The Beast and The Jungle
"REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY AND KEEP IT HOLY"
This was the inscription under a cartoon in the Effingham Herald, one Sunday, following a Sunday when crime seemed to have run riot. The cartoon pictured a huge knife stuck into a human heart, and the moral was, that on the Sabbath day, when its population was supposed to be at pious worship, murder was un-Godly.
The Sunday previous to this, seven different murders had occurred in that many different parts of the town. Sidney had read the accounts, and said nothing when he saw they were all black people. Only one exception, and that was one who had shot another, and in attempting to escape, had been shot by the police.
Thus was the condition of crime in Effingham. It was a rare Sunday that didn't have five or six shootings, killings and cutting affrays. The record for the previous year showed more than three hundred murders, mostly by Negroes upon each other, and in part by the police. Eighty per cent of all murder in the city was among two-fifths of the whole, or the Negro population. But what surprised Wyeth was, that insofar as speaking of it as an everyday occurrence, and something to be expected, the colored people paid little attention to it.
By this time, Wyeth had become known as a severe critic. And, therefore, against colored people in their effort for salvation, so the critics complained. There was one, however, who saw beneath the surface, and who said, in reply to the criticisms going the rounds, that Wyeth was criticised, not for the criticisms, but for his method of bringing the truth before the eyes which did not wish to see it.
"We've tried every way possible to obtain a library," said one.
"What are some of the ways?" he inquired pointedly.
"Well, for instance, we have asked the teachers to each give a book for that purpose. We have almost two hundred teachers in this town, and if each one gave a book, and the preachers likewise, that would make considerable of a library."
"For sixty thousand people, yes." And under his breath he added, "You fool!"
"Why do you not write an editorial and bring attention to the dreadful amount of crime that seems to have submerged your population," he said one day to Mathews, a very excellent writer.
"I'm writing of what people are doing that is uplifting," the other returned.
"Do you not consider that all this murder the Negro is committing, to the disgrace of the state, the city, the county, and the race to which he belongs, is a thing that requires some effort, or some comment on our part as citizens of this commonwealth?"
"Oh, but the best colored people don't care to read of that," he explained.
"But it's a fact, is it not; and one that is going forth every day through the columns of the big dailies, and a fact that the public is making record of, and holds up to the gaze of the world, and gives this town the name of being the most uncivilized community in the country?"
"There is, of course, Mr. Wyeth, no use in trying to argue these things with you," complained the other. "About town, although you have been here only a short time, you are regarded as a contentious person, always forcing your way of seeing things upon people, and criticising our teachers and preachers and best people for their lack of concern, in regard to a lot of criminal Negroes, that find their way to this town, from every convict camp in the state and other states. If you would struggle to get into society and mingle with the best people, you would forget what these brutes are doing. Instead of that, you can always be seen standing at a distance, viewing all of us as one."
"Abraham Lincoln, our emancipator, said: 'This country cannot continue with one part of the people free and the other in serfdom, and thrive.' I am wholly at a loss to understand this attitude of what you term the 'best people' toward the masses." Wyeth persisted, thoroughly aroused. "We complain of the injustice of prejudice, which is well worth the complaint. But, while we see that the white people refuse to accept us on an equal basis with themselves, we cry out about the 'best people.' We cannot expect the world to accept us as a race on the reputation of a precious few. And yet right here in this town, on all sides, among the 'best people' we hear that 'you' cannot be responsible for the condition of the great herd. I do not think you are expected to by the public; but what stirs me, fires me sometimes to denunciation, is this utter disregard for the evil things in which our people indulge themselves, to the disgrace of all."
"Have it your way, Mr. Wyeth," said the other, resignedly. "That is the reputation you have, 'having your way.'"
This was the end of that, but not of murder. Everywhere it continued.
Wyeth went to the churches. He listened to the sermons; and at the drug store, where the more logical members of the city could often be found, he met the same condition. Nobody was worried. Nobody cared. Just as long as their own affairs were going along in a satisfactory manner, no complaint was forthcoming. And, as time went on, Wyeth took notice that everybody carried a revolver. One evening, at the drug store, someone displayed a revolver of a new type, which brought about some comment. Forthwith, among the twelve present, ten additional revolvers were produced and displayed, Wyeth being the only one not possessing one. He was looked at in surprise, and made the object of much comment.
"Why, I wouldn't go from here home one night, without my cannon," said the druggist. A prominent doctor smiled grimly, as he pocketed his, while others laughed and patted their weapons fondly.
"You from out of the west and haven't a gun. Man, you are crazy," laughed one. "You better send out west there, and have them send on that dungeon."
