She was never able to tell, even in her own thoughts, what happened to her in that terrible moment. To her before that dread day, race had been a relative matter, something that did exist but of which one was not conscious except when it was impressed upon one. The death before her very eyes of that unknown man shook from her all the apathy of the past. There flashed through her mind in letters that seared her brain the words, “I too am a Negro!” …
“Come on, Mimi, we’ve got to get out of this!”
Jean’s words made her uncover her face. From nearby Decatur Street, thoroughfare of saloons and dives, of pawnshops and rooming-houses, of cheap restaurants and tailor shops, there came the crash of breaking glass.
“They’re breaking into the pawnshops to get weapons,” was Jean’s correct conjecture. Here—there everywhere the howling mobs rushed. Street cars were stopped, Negroes pulled from them, stabbed, kicked, beaten to death. Few shots were fired—the quarters were too close—some member of the mob might get hurt.
A shout went up that made all others seem puny. Out of a side street lurched a carriage drawn by two horses. On the box there half crouched a white man. Taut reins in left hand, in the right he held a long, winding, cruel-looking whip. In the back crouched two frightened Negroes. On and on the carriage swayed and rushed. The driver with one motion lashed the foaming horses, with almost the same sweep he swung backwards and across at the yelling men who sprang at the carriage like starving wolves at a dangling carcass.
Shouts of pain and fury from the lashed, who fell back, huge welts on their faces, mingled with the pounding of the horses’ hoofs. Above it all there came a piercing yell from the driver, an obbligato of exultation and challenge welling above the deeper-throated rumble of the crowd. Breathlessly Jean and Mimi followed the carriage as far as they could see it, a prayer in their hearts for the escape of the three. There came a subtle change in the sounds growing fainter in the distance. A note of bafflement entered the deeper tones. A final roar of disappointment told them the carriage had escaped with its human burdens, and happiness filled them.
Clutching Mimi’s hand, Jean cautiously sped from doorway to doorway as the crowd, lessened by those who had gone in pursuit of the carriage, thinned out. Across the broad expanse of Marietta Street they scurried. Once they crouched in a doorway while a crowd sped in pursuit of a crippled Negro bootblack who hopelessly sought to distance his pursuers. He fell, the mob atop him. Mimi screamed. A member of the mob heard her, turned and thrust his face into Jean’s. He snatched off Jean’s hat and peered into his face in the dim light.
In terror, Jean lapsed into French.
“Mon Dieu!” he cried, in dismay.
“ ’Scuse me, brother! I thought you were a nigger!” apologized Jean’s tormentor, handing Jean his hat. …
On they sped, down Peachtree Street, to Auburn Avenue, down Auburn Avenue to Pryor Street. There, as they started to cross, a shout welling into a roar made them draw back into the shelter of a doorway. Up Pryor Street sped a young, well-dressed Negro. Inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard he gained on his pursuers. One by one he left them behind until only one was near him. Here was one who ran as swiftly as the intended victim. Mimi and Jean saw the Negro glance over his shoulder. From his pocket they saw him take a pocketknife and open it. In so doing he lost a few feet. As the two racing figures were abreast the hiding-place of Jean and Mimi, the pursuer lunged forward, clutching at the shoulders of the Negro to drag him to the earth. Twisting, turning, the Negro plunged the knife to its hilt in the breast of his pursuer, who gasped, groaned and ludicrously sank to the ground. Without pausing, the Negro turned down Auburn Avenue and soon was lost in its shadows. …
The mob rushed up, gathered around the victim, peered indecisively down the street where the Negro had fled, discussed and voted against following him as the street led to the Negro section. A cry went up. Another victim had been sighted. Off it sped its death cry again in full volume. Down the street and home scurried Jean and Mimi, weak with fright and the horror of the scenes they had witnessed. …
All during Sunday and Monday the three remained at home. Reports came to them of bloody fighting in South Atlanta, of Negroes in despair fighting bravely and successfully to check the mobs, of the coming of troops. The ghastly episode ended, slowly the town returned to its normal state. To Mimi there came whenever she remembered it a chill terror that almost became unconsciousness. In the still hours of the night she would awaken from a sound sleep screaming with terror which turned on awakening into hysterical sobbing until Jean came to her and comforted her. The healing brought alone by time lessened her spasms, but many days passed before she could smile again.
VI
Mimi dated thereafter her consciousness of being coloured from September, nineteen hundred and six. For her the old order had passed, she was now definitely of a race set apart. At times this created within her moods of introspection which veered dangerously near the morbid. At other times it inculcated a deep and passionate scorn of those who were her own and her race’s oppressors. She chuckled
