must be efficient both in character and experience as a fire fighter. I write the above that the reader may know what manner of man this was who was compelled to leave his home, his wife and little ones and flee for his life. Captain Nicholas McDuffy was at one time foreman of the Cape Fear Engine Company. McDuffy came to Wilmington a rough country lad, secured employment, went to work, saved his money, bought property and became a citizen of note and respectability. He joined the engine company and rose like a meteor to its foremost rank. The relations between the races in the South have always been such that it requires a Negro of Spartan courage to face a white man and return blow for blow, it matters not how righteous may be his cause. Captain Nicholas McDuffy was a man without fear. Two or three years ago, while a member of the police force of Wilmington, it became his duty to arrest some white roughs for disorderly conduct. It was a hazardous undertaking, but McDuffy waded in and landed his men, but it cost him dear. His body was so hacked by knife thrusts that he was compelled to go to the hospital for repairs.

Generally policemen are commended and rewarded for such heroic deeds, but this placed the name of Nicholas McDuffy upon the death list. A Negro officer must not presume to arrest a white man. There were, however, white men who admired McDuffy for his frankness and courage, and when the riotous excitement was at its height and the a.s.sa.s.sins were seeking here and there for victims, one of these true men warned McDuffy just in time to get into the swamp before a mob surrounded his house.

They pursued him, however, but by swimming a creek not far from the city's limit he escaped their bullets, and without coat or hat made his way to New Berne. His poor wife and children were left to the mercy of the mob, who drove them forth and burned the house behind them.

CHAPTER XVI.

Tempting Negroes to Return.

Wilmington Officials Scouring the Woods for Refugees--Want Them to Return and Go to Work.

Special to The World.

Wilmington, N. C., Nov. 13.--Affairs are settling down to their normal condition here. Chief of Police Edgar G. Parmle and several representatives of the new city government drove out ten miles on the various roads leading from the city to-day, to induce the refugee Negroes to come back.