"I never owned a gun in my life."
"What! Been living out in that wild country these many years, and never owned a cannon! What kind of people do you have out there?"
"Civilized people."
"Uh, well, I ain' never been without a smoker, believe muh."
"He'll be carrying one before he's here long," laughed a physician, as they filed out into the night.
More conspicuously here than elsewhere he had been, Wyeth saw that the undertaking business thrived better in this city than any other conducted by colored people. A half dozen companies were incorporated, with a paid-up capital stock, and declared handsome dividends every six months. And each company owned one or more ambulance carriages, or "dead wagons," as they were commonly called as they moved busily about the streets, picking up wounded and dead Negroes. Almost daily they whirled through the town at break-neck speed, to the tune of a dreadful alarm.
Then Wyeth began to see, without looking, why crime thrived. The mills, coal mines and furnaces employed thousands of men, as we know, and paid them at various times. And to a saloon they filed and drank their fill. In his observations, Wyeth had never seen saloons do such an excessive bottle business. Great cases, the length of the bar in many instances, and piled everywhere, were half pints of liquor. A man said to him one day, "You'll find, upon searching the ignorant Negro, three things almost any time: A bottle of booze, which might be empty if you searched him at his work—a cannon, if not, it is because he is not able to possess one—a knife, with a blade long enough to go through you—additionally, a pair of dice."
But it was not at the saloons that they bought all the whiskey, regardless of the great number in sight. Butbarrel houses and wholesale stores were operated in connection therewith. Here the tiger conductors purchased their supplies, which consisted mostly of whiskey, and the cheapest available, which was, to be exact, a dollar and a half a gallon; but, if bought in smaller quantities, it came at forty cents a quart; while the beer used by the tigers was so cheap that finally, no label was used on the bottle. And it was this kind, he learned, the tiger people used almost exclusively. It was likewise, this kind that produced the most fighting drunks, and was sold after midnight—Saturday night. So, on the outside of a good supply of drink and a crap game in sight, crime ran high in this city, and was ever in continuance.
"This Is Mr. Winslow, Madam!"
After his conflict with Moore, Legs took a silent pledge; he would quit gambling and drinking, and start a bank account. "I'm going to use some sense and save my money," he declared, with much sincerity. "There is nothing like a few dollars, in case of emergency."
"If you stick to that theory in practice, Legs," Wyeth corroborated, "you'll never have cause to regret it."
He started the same at once, with one dollar. The next week he added another, which made two, and was jubilant. The next week he added another, and at the end of four weeks, had five dollars to his credit, and was discussing investments. "I'm going to buy me a house and lot by and by," he said, laughing over his prospects.
"I own the L. & N. R.R.," cried a dirty, black, fat Negro, coming up the street. "Haf a the A.G.S. too!"
"That's Sam," said the Mis', coming to the door at that moment. "Ever since a white man took his wife, they say he's been like that. He imagines he owns railroads, and if you happen to be going by the station, you can see him standing gazing at the trains, with a foreign expression."
"Git that car back on the right switch there! Flag that engine, and make them push that section to the left! All right. Now, pull her ahead. That's all."
"How-do, Sam," she greeted him as he came abreast. He halted a moment, and gazed at her remonstratingly.
"This is Mr. Winslow, madam. Always address me as such, and in that manner hereafter. I am Mr. Winslow, understand, and I own the L. & N. R.R."
"And the A.G.S.?"
"Own haf a that too."
"And the T.C.I. Company?"
"They wanted to sell it to me. I wouldn't buy it. Come on there with that train, engineer. Drop that car on siding G. Now, switch that other chain around on track E.
"Say, Books," laughed Legs. "If you want a get rich, quit the book business, and run into a train with your head. That guy is certainly rich."
"He carries on that way all the time," the Mis' explained. "But he is sane otherwise, that is, he is harmless and lives with his mother down the street a few doors. He goes errands, and you can give him as much as twenty dollars to buy a nickel's worth, and he'll bring back nineteen dollars and ninety five cents. No one can beat him, and he is as honest as the most conservative."
"Let's go to a movie, Books," said Legs, when Sam had disappeared.
"All right," and together, they went down the street in the direction of the business district. When they had arrived at one of the three shows, the pictures did not appeal to them, and they strolled about the town.
