CHAPTER II.
The Colonel.
There strode out of a humble but neatly furnished dwelling in the Southern section of the city of Wilmington on a sultry morning in August, 1898, a man not over the average height, neatly dressed in a well-brushed suit of black. His full and well kept beard of mixed gray hung low upon his immaculate shirt front. His head classic and perfectly fashioned, set well poised upon shoulders as perfectly proportioned as an Apollo. His gray hair parted upon the side of his head, was carefully brushed over his forehead to hide its baldness, and from beneath abundant shaggy eyebrows, looked forth a pair of cold gray eyes. Though past sixty, he was erect, and his step was as firm as a man of thirty. This was "The Colonel," typical Southern gentleman of the old school, a descendant of the genuine aristocracy, the embodiment of arrogance.
The Southerners' definition of the term "gentleman" is a peculiar one. The gentleman is born, and there is no possible way for him to lose the title. He is a gentleman, drunk or sober, honest or dishonest, in prison or out of prison. He is a gentleman with the stains of murder unwashed from his hands. It is birth and not character with the Southerner, appearance, rather than worth.
While in New England settled the tanner, the wheelwright, the blacksmith, the hardy son of the soil who came over to escape religious persecution, and to serve God according to the dictates of his own conscience, with none to molest or make him afraid, in the South there settled England and Europe's aristocrat, lazy and self-indulgent, satisfied to live upon the unrequited toil of others.
The "Colonel," aside from having a brilliant war record, had also a lofty political career in North Carolina during and following the reconstruction period. Twenty years or more ago he, in the height of his career, was the idol of Eastern North Carolina. "The silver-tongued orator of the East," his appearance in any town or hamlet was greeted with the greatest enthusiasm. Holidays were proclaimed and houses were decked with flags and bunting in honor of the hero of the day and hour. The workman forgot his toil, the merchant his business; old and young, little and big thronged the streets, women raised their little ones in their arms and cried, "See, the Colonel comes!" We listened with rapt attention to his superior eloquence, and no man was more deeply rooted in the affections of his people. We esteemed him too high to be low, too lofty in thought and aspiration to do a mean thing. Republican aspirants to Congress in those days were easily turned down by the Colonel who represented that district for three or more terms at the National Capitol. But there came a time when the Colonel's influence began to wane; whisperings were current that he was indulging too freely in the Southern gentleman's besetting sin—poker and mint julips, and that the business of the people whose interests he had been sent to look after was being neglected. Still Wilmingtonians' confidence in the Colonel did not slacken, and when the time for Congressional nominations came, we went to Fayetteville with bands playing and banners flying, and we cheered ourselves hoarse in order to quicken slumbering interest in the Colonel, but failed. Cumberland, Bladen, Mecklinburg and other counties came down unanimously in favor of one Shackleford, of the upper section, a name almost unknown to us, and New Hanover, which stood alone for the Colonel, was defeated. After the expiration of his term in Congress the Colonel went to his home in Wilmington, and resumed the practice of law. The last time that I visited the old city, the Colonel was solicitor in the Criminal Court. He had also moved out of his palatial dwelling on Third street, and sought cheaper quarters. Twenty years ago he would have scorned the thought of doing this deed which he was now contemplating as he strode down the street on this sultry August morning.
"I will carry this election or choke the river with their carcasses," he said slowly to himself. But why this ghastly sentence from the mouth of a representative Wilmingtonian? What had plunged the Colonel into such a desperate state of mind? Poverty! lost honor, unsatisfied ambition. The Negro and the "low white" are prospering, holding positions in the city government that rightfully belong to first families who are better qualified to hold said positions and more entitled to the remunerations; but the changing of this order of things cannot be brought about by honest methods, so like the hungry wolf, the Colonel is preparing to make a desperate charge to carry the election and place himself in office, even if the streets of the old city flow with blood. Yea, although the usual state election time is some distance off, plans have been already secretly perfected not only to carry the election by the Democrats, but to reduce the Negro majorities by banishment, intimidation and murder.
Senator——, by invitation, had visited the state, and advised the carrying of the election with the shotgun, and had offered the loan of five hundred guns from South Carolina. Merchants, most of them in Wilmington, had promised to discharge all colored help who showed a disposition to vote, and had also subscribed to a fund for the purpose of purchasing powder, guns and dynamite. A railroad company operating into the city had subscribed five hundred guns. Stump orators had secured the aid of the poor whites both in the city and rural districts by promising them that by assisting to kill and chase the Negro from the city, the property owned by the colored citizens would be turned over to them. This was the work of hungry politicians who, to get office told an infamous lie, and were ready to deluge a city in blood just to get into office. Certain Negroes and white men had been listed for slaughter and banishment. Negro men and women who had had any difficulty in which they had gotten the best of a white person before the courts or otherwise, for even ten years back, were to be killed or driven from the city. Those who owned houses in white neighborhoods were to be driven out and their property taken. All this was being done quietly while the old city rested peacefully upon this smouldering volcano. The Negro, unaware of the doom that awaited him, went quietly about his work; but there were a few white men in the city who, although Southerners by birth and education, did not coincide with the methods adopted for the securing of white supremacy. Among these was Mr. Gideon who could not be persuaded to assist in such a movement, even in the minutest way. A few mornings previous to the opening of my story, there had appeared in the columns of a small Negro journal edited in Wilmington, a short article which had been interpreted as an intent to slander white women. This had thrown the city into a fever of excitement, and dire threats had been made against the editor, and the flocking of the colored people to his aid had made the whites that much more bitter toward Negroes in general. But they soon quieted down, and waited the "final day." The Colonel feeling assured that this article in the Negro Journal would be the means of driving all lukewarm whites into line, leisurely strolled on this particular day toward the office of Mr. Gideon.