“Dr. Miller,” cried Green, “Mr. Watson—we’re lookin’ fer a leader. De w’ite folks are killin’ de niggers, an’ we ain’ gwine ter stan’ up an’ be shot down like dogs. We’re gwine ter defen’ ou’ lives, an’ we ain’ gwine ter run away f’m no place where we’ve got a right ter be; an’ woe be ter de w’ite man w’at lays ban’s on us! Dere’s two niggers in dis town ter eve’y w’ite man, an’ ef we’ve got ter be killt, we’ll take some w’ite folks ’long wid us, ez sho’ ez dere’s a God in heaven—ez I s’pose dere is, dough He mus’ be ’sleep, er busy somewhar e’se ter-day. Will you-all come an’ lead us?”
“Gentlemen,” said Watson, “what is the use? The negroes will not back you up. They haven’t the arms, nor the moral courage, nor the leadership.”
“We’ll git de arms, an’ we’ll git de courage, ef you’ll come an’ lead us! We wants leaders—dat’s w’y we come ter you!”
“What’s the use?” returned Watson despairingly. “The odds are too heavy. I’ve been ordered out of town; if I stayed, I’d be shot on sight, unless I had a bodyguard around me.”
“We’ll be yo’ bodyguard!” shouted half a dozen voices.
“And when my bodyguard was shot, what then? I have a wife and children. It is my duty to live for them. If I died, I should get no glory and no reward, and my family would be reduced to beggary—to which they’ll soon be near enough as it is. This affair will blow over in a day or two. The white people will be ashamed of themselves tomorrow, and apprehensive of the consequences for some time to come. Keep quiet, boys, and trust in God. You won’t gain anything by resistance.”
“ ‘God he’ps dem dat he’ps demselves,’ ” returned Josh stoutly. “Ef Mr. Watson won’t lead us, will you, Dr. Miller?” said the spokesman, turning to the doctor.
For Miller it was an agonizing moment. He was no coward, morally or physically. Every manly instinct urged him to go forward and take up the cause of these leaderless people, and, if need be, to defend their lives and their rights with his own—but to what end?
“Listen, men,” he said. “We would only be throwing our lives away. Suppose we made a determined stand and won a temporary victory. By morning every train, every boat, every road leading into Wellington, would be crowded with white men—as they probably will be any way—with arms in their hands, curses on their lips, and vengeance in their hearts. In the minds of those who make and administer the laws, we have no standing in the court of conscience. They would kill us in the fight, or they would hang us afterwards—one way or another, we should be doomed. I should like to lead you; I should like to arm every colored man in this town, and have them stand firmly in line, not for attack, but for defense; but if I attempted it, and they should stand by me, which is questionable—for I have met them fleeing from the town—my life would pay the forfeit. Alive, I may be of some use to you, and you are welcome to my life in that way—I am giving it freely. Dead, I should be a mere lump of carrion. Who remembers even the names of those who have been done to death in the Southern States for the past twenty years?”
“I ’members de name er one of ’em,” said Josh, “an’ I ’members de name er de man dat killt ’im, an’ I s’pec’ his time is mighty nigh come.”
“My advice is not heroic, but I think it is wise. In this riot we are placed as we should be in a war: we have no territory, no base of supplies, no organization, no outside sympathy—we stand in the position of a race, in a case like this, without money and without friends. Our time will come—the time when we can command respect for our rights; but it is not yet in sight. Give it up, boys, and wait. Good may come of this, after all.”
Several of the men wavered, and looked irresolute.
“I reckon that’s all so, doctuh,” returned Josh, “an’, de way you put it, I don’ blame you ner Mr. Watson; but all dem reasons ain’ got no weight wid me. I’m gwine in dat town, an’ ef any w’ite man ’sturbs me, dere’ll be trouble—dere’ll be double trouble—I feels it in my bones!”
“Remember your old mother, Josh,” said Miller.
“Yas, suh, I’ll ’member her; dat’s all I kin do now. I don’ need ter wait fer her no mo’, fer she died dis mo’nin’. I’d lack ter see her buried, suh, but I may not have de chance. Ef I gits killt, will you do me a favor?”
“Yes, Josh; what is it?”
“Ef I should git laid out in dis commotion dat’s gwine on, will you collec’ my wages f’m yo’ brother, and see dat de ole ’oman is put away right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Wid a nice coffin, an’ a nice fune’al, an’ a head-bo’d an’ a foot-bo’d?”
“Yes.”
“All right, suh! Ef I don’ live ter do it, I’ll know it’ll be ’tended ter right. Now we’re gwine out ter de cotton compress, an’ git a lot er colored men tergether, an’ ef de w’ite folks ’sturbs me, I shouldn’t be s’prise’ ef dere’d be a mix-up;—an’ ef dere is, me an one w’ite man’ll stan’ befo’ de jedgment th’one er God dis day; an’ it won’t be me w’at ’ll be ’feared er de jedgment. Come along, boys! Dese gentlemen may have somethin’ ter live fer; but ez fer my pa’t, I’d ruther be a dead nigger any day dan a live
