Chapter: Events moved rapidly during the next few days. The reproduction, in the
Chronicle, of the article from the Afro-American Banner, with Carteret's
inflammatory comment, took immediate effect. It touched the Southern
white man in his most sensitive spot. To him such an article was an
insult to white womanhood, and must be resented by some active
steps,--mere words would be no answer at all. To meet words with words
upon such a subject would be to acknowledge the equality of the negro
and his right to discuss or criticise the conduct of the white people.

The colored people became alarmed at the murmurings of the whites, which
seemed to presage a coming storm. A number of them sought to arm
themselves, but ascertained, upon inquiring at the stores, that no white
merchant would sell a negro firearms. Since all the dealers in this sort
of merchandise were white men, the negroes had to be satisfied with
oiling up the old army muskets which some of them possessed, and the few
revolvers with which a small rowdy element generally managed to keep
themselves supplied. Upon an effort being made to purchase firearms from
a Northern city, the express company, controlled by local men, refused
to accept the consignment. The white people, on the other hand, procured
both arms and ammunition in large quantities, and the Wellington Grays
drilled with great assiduity at their armory.

All this went on without any public disturbance of the town's
tranquillity. A stranger would have seen nothing to excite his
curiosity. The white people did their talking among themselves, and
merely grew more distant in their manner toward the colored folks, who
instinctively closed their ranks as the whites drew away. With each day
that passed the feeling grew more tense. The editor of the Afro-American
Banner, whose office had been quietly garrisoned for several nights by
armed negroes, became frightened, and disappeared from the town between
two suns.

The conspirators were jubilant at the complete success of their plans.
It only remained for them to so direct this aroused public feeling that
it might completely accomplish the desired end,--to change the political
complexion of the city government and assure the ascendency of the
whites until the amendment should go into effect. A revolution, and not
a riot, was contemplated.

With this end in view, another meeting was called at Carteret's office.

"We are now ready," announced General Belmont, "for the final act of
this drama. We must decide promptly, or events may run away from us."

"What do you suggest?" asked Carteret.

"Down in the American tropics," continued the general, "they have a way
of doing things. I was in Nicaragua, ten years ago, when Paterno's
revolution drove out Igorroto's government. It was as easy as falling
off a log. Paterno had the arms and the best men. Igorroto was not
looking for trouble, and the guns were at his breast before he knew it.
We have the guns. The negroes are not expecting trouble, and are easy
to manage compared with the fiery mixture that flourishes in the
tropics."

"I should not advocate murder," returned Carteret. "We are animated by
high and holy principles. We wish to right a wrong, to remedy an abuse,
to save our state from anarchy and our race from humiliation. I don't
object to frightening the negroes, but I am opposed to unnecessary
bloodshed."

"I'm not quite so particular," struck in McBane. "They need to be
taught a lesson, and a nigger more or less wouldn't be missed. There's
too many of 'em now."

"Of course," continued Carteret, "if we should decide upon a certain
mode of procedure, and the negroes should resist, a different reasoning
might apply; but I will have no premeditated murder."

"In Central and South America," observed the general reflectively, "none
are hurt except those who get in the way."

"There'll be no niggers hurt," said McBane contemptuously, "unless they
strain themselves running. One white man can chase a hundred of 'em.
I've managed five hundred at a time. I'll pay for burying all the
niggers that are killed."

The conference resulted in a well-defined plan, to be put into operation
the following day, by which the city government was to be wrested from
the Republicans and their negro allies.

"And now," said General Belmont, "while we are cleansing the Augean
stables, we may as well remove the cause as the effect. There are
several negroes too many in this town, which will be much the better
without them. There's that yellow lawyer, Watson. He's altogether too
mouthy, and has too much business. Every nigger that gets into trouble
sends for Watson, and white lawyers, with families to support and social
positions to keep up, are deprived of their legitimate source of
income."

"There's that damn nigger real estate agent," blurted out McBane. "Billy
Kitchen used to get most of the nigger business, but this darky has
almost driven him to the poorhouse. A white business man is entitled to
a living in his own profession and his own home. That nigger don't
belong here nohow. He came from the North a year or two ago, and is hand
in glove with Barber, the nigger editor, which is enough of itself to
damn him. _He'll_ have to go!"

"How about the collector of the port?"

"We'd better not touch him. It would bring the government down upon us,
which we want to avoid. We don't need to worry about the nigger
preachers either. They want to stay here, where the loaves and the
fishes are. We can make 'em write letters to the newspapers justifying
our course, as a condition of their remaining."

