CHAPTER X.
Judas Iscariot.
When the Executive Committee, in response to Mr. Wingate's call, met inhis office the following evening, the Governor's letter was read tothem, and Molly Pierrepont's story repeated. Plans of action were mappedout, but not without some bitter attacks upon the enemy. Mr. Wingate'sproposal to surrender for the sake of averting bloodshed, if possible,however, prevailed. The bitter language and threats made by hotheadswould, if they reached the ears of whites, only add fuel to the firealready burning; so the members were cautioned by the chairman to giveto the enemy no opportunity. But even among the twelve chosen of Godthere was a traitor, and since that memorable time nearly every band ofbrothers has had its Judas ready at any time of trouble to sacrificeothers to save himself, or betray them for reward. Was there a Judas onthe Republican Executive Committee of New Hanover county? Yes!
In the days of slavery there existed in the South a kind of Negro knownas the "Good Nigger" or "White folks Nigger," who was a stubbornbeliever in his own inferiority and the righteousness of hisenslavement. He sneaked around, grinned his way into the confidence ofother slaves, then stole away and told their secrets. Were there anyplots being concocted to rise up and strike a blow for liberty, the goodnigger would inevitably be there to join in the shaping of plans, onlyto go out and hang his fellow-conspirators.
The San Domingons in their struggle for liberty found this good nigger amost formidable barrier, and those who are familiar with the history ofthat bloody struggle know just how heart-sickening was the taking off ofthis creature wherever found. In many instances they cut off his toes,his fingers, his ears, his nose, stuffed pieces of these extremitiesinto his mouth, and left him to die a slow death. The emancipation andthe consequent opportunities for intellectual advancement have notchanged this good nigger, for in numerous instances you will find himwell educated, and often swaying quite an influence in a community. Buthe is generally an ignorant, shiftless fellow, forever lamenting abouthis freedom, flaying the Yankees for taking him away from his master,who took care of him. He still likes to sit around on the back steps ofthe whites' residences to talk about good old days when he was free fromthe responsibility of "keerin' fer mase'f." Or, in higher walks of life,from pulpit and public rostrum, he's bewailing the shortcomings of hisown people and magnifying the virtues of the whites. He stands among theashes of the victims of a mob's fury to abuse the Negro for having beenkilled, and to praise the whites for the crime.
George R. Shaw, a prominent negro, writes a card to the public, in whichhe says:
"One reason why such crimes are committed by negroes is that there is nodiscipline over negro children. From ten years up they are allowed toloaf about from place to place and with all kinds of characters. Theyhave no moral restraints. Book learning in colleges dooms the negro tobe fit for nothing. They think they cannot do manual labor. What mypeople need is an industrial, moral, common school training. Lynchingdoes no good, and makes bad worse. The brute who will commit thesecrimes never sees a newspaper. Sam Hose and all such should die, but notat the hands of a mob. The negro must be taught to abhor crime fromprinciple, not through fear. Let critics take this Sam Hose case home tothemselves. If the same crime was to happen in my immediate vicinitymost any of us would do very nearly like those Georgians did. If we didnot lynch him we would hold the clothing of those that were doing thelynching."
Shortly after the burning of Sam Hose in Georgia, a good nigger,signing his name as Shaw sent to a certain Southern paper an articlecommending the action of the mob, and expressing a willingness to haveheld their coats while the dastardly act was performed. Did this manknow that Sam Hose committed the crime for which he suffered such ahorrible death? Can men capable of committing such deeds as the burningand mutilating the body of this wretch be relied upon for truth? IfCranford was one of that mob of cowards who shot to death those manacledmen at Palmetto, the knocking out of his brains would have made a man ofanother race a hero.
Calvin Sauls, who had heretofore been a kind of an independent, havingat various times voted with Democrats, Populists, Green-backers andRepublicans, had shown a disposition to be earnestly interested inRepublican success in the campaign of 1898. Running here and there,attending primaries and committee meetings, full of information as tothe movements of the enemy, he had worked his way into the confidence ofthese unwary colored politicians, who considered him an earnest workerfor the cause of Republicanism, so much so that he had been admittedinto the headquarters of the Executive Committee on that evening. "AndJudas, having received the sop, went immediately out, and it was night."No one noticed Calvin Sauls on that night, as he, taking the advantageof a moment of exciting debate, slipped out into the darkness, and madehis way into the Democratic headquarters. At the corner of Fourth andChestnut streets a dark figure stepped out from the darkness andconfronted him. "Hello dar, Calvin Sauls!" said a gruff voice. "Where isyou sneakin' ter? You got er few uv us fool, but not all. Goin' down tertell wa't you foun' out at de committee meet'n, eh?" "O, g'wan way f'mme, man; I got dese white fo'ks bizness ter ten' ter." The man seizedSauls and held on to him. "Look er here, some women waited at de cornerof Red Cross an' Fourth street to beat yo' las' night." "Wa' fer?" askedSauls, trying to free himself from the man's grasp. "Fur trying tersuade dey dauters down ter dat Fayette Club for dem white mens." "It'ser no sich ting!" "You lie, you louse!" exclaimed the man, loosening hishold, and shoving Sauls nearly off the sidewalk. Sauls, recovering,staggered on his way.
Ben Hartright leaned against a post on the veranda of the DemocraticClub's meeting place when Calvin Sauls came up. "Why hello, Calvin, isthat you?" "Yes, sah, Marse Ben," returned the Negro. "I comin' ter makema report." Ben Hartright intercepted Sauls as he placed his foot uponthe door sill and drew him aside. "Say, Calvin, I saw you talking to arather striking looking colored girl the other day; who is she? Can'tyou fix it so I can get an interview?" "Uh, uh," said Sauls, shaking hishead. "Dat's Bob Sims' gal; she jes from college, an' she's all rightnow, I tell yer. You know dem Simses is top er de pot Niggers." "That'sthe kind I always play for, Calvin; you know me," answered Ben."Gentlemen must always have the best, ding it all! I though you weresufficiently well bred to know that the best of everything in this worldis for white people." "Dat's so," said Sauls, "but yo member dat timeBob Sims cum nie beat'n dat white man head off bout insult'n dat tuddergal er his. I feared mon." "That's all right, Calvin; I'll stand by you.Molly's gone back on me now; I'm afraid she's converted and joined thesanctified band. By thunder, she defied me the other night." "Yes, sah,an' she's in yernes', too; she's on de warpath fur true. I got er heapter report ter night, so I see you later on dat udder matter." And Saulspushed past Hartright and made his way into the club room.