It was ingenious, but it was not fair. In due time a constitutional convention was called, in which the above scheme was adopted and submitted to a vote of the people for ratification. The campaign was fought on the color line. Many white Republicans, deluded with the hope that by the elimination of the negro vote their party might receive accessions from the Democratic ranks, went over to the white party. By fraud in one place, by terrorism in another, and everywhere by the resistless moral force of the united whites, the negroes were reduced to the apathy of despair, their few white allies demoralized, and the amendment adopted by a large majority. The negroes were taught that this is a white man’s country, and that the sooner they made up their minds to this fact, the better for all concerned. The white people would be good to them so long as they behaved themselves and kept their place. As theoretical equals—practical equality being forever out of the question, either by nature or by law—there could have been nothing but strife between them, in which the weaker party would invariably have suffered most.
Some colored men accepted the situation thus outlined, if not as desirable, at least as inevitable. Most of them, however, had little faith in this condescending friendliness which was to take the place of constitutional rights. They knew they had been treated unfairly; that their enemies had prevailed against them; that their whilom friends had stood passively by and seen them undone. Many of the most enterprising and progressive left the state, and those who remain still labor under a sense of wrong and outrage which renders them distinctly less valuable as citizens.
The great steal was made, but the thieves did not turn honest—the scheme still shows the mark of the burglar’s tools. Sins, like chickens, come home to roost. The South paid a fearful price for the wrong of negro slavery; in some form or other it will doubtless reap the fruits of this later iniquity.
Drastic as were these “reforms,” the results of which we have anticipated somewhat, since the new Constitution was not to take effect immediately, they moved all too slowly for the little coterie of Wellington conspirators, whose ambitions and needs urged them to prompt action. Under the new Constitution it would be two full years before the “nigger amendment” became effective, and meanwhile the Wellington district would remain hopelessly Republican. The committee decided, about two months before the fall election, that an active local campaign must be carried on, with a view to discourage the negroes from attending the polls on election day.
The question came up for discussion one forenoon in a meeting at the office of the Morning Chronicle, at which all of the “Big Three” were present.
“Something must be done,” declared McBane, “and that damn quick. Too many white people are saying that it will be better to wait until the amendment goes into effect. That would mean to leave the niggers in charge of this town for two years after the state has declared for white supremacy! I’m opposed to leaving it in their hands one hour—them’s my sentiments!”
This proved to be the general opinion, and the discussion turned to the subject of ways and means.
“What became of that editorial in the nigger paper?” inquired the general in his blandest tones, cleverly directing a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “It lost some of its point back there, when we came near lynching that nigger; but now that that has blown over, why wouldn’t it be a good thing to bring into play at the present juncture? Let’s read it over again.”
Carteret extracted the paper from the pigeonhole where he had placed it some months before. The article was read aloud with emphasis and discussed phrase by phrase. Of its wording there could be little criticism—it was temperately and even cautiously phrased. As suggested by the general, the Ochiltree affair had proved that it was not devoid of truth. Its great offensiveness lay in its boldness: that a negro should publish in a newspaper what white people would scarcely acknowledge to themselves in secret was much as though a Russian muzhik or a German peasant should rush into print to question the divine right of the Lord’s Anointed. The article was racial lèse-majesté in the most aggravated form. A peg was needed upon which to hang a coup d’état, and this editorial offered the requisite opportunity. It was unanimously decided to republish the obnoxious article, with comment adapted to fire the inflammable Southern heart and rouse it against any further self-assertion of the negroes in politics or elsewhere.
“The time is ripe!” exclaimed McBane. “In a month we can have the niggers so scared that they won’t dare stick their heads out of doors on ’lection day.”
“I wonder,” observed the general thoughtfully, after this conclusion had been reached, “if we couldn’t have Jerry fetch us some liquor?”
Jerry appeared in response to the usual summons. The general gave him the money, and ordered three Calhoun cocktails. When Jerry returned with the glasses on a tray, the general observed him with pointed curiosity.
“What, in h—ll is the matter with you, Jerry? Your black face is splotched with brown and yellow patches, and your hair shines as though you had fallen head-foremost into a firkin of butter. What’s the matter with you?”
Jerry seemed much embarrassed by this inquiry.
“Nothin’, suh, nothin’,” he stammered. “It’s—it’s jes’ somethin’ I be’n puttin’ on my hair, suh, ter improve de quality, suh.”
“Jerry,” returned the general, bending a solemn look upon the porter, “you have been playing with edged tools, and your days are numbered. You have been reading the Afro-American Banner.”
He shook open the paper, which he had retained in his
