Chapter: Wellington soon resumed its wonted calm, and in a few weeks the intended
lynching was only a memory. The robbery and assault, however, still
remained a mystery to all but a chosen few. The affair had been dropped
as absolutely as though it had never occurred. No colored man ever
learned the reason of this sudden change of front, and Sandy Campbell's
loyalty to his old employer's memory kept him silent. Tom Delamere did
not offer to retain Sandy in his service, though he presented him with
most of the old gentleman's wardrobe. It is only justice to Tom to state
that up to this time he had not been informed of the contents of his
grandfather's latest will. Major Carteret gave Sandy employment as
butler, thus making a sort of vicarious atonement, on the part of the
white race, of which the major felt himself in a way the embodiment, for
the risk to which Sandy had been subjected.

Shortly after these events Sandy was restored to the bosom of the
church, and, enfolded by its sheltering arms, was no longer tempted to
stray from the path of rectitude, but became even a more rigid Methodist
than before his recent troubles.

Tom Delamere did not call upon Clara again in the character of a lover.
Of course they could not help meeting, from time to time, but he never
dared presume upon their former relations. Indeed, the social
atmosphere of Wellington remained so frigid toward Delamere that he left
town, and did not return for several months.

Ellis was aware that Delamere had been thrown over, but a certain
delicacy restrained him from following up immediately the advantage
which the absence of his former rival gave him. It seemed to him, with
the quixotry of a clean, pure mind, that Clara would pass through a
period of mourning for her lost illusion, and that it would be
indelicate, for the time being, to approach her with a lover's
attentions. The work of the office had been unusually heavy of late. The
major, deeply absorbed in politics, left the detail work of the paper to
Ellis. Into the intimate counsels of the revolutionary committee Ellis
had not been admitted, nor would he have desired to be. He knew, of
course, in a general way, the results that it was sought to achieve; and
while he did not see their necessity, he deferred to the views of older
men, and was satisfied to remain in ignorance of anything which he might
disapprove. Moreover, his own personal affairs occupied his mind to an
extent that made politics or any other subject a matter of minor
importance.

As for Dr. Miller, he never learned of Mr. Delamere's good intentions
toward his institution, but regretted the old gentleman's death as the
loss of a sincere friend and well-wisher of his race in their unequal
struggle.

Despite the untiring zeal of Carteret and his associates, the campaign
for the restriction of the suffrage, which was to form the basis of a
permanent white supremacy, had seemed to languish for a while after the
Ochiltree affair. The lull, however, was only temporary, and more
apparent than real, for the forces adverse to the negro were merely
gathering strength for a more vigorous assault. While little was said in
Wellington, public sentiment all over the country became every day more
favorable to the views of the conspirators. The nation was rushing
forward with giant strides toward colossal wealth and world-dominion,
before the exigencies of which mere abstract ethical theories must not
be permitted to stand. The same argument that justified the conquest of
an inferior nation could not be denied to those who sought the
suppression of an inferior race. In the South, an obscure jealousy of
the negro's progress, an obscure fear of the very equality so
contemptuously denied, furnished a rich soil for successful agitation.
Statistics of crime, ingeniously manipulated, were made to present a
fearful showing against the negro. Vital statistics were made to prove
that he had degenerated from an imaginary standard of physical
excellence which had existed under the benign influence of slavery.
Constant lynchings emphasized his impotence, and bred everywhere a
growing contempt for his rights.

At the North, a new Pharaoh had risen, who knew not Israel,--a new
generation, who knew little of the fierce passions which had played
around the negro in a past epoch, and derived their opinions of him from
the "coon song" and the police reports. Those of his old friends who
survived were disappointed that he had not flown with clipped wings;
that he had not in one generation of limited opportunity attained the
level of the whites. The whole race question seemed to have reached a
sort of _impasse_, a blind alley, of which no one could see the outlet.
The negro had become a target at which any one might try a shot.
Schoolboys gravely debated the question as to whether or not the negro
should exercise the franchise. The pessimist gave him up in despair;
while the optimist, smilingly confident that everything would come out
all right in the end, also turned aside and went his buoyant way to more
pleasing themes.