The bank, conducted by Negroes, was near the center of the block, and cornered on the alley, and on either side of this was business conducted by or for Negro trade. Within a block of the bank, was located the three shows; and while operated and owned by white men, were patronized entirely by Negroes. It was a puzzle to Wyeth to see his people operating banks with more success than they could picture shows, clothing stores, and even hotels. This was the case not only in Effingham, but in other cities as well. The bank and the neighborhood immediately surrounding it, was the center for Negro gatherings, and upon this street might be found a crowd at any time. Almost every other door seemed to be a restaurant, and operated by Greeks. In fact, this line of business was, apparently, monopolized by these people all over the country. Wyeth saw that this was due to social reasons. A Greek or an Italian, or even a poor Jew, operating a business like a grocery store, or any kind of business, employing less than ten thousand dollars capital stock, lived much within his means;whereas, a colored man in the same business, invariably was, through the connections of his family, a leader in society. These Greeks did not even pretend such a thing, even in a small way among their own, which made a great difference at the end of each year. None of this class referred to would think of owning an automobile; whereas, such an asset is common among these black people. Hence, a Negro in any business other than a barbershop, bootblack stand, pressing shop, or business requiring a considerable amount of practical ability, was a rare thing.
Being in business, he is looked to to spend more money, as well. This, Wyeth had found, was not always his preference; but his wife and family usually represented the better colored people, and, therefore, are expected to entertain; are made the object of much flattery and ostentation. There was one who ran a grocery near Miss Palmer's, whom, Wyeth recalled, was the object of much scorn, when discussed. More than once, when he suggested a purchase of a watermelon, or soda water, or some refreshment that might be obtained at a grocery store, he was advised against patronizing the "chinse" on the corner, meaning the colored grocery keeper. And he came to learn, that the only excuse for such a reference, was that he didn't "keep" his wife in society, but made her "slave" in his little old store along with himself.
For this, he was given as little of their trade as possible; but, with careful application and perseverance, he was succeeding to a creditable degree. But the most extraordinary feature of this was, that the druggist received no more of this class of trade, than did the grocery keeper, notwithstanding the fact that he was high in society, and was positively of their point of view. Wyeth passed much of his spare time talking with the grocery man, and came to find him a most obliging man in every way. When he was informed that Wyeth was selling a book by a Negro, he instructed him to bring him one forthwith, and which he was glad to own, and read it through at once.
So it came to pass, that in all he saw, Wyeth foundmany honest and unassuming people, and whose interest in the race did not end with a few sweet words and a shrug of the shoulders.
Many colored men were actually succeeding in the grocery business in Effingham, and many of them were referred to as "chinse's," by those purporting to be leaders in society.
Getting back to Sidney Wyeth and Legs, who were uptown for the purpose of attending a picture show. Two of the three shows were operated by the same company, and the playhouses were referred to as capital number one, and capital number two. They were in separate blocks. Legs and Wyeth had been to capital number one, and were turning in the direction of the other, when some excitement was in evidence in that direction. They joined in the crush, and were just in time to see an altercation between a man and a woman, a nice looking woman, brown-skinned, with an unusually heavy head of hair. The man appeared to have called the woman, and was desirous of remonstrating with her about something to which she took exception. She turned to go, and it was then that, like a flash, he drew a long, keen-bladed knife from his pocket, and, without a word, drove it to the hilt in her breast. She walked calmly, perhaps a half dozen steps, and than, with a sudden clutching at the air, she cried: "Oh, I'm so sick!" Wyeth saw her eyes for one moment, and the next, she reeled about, and fell dead at the feet of the crowd.
The murderer saw her, and it was only when she fell, that he appeared to take any notice of the fact that he had committed murder. He now turned and fled up the alley, while the Negroes about him fell back.
"There goes the beast!" cried Legs, pointing him out to Wyeth, and the next moment they followed in close pursuit. A cry from the crowd went up as they disappeared. It warned them that they would be dealt with likewise, but they heeded it not.
They ran up the alley that opened ahead into a wide street. The murderer led them at considerable distance, and, as they hurried after him, they saw his head turningfrom left to right, evidently looking for some opening in which to escape. But their pursuit was too close. Arriving at the end of the alley, he halted one brief moment, and then turned south.
This street fell rapidly a block, and reached a level in a railroad yard, where long trains of cars stood silently in the pale moonlight. To these he now ran, not looking back at his pursuers. A few minutes later, he had, for a time, disappeared from view behind a car. But determined, with their blood now boiling, the two flew on after him. When they got inside the yards, they caught a glimpse of him crawling along to the other side of a line of cars, to which was hitched an engine.
