The Black Cavalry's Charge—"Onward Boys!"
"Mildred, my Mildred, where are you, dear heart?" said Wilson Jacobs, as he hurried in the direction of his home, after he had overheard the words of the two men. He was in a turmoil of excitement. He had reached no decision as to what he would do, that is, as to how he would find her; but he was determined that he would search the city to the very doors, until he found and brought back that girl to his home.
"She is being persecuted, being hounded out of her life, as she has been out of the place she called her home—and by those brutes." And he trembled with anger, as he thought of the dastardly creatures who were pursuing her.
"I could corner that brute and make him confess what is behind this mystery; but then I have overheard him admit that she has eluded him; therefore, that would be useless. Until he ascertains her whereabouts, it would be foolish even to whip the cur for his villainy." One thing he decided on 'ere he had gone far in his reflections, and that was to keep it from his sister. It would only serve to upset her more, and she was worried enough already.
"My poor, dear little girl; my brave little girl; and you must bear this burden and sorrow all alone," he murmured in a strained voice, as he approached his abode. "Somewhere in this city she is in fear tonight, in fear of these dark creatures. I would give half my life to find her this very night. Oh, that I had some clue! She would not have me find her, but that is a matter that I would waive aside. Her happiness, even her very life, is in danger. And, whatever this evil may be, I will never believe, even from her own lips, that Mildred Latham is guilty of any act that would not become a lady. Somewhere in the past, she has, in some way, become involved, and this, in some manner, is the occasion of the mystery; but I have faith in her above all others." And so, with this thought, he entered the house and his room, where he walked for hours trying to form some plan of action.
"I will find her. I must find her," he declared, with compressed lips, time and again; but, as to how, no way seemed clear. "I must leave Monday on the mission, and I must try to find her before then. I don't care what it is—has been, and might be in the future—I love you, Mildred, I love you—nothing else matters. I have faith in you; I believe in you above all others; with your presence, under my protection, I feel I could do the things you had faith I could do!" He almost raved at times, during the still hours that followed.
All the kind words she had said to him in the months gone by, came back to him as he trod the floor—thinking, thinking, thinking. "You will succeed; you will become, 'ere long, a leader of men," she had said once. "For it is you, courageous, with the strength of your convictions, this race needs; and it is you they will eventually find."
She had said this with all the fervor of her soul. And he had listened; he had hoped, and then he had worked. Yes, Wilson Jacobs had worked hard to raise those few thousands, that would revert back to the donors in four weeks, if a preponderous sum was not raised by midnight of December thirty-first. December thirty-first, midnight? God, how that sounded in his ears now. The fateful night! One minute after that hour, sixty-seven thousand dollars, waiting from other sources than the black people of this town, would be no longer available. Seventy-three thousand dollars for the future moral welfare of thousands of young men of this race would no longer be available, unless he, Wilson Jacobs, could raise twenty-seven thousand dollars in a day over three weeks.
That was his burden.
If he, Wilson Jacobs, could raise such an amount, innumerable black children yearly, and until the end of time, oh, how long.... Until the end of time, would be saved and have their chance, their great chance, to become men! How much they needed it, these black youth! Only to see any daily, every daily paper, would answer this! And how much would they appreciate it? Yes, how much would they appreciate it?... And yet, what did that matter?... Yes, there were plenty who would say off-hand, "They would not know how to appreciate it; they are incapable of appreciating it." ... But that was from those who did not think deeply—and, yes, the majority, by far, of this race to which he belonged, did not think deeply. But Wilson Jacobs did. He had made it a part of his young life to think deeply, and in the interest of those who needed him.