For a time there were white men in the state who opposed any reactionary
step unless it were of general application. They were conscientious men,
who had learned the ten commandments and wished to do right; but this
class was a small minority, and their objections were soon silenced by
the all-powerful race argument. Selfishness is the most constant of
human motives. Patriotism, humanity, or the love of God may lead to
sporadic outbursts which sweep away the heaped-up wrongs of centuries;
but they languish at times, while the love of self works on ceaselessly,
unwearyingly, burrowing always at the very roots of life, and heaping up
fresh wrongs for other centuries to sweep away. The state was at the
mercy of venal and self-seeking politicians, bent upon regaining their
ascendency at any cost, stultifying their own minds by vague sophistries
and high-sounding phrases, which deceived none but those who wished to
be deceived, and these but imperfectly; and dulling the public
conscience by a loud clamor in which the calm voice of truth was for the
moment silenced. So the cause went on.

Carteret, as spokesman of the campaign, and sincerest of all its
leaders, performed prodigies of labor. The Morning Chronicle proclaimed,
in season and out, the doctrine of "White Supremacy." Leaving the paper
in charge of Ellis, the major made a tour of the state, rousing the
white people of the better class to an appreciation of the terrible
danger which confronted them in the possibility that a few negroes might
hold a few offices or dictate the terms upon which white men should fill
them. Difficulties were explained away. The provisions of the Federal
Constitution, it was maintained, must yield to the "higher law," and if
the Constitution could neither be altered nor bent to this end, means
must be found to circumvent it.

The device finally hit upon for disfranchising the colored people in
this particular state was the notorious "grandfather clause." After
providing various restrictions of the suffrage, based upon education,
character, and property, which it was deemed would in effect
disfranchise the colored race, an exception was made in favor of all
citizens whose fathers or grandfathers had been entitled to vote prior
to 1867. Since none but white men could vote prior to 1867, this
exception obviously took in the poor and ignorant whites, while the same
class of negroes were excluded.

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 pigeon-hole 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
_moujik_ or a German peasant should rush into print to question the
divine right of the Lord's Anointed. The article was racial
_lese-majeste_ in the most aggravated form. A peg was needed upon which
to hang a _coup d'etat_, 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 hand, and read
from one of the advertisements:--

"'Kinky, curly hair made straight in two applications. Dark skins
lightened two shades; mulattoes turned perfectly white.'

"This stuff is rank poison, Jerry," continued the general with a mock
solemnity which did not impose upon Jerry, who nevertheless listened
with an air of great alarm. He suspected that the general was making fun
of him; but he also knew that the general would like to think that Jerry
believed him in earnest; and to please the white folks was Jerry's
consistent aim in life. "I can see the signs of decay in your face, and
your hair will all fall out in a week or two at the latest,--mark my
words!"

McBane had listened to this pleasantry with a sardonic sneer. It was a
waste of valuable time. To Carteret it seemed in doubtful taste. These
grotesque advertisements had their tragic side. They were proof that the
negroes had read the handwriting on the wall. These pitiful attempts to
change their physical characteristics were an acknowledgment, on their
own part, that the negro was doomed, and that the white man was to
inherit the earth and hold all other races under his heel. For, as the
months had passed, Carteret's thoughts, centring more and more upon the
negro, had led him farther and farther, until now he was firmly
convinced that there was no permanent place for the negro in the United
States, if indeed anywhere in the world, except under the ground. More
pathetic even than Jerry's efforts to escape from the universal doom of
his race was his ignorance that even if he could, by some strange
alchemy, bleach his skin and straighten his hair, there would still
remain, underneath it all, only the unbleached darky,--the ass in the
lion's skin.

When the general had finished his facetious lecture, Jerry backed out of
the room shamefacedly, though affecting a greater confusion than he
really felt. Jerry had not reasoned so closely as Carteret, but he had
realized that it was a distinct advantage to be white,--an advantage
which white people had utilized to secure all the best things in the
world; and he had entertained the vague hope that by changing his
complexion he might share this prerogative. While he suspected the
general's sincerity, he nevertheless felt a little apprehensive lest the
general's prediction about the effects of the face-bleach and other
preparations might prove true,--the general was a white gentleman and
ought to know,--and decided to abandon their use.

This purpose was strengthened by his next interview with the major. When
Carteret summoned him, an hour later, after the other gentlemen had
taken their leave, Jerry had washed his head thoroughly and there
remained no trace of the pomade. An attempt to darken the lighter spots
in his cuticle by the application of printer's ink had not proved
equally successful,--the retouching left the spots as much too dark as
they had formerly been too light.