A moment later, this began to move, and, suddenly, while they were yet some distance away, he swung aboard one of the cars and stood on the bumpers. They hurried forward, and caught a car each, a few cars to the rear; while the speed of the train increased. In a few minutes it was flying, and they were hanging dangerously to the side. With quick intuition, Wyeth climbed to the top of the train, and called to Legs when he stood over him, to do likewise. Hurriedly, Legs clambered to the top. As he settled panting on top of the moving train, in the rear and hurrying forward, the light of a brakeman approached. They darted forward, looking carefully between the cars, to ascertain which contained the fugitive. The train now hurried around a bend toward the outskirts of the town, and, as it did so, they saw the creature drop suddenly from between the cars and roll over the embankment, and down the grade which was, perhaps, at this point twenty odd feet.
The train was tearing along now at a speed that made it positively dangerous to alight. Still, the light of the brakeman was only a few cars away, and, inasmuch as they would most likely be severely dealt with if found, they were, for the moment, at a loss what to do. The fugitive had now arisen, and was running again to safety. All they had seen before the electric show now came back to them, and, without regard for the risk they were taking, they quickly clambered to the bottom and felloff the train, just as a curse greeted their ears from the brakeman above.
A moment later, the roar of the train was lost in the distance, and they were alone, but, fortunately, uninjured. The fugitive had, apparently, made good his escape. Disgusted and disgruntled, they started back down the track in the direction from whence they had come. They had gone, it seemed perhaps a half mile, when suddenly a groan came to their ears. They stopped and listened.
From near where a few stray hedge and weeds had grown up and were tangled and enmeshed, they caught the outline of a man, stretched apparently helpless therein. They hurried forward, Legs in the lead. As they did so, he sighed perceptibly. Legs had now reached the man, and was in the act of bending over him, when Wyeth grabbed him from the rear and jerked him quickly back; but he was in time to save him from the other, who had, like a flash, sprung up and lunged forward with upraised knife.
Having missed, the murderer tumbled forward on his face, and bit the cinders, while Legs raised himself off Wyeth, who had been pushed backward and down by the sudden collision. The other had gained his feet, however, before they got their wits together, and with a mad curse he tore down the tracks. As Wyeth raised himself, his fingers encountered a piece of cinder, heavy with iron. Unconsciously, his fingers encircled it, and when they again started in pursuit, he grasped it.
"We'll kill that beast as he killed that woman," cried Legs, panting dreadfully, but more determined now than ever. With a clear track, and nothing to obstruct the speed, it was now evidently only a question of minutes until they must surely overcome the other who was shorter, and whose speed had become noticeably slower. Legs had got within a few feet of him, when suddenly he stopped short and whirled about. Too late! Legs seemed doomed to meet the point of the upraised knife that glistened in the moonlight. Wyeth at that moment saw the danger of his companion, and, with a cry, hehurled the cinder full at the crouching fugitive. It went straight, and took the beast full in the face. With a cry, the other fell backward across the track.
Legs tumbled over his prostrate form, while, at that moment, from down the track came the sound of an approaching train. Both now looked up, and it was only then they were aware that it was so near. They were blinded by the light, but with a cry they sprang free, as the light fell full upon the face of the fugitive, who at that moment came to his senses. He staggered forward, and then with a cry that rang above the roar of the train, he stumbled forward, but in rising, one of his feet had caught in a frog and held him fast. A screwing of brakes could be heard, but in a moment the heavy engine crushed over his writhing body, and mangled him until, when he was taken from beneath it, he could not be recognized.
Legs and Wyeth were present the next morning at the inquest. There was no visible excitement over the death of either. A small paragraph at the bottom of the back page of the morning paper reported the death, by stabbing, of a Negro woman; while a still smaller one made notice of the death, in an unusual manner, of the murderer.
And so it was in Effingham. If one desired notoriety he had to do other than kill a Negro, or be killed by one. For such was soon forgotten among other and more unusual sensations.
"Thou Shalt Not Steal!"
During Wyeth's canvass among his people, he had become accustomed to regard men who indulged excessively in drinking, as a problematical feature. And when that same man gambled, in addition, and failed to keep his word or oath, he was not in the least surprised. And, moreover, when he became acquainted with a person who loved liquor, gambled likewise, and who did not struggle to secure a job, but was content to walk about in perfect peace, without any effort in that direction, he was not surprised if that person stole, in addition.
The people he stopped with were, in a measure, secretive. That is, they did not always take the trouble to state where they purchased all they had about the house. He took meals with them occasionally, and saw them eating every day; and, although chicken was very high, exceedingly high in Effingham, they had it every day.
The druggist, whose store was a block distant, had inquired of them, and made known the fact that Moore was indebted to him two fifty, but Wyeth paid little attention to this, since, during the warm afternoons, under the cool of the electric fan, he indulged in such reminiscences, and Wyeth knew almost everybody who owed the druggist anything, including Miss Palmer.
