As we gaze upon the bleeding form of this simple negro, this question comes forcibly to us: Died Dan Wright as a fool dieth? Was it right for him to stand alone against such fearful odds? Yes, that the chronicler in recording this terrible one-sided fight might be able to mention one act 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 the humble grave in which he sleeps no shaft of granite rises to point to passers-by where this martyr to the cause of freedom lies. But when Justice 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, Nat Turner, and then far above them all, in letters that shall shine as the brightness of the firmanent, the name of DAN WRIGHT.
Unlike most of the heroes named above, Dan's name will not in this generation be engraved upon brass or steel, or carved in marble. To an unsympathetic world he was an outlaw, who raised his arms against kings and princes, who feel that they have the sanction of God Himself to trample upon the lowly.
With tall pines as sentinels keeping watch over it, and stars for tapers tall, the body of this immortal hero lies beneath the soil enriched by his 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 who fell on that eventful day? The blame is laid upon the Georgians, who were invited there to assist in restoring white man's government, when there had never been any other government in existence there. But who is really responsible for this cowardly massacre? Wilmington's best white citizens, by whose invitation and under whose directions the Georgians acted. And what better market could have been sought for murderers and cowards and assassins, and intense haters of negroes than Georgia? In ante-bellum days Georgia outdid all other slave-holding States in cruelty to its slave population. The North Carolina master could subdue the 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 for whom she had formed a dislike with terror, and bring him to her feet begging for mercy by walking backward, making a cross with her heel and prophesying, "You'll walk Georgia road."
When Georgia, the altar for human sacrifices, perfumed by the odor of cooked human flesh, travailed, she brought forth the prodegy of the nineteenth century, whose cries for blood would startle Catherine De Medici and cause Bloody Mary to look aghast.
Georgia bore upon her sulphurous bosom an Andersonville, within whose walls thousands of the nation's noblest sons suffered the most inhuman treatment and died the most agonizing and ignominious death. Georgia trained her cannon upon these emaciated, starved vermin-eaten creatures rather than submit to their rescue by an invading army. Georgia's convict camps of the present day are worse than slavery, and more intolerable than the Siberian mines. The order of the States upon the map should be changed so as to read as follows: North Carolina, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisana, Texas, Georgia, Hell. The people of Wilmington were bargaining for the genuine article when they sent to Georgia for trained murderers and assassins.
Josh Halsey was the second one to fall on that fatal day. Josh was deaf and did not hear the command to halt, and ran until brought down by a bandit's bullet. Josh Halsey was asleep in bed when the mob turned into Brunswick Street, and his daughter awoke him, only to rush from his house to death. The mob swept on over his prostrate form, shooting into private dwellings, and frightening men and children, who fled to the woods for safety, or hid beneath their dwellings.