"Jerry," said Carteret sternly, "when I hired you to work for the
Chronicle, you were black. The word 'negro' means 'black.' The best
negro is a black negro, of the pure type, as it came from the hand of
God. If you wish to get along well with the white people, the blacker
you are the better,--white people do not like negroes who want to be
white. A man should be content to remain as God made him and where God
placed him. So no more of this nonsense. Are you going to vote at the
next election?"

"What would you 'vise me ter do, suh?" asked Jerry cautiously.

"I do not advise you. You ought to have sense enough to see where your
own interests lie. I put it to you whether you cannot trust yourself
more safely in the hands of white gentlemen, who are your true friends,
than in the hands of ignorant and purchasable negroes and unscrupulous
white scoundrels?"

"Dere's no doubt about it, suh," assented Jerry, with a vehemence
proportioned to his desire to get back into favor. "I ain' gwine ter
have nothin' ter do wid de 'lection, suh! Ef I don' vote, I kin keep my
job, can't I, suh?"

The major eyed Jerry with an air of supreme disgust. What could be
expected of a race so utterly devoid of tact? It seemed as though this
negro thought a white gentleman might want to bribe him to remain away
from the polls; and the negro's willingness to accept the imaginary
bribe demonstrated the venal nature of the colored race,--its entire
lack of moral principle!

"You will retain your place, Jerry," he said severely, "so long as you
perform your duties to my satisfaction and behave yourself properly."

With this grandiloquent subterfuge Carteret turned to his next article
on white supremacy. Jerry did not delude himself with any fine-spun
sophistry. He knew perfectly well that he held his job upon the
condition that he stayed away from the polls at the approaching
election. Jerry was a fool--

"The world of fools hath such a store,
  That he who would not see an ass,
Must stay at home and shut his door
  And break his looking-glass."

But while no one may be entirely wise, there are degrees of folly, and
Jerry was not all kinds of a fool.

 A few weeks pass and Wellington resumes its "wonted calm. Tom leaves only old Mr. Delamere's wardrobe to Sandy and Major Carteret employs him as a butler in his own house. Tom does not visit Clara and Ellis, consumed by work at the office, does not make any immediate romantic advances towards her either. In the nation as a whole, the mood is tilting towards segregationist sentiment. There was a "growing contempt" for equal rights in the South. In the North, "a new Pharaoh had risen, who knew not Israel. who knew little of the fierce passions which had played around the negro in the past epoch. In North Carolina, particularly, the state is given over to "venal and self seeking politicians" who have a mind only for reinstituting white supremacy at all levels. The state adopts the "grandfather clause. This clause stipulates that "all citizens whose fathers or grandfathers had been entitled to vote prior to 1867" are entitled to vote in current elections. This, of course, precludes all black persons since only whites could vote prior to that year. Over the course of time, "the negroes were reduced to the apathy of despair, their few white allies demoralized. This is not enough for those in power in Wellington, however. The "Big Three" meet in the offices of the Morning Chronicle to discuss how to disenfranchise the town's black population further. It will be two years before the grandfather clause goes into effect and "that would mean to leave the niggers in charge of this town for two years after the state has declared for white supremacy. General Belmont inquires over the editorial from the black newspaper that the men had discussed earlier. Carteret finds it and they read it over again. With its strong opposition to lynching, the men see the article as a "racial lese-majeste in the most aggravated form. They decide to republish it. The General calls in Jerry to have him fetch several rounds of liquor. The General is shocked when he sees Jerry and his face is "splotched with brown and yellow patches" and his hair shines as though he had "fallen head-foremost into a firkin of butter. Jerry is embarrassed. The General realizes that Jerry has been reading the black paper and using a cream advertised in that paper that will make hair straight and skin white in just a few applications. This makes McBane sneer. Carteret's thoughts turn to the idea that there is "no permanent place for the negro in the United States, if indeed anywhere in the world, except under the ground. He sees Jerry's actions as pathetic and ignorant. Later, when Carteret questions Jerry, he asks if he will vote in the upcoming elections. Jerry tells him that he will have nothing to do with the elections if the white people tell him not to vote. Carteret thinks Jerry is a fool, but Jerry understands the social dynamics of the town better than Carteret realizes