Two robberies had occurred in less than two weeks at the place, and both were shrouded in mystery. The first had been explained away very reasonably. A window that was almost hid by vines had been left open, and through this, a "nigga," as they put it, had made his entrance and gotten away, carrying with him a suit of clothes belonging to one of the roomers, who kept himself pretty well soaked with liquor; this roomer happened to be employed at a wholesale liquor house, and was, therefore, able to drink with economy. Sam was his name, but he was not, however, the one who owned the L. & N. R.R. But Sam was an easy go-lucky and didn't care whether school kept or not; and, likewise, didn't make a big noise if something did crawl in through the window, and steal a new thirty-five dollar suit.
As was stated, it was explained, John Moore lost an old derby the same time—at least, this was how he reported it. The green stain upon the window-sill, from the vines his knees crushed, was further evidence of the ingress and the egress. Considerable indignation was shown by Moore, and a great many words were employed over the affair; but, in due time it had died away and was forgotten, when the second came to pass.
The victim this time happened to be a gloomy and forlorn creature, who could well boast that no miscegenation had prostituted his ancestors, and whose teeth, in the night, flashed like a diamond necklace. Griffin was his name, and he did not shoot craps, or fight, or get drunk, and Wyeth didn't think he drank, until he saw the Mis' go to make his bed one day, and, in turning back the pillow, revealed a half pint of John.
Griffin reported that it was employed as a medicine, and Wyeth allowed it to go at that, but indulged a smile upon Griffin that meant more. Wyeth had a way of joking with the eyes that kept him out of difficulties, but convicted and judged those near him, and they could only laugh and look guilty.
One of the other good things we know of Griffin, is that he read the Bible, and nothing else, and said so; moreover, he deplored the reading of anything else, declaring it to be contrary to the laws of God. Griffin rarely said Jesus, and never "Jaysus." And—yes, he was a Sunday school teacher, and went to services to a church that was at the other side of town; he shouted when the preacher delivered a soul-stirring sermon, and expected to go to Heaven when he died. Only one thing did Griffin indulge in, though he was careful to keep that to himself, and that was woman—but we are a long wayfrom our story. And still, we cannot leave it, this part of it, until we make known that she was a "high yellow" which is perhaps unnecessary to state, for when the color is like Griffins', they scorn all other kind.
The robber this time employed a more machination method, and he was a very congenial robber also. Out of consideration for Griffin's regular attendance at church, he left an old greasy suit that, due to the great amount of the foreign matter it contained, was likely to last him until finances would enable him to restock for the benefit of the robber.
This robbery occurred one night when he was away, and did not return until the following morning, which was in itself singular, for Griffin was rarely away. It was, like the other, mysterious. Griffin was a miner, and since he would not—so 'twas said—pay twenty-five cents a week for warm water and a towel to clean himself at the mines, he preferred to sleep in the kitchen, because he was unfit to occupy any other portion of the house, unless it was the attic. And since there was none to this house, we leave him in the kitchen, where he slept in a dirty, but warm bed, and kept his clothes—he had some pride—in the strongest trunk Wyeth thought he had ever seen. On the outside, he kept it locked with the strongest Yale spring. With all the high-priced advertising done in regard to the safety of such locks, this robber didn't seem to give a hang, but, with a steel poker, he had twisted and twisted, until Mr. Yale had resigned himself to the inevitable, and permitted ingress. Within were four nice, clean suits, awaiting Griffin's subtle occasions.
Legs, Wyeth and Glenview, who were very agreeable roomers, didn't hear of it until the second morning. And they might not have known then, if it had not happened that they were together in the adjoining room, and overheard Griffin crying over the loss. That happened to be Friday. Legs had become something of a hero, with his successful running down of the murderer, and now played, very successfully, the part of a man. Legs did not positively condone the light fingered method.When they had been led, by their curiosity, to investigate, and had returned to the room, he remarked:
"It beats Hell the way this place continues to be robbed!"
"It is indeed singular," commented Glenview, whose English was always the most careful. And he never swore.
"Yes," said Legs again, "itisstrange. So strange that I'm getting suspicious," and he closed an eye meaningly. "There's a man in the house who has not worked this summer.... He cannotseemto get the kind of work he follows, true; but the fact to be considered, is that hehasnot worked this summer. He likes to gamble, and is particularly fond of liquah...."
