“Peace an' good-will to all men. Thy will be done. Amen.”
“All right, I know you,” Neb would say. “Go up ter de hall en set down, but mind you, don't speak one word!”
And thus they gathered—the men who were considered the most substantial colored citizens of the town. About ten o'clock Neb crept cautiously up the narrow stairs, entered the room, and sat down.
“We are all here,” he announced. “Brother Hard-castle, I'm done wid my part. I ain't no public speaker; I'll leave de rest ter you.”
A figure in one of the comers rose. He was the leading negro minister of the place. He cleared his throat and then said: “I would open with prayer, but to pray we ought to stand or kneel, and either thing would make too much disturbance. We can only ask God in our hearts, brothers, to be with us here in the darkness, and help lead us out of our trouble; help us to decide if we can, singly or in a body, what course to pursue in the grave matter that faces our race. We are being sorely tried, tried almost past endurance, but the God of the white man is the God of the black. Through a dark skin the light of a pure heart shines as far in an appeal for help towards the throne of Heaven as through a white. I'm not prepared to make a speech. I can't. I am too full of sorrow and alarm. I have just left the mother of the accused boy and the sight of her suffering has upset me. I have no harsh words, either, for the white men of this town. Every self-respecting colored citizen has nothing but words of praise for the good white men of the South, and in my heart, I can't much blame the men of the mountains who are bent on revenge, for the crime perpetrated by one of our race was horrible enough to justify their rage. It is only that we want to see full justice done and the absolutely innocent protected. I have been talking to Brother Black to-day, and I feel—”
He broke off, for a hiss of warning as low as the rattle of a hidden snake escaped Neb Wynn's lips. On the brick sidewalk below the steps of some solitary passer-by rang crisply on the still night air. It died away in the distance and again all was quiet.
“Now you kin go on,” Neb said. “We des got to be careful, gen'men. Ef a meetin' lak dis was knowed ter be on tap de last one of us would be in trouble, en dey would pull my house down fust. You all know dat.”
“You are certainly right,” the preacher resumed. “I was only going to call on Brother Black to say something in a line with the-talk I had with him today. He's got the right idea.”
“I'm not a speaker,” Buck Black began, as he stood up. “A man who runs a barber-shop don't have any too much time ter read and study, but I've giv' dis subject a lot o' thought fust an' last. I almost giv' up after dat big trouble in Atlanta; I 'lowed dar wasn't no way out of we-alls' plight, but I think diffunt now. A white man made me see it. I read some'n' yesterday in the biggest paper in dis State. It was written by de editor an' er big owner in it. Gen'men, it was de fust thing I've seed dat seemed ter me ter come fum on high as straight as a bolt of lightnin'. Brother black men, dat editor said dat de white race had tried de whip-lash, de rope, en de firebrand fer forty years en de situation was still as bad as ever. He said de question never would be plumb settled till de superior race extend a kind, helpful hand ter de ignorant black an' lead 'im out er his darkness en sin en crime. Gen'men, dem words went thoo en thoo me. I knowed dat man myself, when I lived in Atlanta; I've seed his honest face en know he meant what he said. He said it was time ter blaze er new trail, er trail dat hain't been blazed befo'—er trail of love en forgiveness en pity, er trail de Lord Jesus Christ would blaze ef he was here in de midst o' dis struggle.”
“Dat so, dat so!” Neb Wynn exclaimed, in a rasping whisper. “Gawd know dat de trufe.”