A Slave’s Former Experience Revived.
In the month of May, 1871, an intelligent mulatto—in whose veins flowed the blood of some ardent advocate of the white man’s race, unquestionably judging from his light color—whose name was William Washington, resided in a small shanty or cabin, about two miles and a-half from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Washington had been a slave in the early part of his life, and was one of those unfortunates who chafed under the abuses and the yoke that held him in servitude to a “master.”
He was high-spirited, and had learned to read and write before the Emancipation Proclamation had given him freedom, to act upon his own volition, untrammelled by his nominal “owner.” Upon becoming a freeman, he left Montgomery County, Ala., near which place he had been reared, and settled in the vicinity of Tuscaloosa.
He was quiet in his deportment, orderly and well disposed. He had given general satisfaction to all who had employed him. But in the early part of the year 1870, it began to be observed that Washington was actively exerting an influence over the negroes in the vicinity, to such an extent as to cause the Ku Klux Camp organized under Philip J. Brady, as Commander to take the alarm.
The mulatto Washington was charged with being a Republican, of the radical sort, with presuming to teach the negroes to read, (shocking offence?) and of instructing them in Northern principles. This wouldn’t answer, surely. And so William was “warned” by the Camp that he must cease this kind of practice, and leave the country at once.
He paid no heed to this warning, and a second one came, notifying him that unless he departed within the succeeding thirty days, he should suffer death—for “though the moon was then bright, it would turn to blood—K. K. K.” Instead of seeing this fearful summons in the light it was intended he should, the mulatto industriously circulated the story that he went well armed always, and was ready to die, if he must, in defence of his principles. But that “he wouldn’t run away—no how.”
Matters went on thus for nearly a year. On the night of the 15th of May, 1871, Washington shut and barred his cabin door, as was his custom upon retiring, placed his gun and a single barrelled pistol by his bedside, and turned in, to sleep. About eleven o’clock, he was suddenly awaked by a thumping upon the closed shutter of the only window in the hut, and upon inquiring who was there, he recognized the voice of a friendly negro, outside, who answered—
“Day’s a pow’r o’ men a comin’ up der road, yender—an’ yer muss look out for yar se’f Wash’n’t’n, dass a fack.”
This timely and kindly warning from his friend was very gratefully listened to by Washington, who replied that his informer must try to get help to him, if possible. And quickly dressing himself, the former slave awaited the assault which he now anticipated, from the look of affairs outside, so near his hut.
The mounted band rode up very soon afterwards, and having been refused admittance, some of them dashed in the door. Washington was a powerful man, well built and very muscular—while his self-possession was always remarkable, when in peril. The interior of the shanty being quite dark, he crouched down in one corner, and fired upon his assailants with the pistol first and then immediately discharged the gun. Both shots took effect, and two of the Klan fell heavily to the floor.