There was a pause, and he closed that eye again, and looked across at Glenview. Glenview closed an eye and looked at Wyeth. Wyeth held his open, but did some rapid thinking. He now recalled that, upon entering, the robber had cut the screen, it was shown to them; but now as he remembered it, the ends of the wires where the screen had been cut pointed outward.... Also, it was reported to have been cut with a hatchet; and the hatchet was on the ground near the window, which was logical.... It was very strange indeed, this robbery.... Legs was speaking again:
"This man who has been out of work all summer, at least has not worked all summer, and who loves liquah better than I do, and who could shoot craps forever and be happy, sleeps within four feet of that trunk. The only thing between him and the trunk is a door that has not been closed this summer.... And who, moreover, if you will recall," he closed that eye again and held it so a second, "awakens always when we enter late at night, and inquires, 'who goes there.'And this man slept through all this with the trunk almost against his head, and didn't hear it being opened." He paused again and closed that eye, it was the right; Glenview closed his left, Wyeth closed his too. From the other room came sighs, and a restless turning on the bed where some one lay. On the front porch, John Moore sat with the Bible open before him....
"Have you observed," said Glenview, in his Englishy way, "that the ones who have been robbed, are those most likely to takehisstory about it, and are not capable of investigating on their own initiative?" Three eyes closed simultaneously. "For instance," he resumed, "there's Sam, always full you know; when I inquired what he had done about it, he replied that he had inquired of one pawnbroker—and you know there are perhaps a hundred in this town—if any one had offered a suit as security for a loan that fit that description. Think of it! And now here comes the instance of this old creature we hear sighing in the kitchen; and who reads nothing but the Bible, and goes to church on Sunday. He hasn't sense enough, and nerve, he doesn't know; he has perhaps called on the Lord to restore those things. Why haven't some of our things been stolen?" ... Again three eyes closed, while memories became the order; the memory of Wyeth's conflict, and they didn't forget that of Legs. "We leave them laying around, and none of us lock our trunks.... You," he said, seeing Legs, "have more suits than any of us, and they hang on the wall...."
John Moore had fallen asleep and the Bible had tumbled to the floor. A street car line came past the door, and the cars, when passing, filled the house with noise. One passed at this moment, and he was suddenly awakened. Looking about hastily for the Bible he had held, he saw it on the floor at his feet. He stooped to pick it up, and as he did so, saw that it was open. As his hand touched it, his eyes lit upon a chapter, whereupon he straightened up quickly. A moment later he picked it up, and rising, entered the house.
The words of the chapter that had disconcerted him for the moment were: "Thou Shalt Not Steal!"
They Turned Her Out of Church
Saturday night of that week was a beautiful night, and everybody sought the open air—no, almost everybody. There were a few that didn't, in fact they sought the closed inside for a purpose.
Murphy had a good crowd, for it was pay day, and everything was "sliding" along O.K. Glenview, who had purchased a new novel from Wyeth, who bought them and sold the same at a discount when he had read them, was there too. So was John Moore,hewas always there. Wyeth was below, and so was Legs, for, strange as it may seem, he had kept his pledge thus far. He was glad of it, too, which is ahead of our story. Easy.
A game was on, a big game, and darkies were uncoated; perspiration flowed freely. Wyeth retired about twelve, or it might have been earlier—it makes little difference. The game was on, and so was somebody else. Wyeth felt himself being shook, but could not seem to awaken at once. Words came to his ears, and it was the voice of Legs that spoke:
"Get up," it said, in subdued excitement. "Get up, you fool."
"Go to the devil! Are you crazy? Don't awaken me. I'm tired and want to rest," he answered unconsciously.
"I said, arise—at once. Somethin' doin'."
"Will you go to the devil, or shall I hit you in the ear and dispatch you forthwith! I want to rest, you pair of Legs."
"Listen! Listen! Hear them, Books!"
Books heard something, but he didn't know what it was; moreover, he didn't care—in fact, he didn't want to hear. He wanted to sleep. It was a fine night forsleeping, too. The soft air floated in through the window at his head, and the vines and garden the Mis' raised, and which grew within a few feet of him, perfumed it with nature's own. Why should he be concerned about what went on up in Murphy's den. He kicked at Legs, when he repeated.
Legs went into the other room, but the noise from above persisted.
"Look out there, nigger!" it said. "Don't start nothing, don't start nothing! Get around there, you, beside that other nigger! Now, here, you, ink, put these cuffs on the two niggers against the wall. Right around the wrists, you fool. I've put them on you often enough for you to know that they don't go on the shoulders. And don't be so damn nervous. You shiver around there as though it was the first time you've been arrested. Are you done? Well, stand over in that row beside them other niggers! Don't think because I know you that you c'n ease out that window. And don't figure I'm going to play any pets! Heah! Heah! You little black rat! You, I say, with the pop peepers! If you try any monkey foolishness, I'll put'm out, I'll put'm out! Hear that nigger, hear that! I'll shoot you nigger, I'll shoot you!"
