Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly. Jack Thorne
you believe in Negro rule?"
"No!"
"Yes you do Gideon, or you'd not talk in that manner," replied the Colonel, now beside himself with rage. "Now, by heaven, we are going to put the Negro in his place. Look at our city government in the hands of ignorant niggers and carpet baggers. God did not intend that his white faced children were ever to be ruled by black demons," and the Colonel rose again and began to pace the floor.
"Calm yourself, Colonel, calm yourself," said Mr. Gideon. "Now we ought to be ashamed of ourselves to raise the cry of Negro rule in North Carolina, when we so largely outnumber them. I admit that there are objectionable Negroes in Wilmington, Negroes who would greatly benefit the community by leaving it; but shall we slay the righteous with the wicked? Must the innocent and guilty suffer alike? Ten righteous men would have saved the cities of the plains."
"But they could nt be found," interrupted the Colonel.
"I warrant you they can be found here," calmly replied Mr. Gideon.
"We the white people of this community, have often given expression of our love and even veneration for such characters as Alfred Howe, Henry Taylor, John Norwood, George Ganse, John H. Howe, Thomas Revera, Joe Sampson, Henry Sampson, Isham Quick, and scores of others whom we must, if we do the right thing, acknowledge as the black fathers of this city. Thrifty and industrious Negroes have always been the objects of the envy of poor whites who will eagerly grasp the opportunity when given, to destroy the property of these people. While it is your object, Colonel, to carry the election, and triumph politically, they will murder and plunder, and when once licensed and started, you cannot check them. I see that they are being armed—a dangerous proceeding. Take care Colonel; I beg you to beware lest those guns in the hands of these people be turned upon you, and the best white people of this community be compelled to quit it. I listened with fear and apprehension a few evenings ago, to Fisher's harrangue to the poor whites of Dry Pond. They will take him at his word, for they are just that ignorant. Shall we for the sake of political ascension plunge Wilmington into an abyss of shame?"
"Now, Gideon," said the Colonel, "your talk is all nonsense, we are trying to extricate Wilmington from the slough of infamy into which it has been plunged by Radicals. We are going to elevate the white man to his place and regulate Sambo to his sphere, if the streets have to flow with blood to accomplish that end. Good niggers who know their places will be protected; but these half educated black rascals who think themselves as good as white men, must go. 'Nigger root doctors' are crowding white physicians out of business; 'nigger' lawyers are sassing white men in our courts; 'nigger' children are hustling white angels off our sidewalks. Gideon, in the name of God, what next? what next?" and the Colonel bounded into the air like an Indian in a war dance. "White supremacy must be restored, and you Gideon will regret the day you refused to assist your white brethren to throw off the yoke of oppression. Good day, Gideon, good day"; and the Colonel stalked out of the office.
Uncle Ephraim, one of the old Nimrods who supplied Wilmington's markets with savory ducks and rice birds, stood with his gun on the corner of Front and Market streets that morning, as the Colonel briskly strode past on his way from the office of Mr. Gideon to the Court House.
"Good mawnin Co'nel," said Uncle Ephraim, saluting politely; but the Colonel did not as usual pause to crack a joke with the docile old darky; he did not even vouchsafe a nod of recognition, but moved hastily on his way. Uncle Ephraim stood and wistfully watched the Colonel until he turned the corner of Second and Market streets.
"Whoop! dar's er pow'ful big load on de Co'nel's mine sho. Dat white man didn' eben see me; an' I his ole bodysarbant, too." Uncle Ephraim strode slowly down Market street and entered the store of Sprague & Company. "Look yer!" said he, "I wants er bout fo' ounce powder an er few cap." The salesman shook his head.
"Wa fur yo' shake yer hed, you no got um?"
"We are selling nothing of the kind to darkies just now, uncle."
"But how I gwine fer kill duck?"
The salesman made him no answer.
Uncle Ephraim stood, looked about for a moment, then slowly sauntered into the street, and made his way to Joslins, in South Front street, but was also refused there. Going again to the corner of Market and Front Streets, he saw several white men and boys enter Sprague & Company and came out armed with shot guns and other fire-arms, and walk briskly away. "De ole boy is gwine to tun heself loose in dis yer town soon; fer I see um in de bery eye ob dese bocra. I can't buy um, but see how de bocra go in an git um. Niggah, hit's time ter look er bout,"—and Uncle Ephraim slowly walked up Front Street towards Morrow's.
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