"What about Billings?" asked McBane. Billings was the white Republican
mayor. "Is that skunk to be allowed to stay in town?"

"No," returned the general, "every white Republican office-holder ought
to be made to go. This town is only big enough for Democrats, and
negroes who can be taught to keep their place."

"What about the colored doctor," queried McBane, "with the hospital, and
the diamond ring, and the carriage, and the other fallals?"

"I shouldn't interfere with Miller," replied the general decisively.
"He's a very good sort of a negro, doesn't meddle with politics, nor
tread on any one else's toes. His father was a good citizen, which
counts in his favor. He's spending money in the community too, and
contributes to its prosperity."

"That sort of nigger, though, sets a bad example," retorted McBane.
"They make it all the harder to keep the rest of 'em down."

"'One swallow does not make a summer,'" quoted the general. "When we get
things arranged, there'll be no trouble. A stream cannot rise higher
than its fountain, and a smart nigger without a constituency will no
longer be an object of fear. I say, let the doctor alone."

"He'll have to keep mighty quiet, though," muttered McBane
discontentedly. "I don't like smart niggers. I've had to shoot several
of them, in the course of my life."

"Personally, I dislike the man," interposed Carteret, "and if I
consulted my own inclinations, would say expel him with the rest; but my
grievance is a personal one, and to gratify it in that way would be a
loss to the community. I wish to be strictly impartial in this matter,
and to take no step which cannot be entirely justified by a wise regard
for the public welfare."

"What's the use of all this hypocrisy, gentlemen?" sneered McBane.
"Every last one of us has an axe to grind! The major may as well put an
edge on his. We'll never get a better chance to have things our way. If
this nigger doctor annoys the major, we'll run him out with the rest.
This is a white man's country, and a white man's city, and no nigger has
any business here when a white man wants him gone!"

Carteret frowned darkly at this brutal characterization of their
motives. It robbed the enterprise of all its poetry, and put a solemn
act of revolution upon the plane of a mere vulgar theft of power. Even
the general winced.

"I would not consent," he said irritably, "to Miller's being disturbed."

McBane made no further objection.

There was a discreet knock at the door.

"Come in," said Carteret.

Jerry entered. "Mistuh Ellis wants ter speak ter you a minute, suh," he
said.

Carteret excused himself and left the room.

"Jerry," said the general, "you lump of ebony, the sight of you reminds
me! If your master doesn't want you for a minute, step across to Mr.
Brown's and tell him to send me three cocktails."

"Yas, suh," responded Jerry, hesitating. The general had said nothing
about paying.

"And tell him, Jerry, to charge them. I'm short of change to-day."

"Yas, suh; yas, suh," replied Jerry, as he backed out of the presence,
adding, when he had reached the hall: "Dere ain' no change fer Jerry dis
time, sho': I'll jes' make dat _fo_' cocktails, an' de gin'l won't
never know de diffe'nce. I ain' gwine 'cross de road fer nothin', not ef
I knows it."

Half an hour later, the conspirators dispersed. They had fixed the hour
of the proposed revolution, the course to be pursued, the results to be
obtained; but in stating their equation they had overlooked one
factor,--God, or Fate, or whatever one may choose to call the Power that
holds the destinies of man in the hollow of his hand.

 The article is published in the Morning Chronicle and the effect is immediate. The whites begin to murmur of violence and the blacks try to arm themselves. No white person will sell them firearms, however, and so they make do with old military rifles and revolvers. An armed contingent guards the office of the editor of the Afro-American Banner; feeling in danger, he disappears from town one evening. The three conspirators are very happy with the work that they have accomplished. General Belmont proposes that they begin the "final act of this drama. He tells them how he witnessed Paterno's revolution against Igorroto in Nicaragua and how Paterno, with the arms and men, easily drove out the ruling government. This, Belmont tells them, is their chance to drive out the Republicans from Wellington. McBane goes one step further and suggests that several should be killed, but Carteret refuses to participate in premeditated homicide. The group goes down a list of all blacks and Republicans who should be kicked out of town. It is decided that the black preachers and Dr. Miller can stay, though Carteret admits to having a personal grievance against Miller. McBane calls this hypocrisy and says, "If this nigger doctor annoys the major, we'll drive him out with the rest. This is a white man's country, and a white man's city, and no nigger has any business here when a white man wants him gone. This brutal statement of the fact "robbed the enterprise of all its poetry, and put a solemn act of revolution upon the plane of a mere vulgar theft of power. The hour of the revolution is fixed, but the conspirators overlook one fact -- "God, or Fate, or whatever one may choose to call the Power that holds the destinies of man in the hollow of his hand