"Hear'm Books, hear'm! It's the police. They're upstairs. They're making a raid. Hear'm Books!" came Leg's voice, as he came back to where Wyeth lay. Sidney had awakened now. Sitting up in bed, he listened to the voices that came down from upstairs. It was still a little vague, but Legs spoke again:
"They are coming down now." And so they were. A noise of many feet tramping about, began to file downward on the rickety steps.
"Wait, Frank," came a voice. "Let me out on the front, so I can hold a gun on these niggers. Now come ahead. Now, niggers, the first one that makes a break, remember, out goes his light, bingo!"
"Mary, oh, Mary, bring me my coat and hat." Wyeth was dressed now and peeping out the window. Yes, it was John Moore, and he wanted his coat and hat. He was going away, on a journey. The Mis', very muchfrightened, hurried forward, and held them out to him. He placed the hat on his head, and took the coat on his arm. He wore cuffs, so that made a difference.
The Mis' fell into the room a moment later, and gave up to silent anguish. It was not the first time she had witnessed a raid. Sometimes Wyeth felt sorry for her. For, once upon a time she had been a good woman, she was yet when she could be. At least she was always kind; but when liquor was voted out of the state some years before, he, her husband then, took up the sale of it, contrary to the law. He had been caught once, and then twice. He had then been caught the third time. The third time is when you go to the mines. You may never return from these places, so 'tis said. "They kill you out there," is what John Moore had told him once, grimly. "Yes, theykillyou out there. It'sHell!"
They killed the Mis's husband. And she had a son, and he sold liquor too. He was a dissipated youth. The mines had him six months. They gave him back to her. T.B. He died. And at this time she mourned his loss. She was now alone in the world. She had, at first, made an honest living, and was a member of the A.M.E. church. She became acquainted with John Moore. Well, they turned her out of church some time afterward. They would have done so sooner, but she was pitied, and black people have sympathy—even for criminals. The Mis' had lost her husband, and then her son and—but they turned her out of church. That's bad. Oh, it's awful bad to be turned out of church. Black faces, crooked often, regard one with dark suspicion when he is turned out of church, especially if a woman.
And now they hadhim. The other, her consort, for such he was, because you see, be merciful, she was a human being.... And all human beings cry out for love, yes,love....
"Take along his Bible, Mis'," grinned Legs. And then he looked at her.... Yes, Legs knew the story too.... He was sorry, terribly sorry. They were all sorry for the Mis'.
Legs and Wyeth now stood on the outside. It was safe now. They watched the arrangement.
Four abreast they now stood lined in four rows. They were all handcuffed together. John Moore was there, bringing up the rear. Murphy was, too. Being the man of the house, he was honored with a place at the front. And behind these sixteen men, walked his honor, the police. And so very insignificant they were, apparently. Yet, they were thelaw! And that means more than our pen can describe here.
Black people claim to fear God and no other. They don't. The most of them do not understand it in a larger sense. No. But, notwithstanding the fact that, in Dixie they are forever breaking it, theydofear the law—and the white man.
They filed now, a row at a time, and a few feet apart, across the street. Under the flaring electric street lamp they passed, some bareheaded, but all downcast, discouraged and remorseful. Oh, this was the law. The law of Effingham declared: "Thou must not game!" In the middle of the street they walked, and a few minutes later, they passed under the light of the lamp at the next intersection, and disappeared in the direction of the station. And it was only then, Wyeth recalled, that among them he had not observed Glenview. He was not there, he was positive; and yet he was at the game. Where was he? Where did he go?
He turned his eyes in the direction of the rear, and at that moment Glenview walked into view.
"You!" cried many voices, for a curious crowd of crooks had gathered. Good people had long since retired.
"Well?" he smiled.
"Well...."
"I'mhere. Notthere!" And his eyes went in the direction of the others, who were now passing under another light, into a bigger light.
"Well?"
"I saw they were nothing but a pair of snots."
"Well?"
"The window was open."
"The window?"
"And theoutsideair wasveryinviting. Much more than thatother."
"Oh...." It was becoming clear to all now. The Mis' looked disappointed. Sometimes she had not liked Glenview.... He winked and went to the front of the house.
"Well," sighed the Mis', resignedly. "They certainly got a bunch of them," and then laughed, a laugh that Wyeth had heard before and knew. Not a cheerful laugh, but a dry, hard laugh. One that was possible after years of bitterness.
By this time, a score or more Negroes, denizens of the night, had gathered and were exchanging opinions, offering theories, and executing objections.
"Some low down nigga done turned'm up." This was what a large Negress, with imposing hips, was saying. She sold liquor across the way, and conducted a house for any kind of purpose.
"Some doity li'l' stool pigeon," added another, who was more doubtful still. Wyeth regarded them a moment in disgust. They were dressed as they were when they arose that morning or that afternoon, or whenever it was, which was not in the last hour or two.
It was Glenview who detailed the raid now at some length. "A big Negro was shooting for three dollars. A little guy, who appeared to be very drunk, kept making a fuss, finally asking to be let out. He went, and when Murphy opened the street door for that purpose, well, in walked the bulls—no, the little snots."
"I'm going upstairs to see how it looks after the scramble," said he, and a moment later his feet were heard in that direction. He had no sooner hit the landing, than from above came a dreadful noise. A crashing of window panes indicated that someone was trying to get out of the window. A table turned over with considerable objections, judging from the noise it made. The whatever-it-was appeared to be coming toward the stair in post haste now. Chairs were cast aside, without care of how they might land, and then it appeared on the landing. A moment later it came down, much a tumble, and not in the usual way. Hands and legs and feet seemed altogether, as they did many stunts on the waydown. Eyes were opened wide, while breaths were held, as the spectacle was observed closely. And then it landed. One moment it lingered, and made a funny picture for the many eyes. Then it became erect—and behold! It was a man.
But he hadn't taken the time to dress entirely. He had, upon coming down, or deciding to do so, donned only a coat; while his large, loose knee lengths stood out conspicuously from the small legs, that reminded one of pipe stems, smoked ones—coming out of huge corn cobs.
It came about when Glenview ascended the stair, and met it in the act of looking about to ascertain whether the coast was clear.
For a time that may have been a second, possibly more, he stood hesitant. Wild of eye and trembling in the legs, but conspicuous to a humorous degree, he soon came to appreciate the spectacle he made, and forthwith betook himself hurriedly back up the steps; but, alas! Not many had he ascended when he made a miss, and, with a smothered, embarrassed cry, he fell, and the next moment came back.
While all this performing was going on, he was not aware that the officers had long since departed. And when he again landed at the feet of his onlookers, who were now given over to a fit of snickers, he cried in a subdued, but intensely excited voice: "Don't let them get me! Don't let them get me!" He was wild, as he hesitated before attempting to return. And in the meantime, he whined like a poor thing, which made the Negroes who stood about, give up to loud laughing.
At last, he was calmed to a point where he took himself hurriedly up the stairs, and disappeared. And then there was another commotion! Apparently the house was coming down, from the scrambling, and the way chairs, and beds, and tables—and everything seemed to be turning over.
"Say, say!" came the voice of Glenview. "The officers have disappeared a half hour ago. Be quiet. Those are not officers below. They are curiosities." But it was some time before he was able to communicate thisfact to a point that brought quiet. When he presently emerged, the onlookers saw not two, Glenview and the other, but five. They slipped down the steps like ghosts, looked wildly about for one brief second, and then melted into the night like vampires.
As they floated away, some one recognized one and called him out by name, and these words came back to those who listened:
"Hush calling my name, you fool!"
The plate at the head of the table was not turned that morning. The Mis', notwithstanding the words she uttered when the raid had been made: "I'm glad of it! It'll stop that gambling, and I hope, Murphy's whiskey selling," she was, nevertheless, sad-eyed, and all upset. All that day she so remained, grew worse, if anything.
"Don't worry, Mis'," comforted Glenview kindly. "As soon as some word comes from them, I'll hustle about and secure bail." But it was late in the morning before any word came, and then, alas! It was a surprise.
There is a law in regard to gaming in Effingham, which makes the penalty heavier if caught gaming during the week; whereas, it is lighter for Sunday. Therefore, being well aware of the fact, no serious anticipation was held as to how the gamesters would be dealt with, since they had been caught after midnight Saturday night. In fact, when the excitement attendant with the raid had passed, those directly interested, looked hourly for those who were caught, to be released.
"What'll it cost them under this law?" inquired Wyeth of Glenview, who appeared to be fairly well informed regarding the matter.
"Oh, not much," he replied. "Perhaps five or six dollars. You see," he explained, "the city considers gambling through the week as a business indulged in by professionals; whereas Sunday, they construe that they may be workmen engaged in a pastime."
Wyeth understood, of course, but it appeared singular at first.
"They will be taken to the city lock-up," Glenview resumed, "and if collateral to the amount of twenty-fivedollars be offered and approved, they will be allowed to return, and when they appear tomorrow morning, they will be fined five dollars and cost. If they were caught during the week, it would be ten and cost, and possibly more, depending."
It was at the end of this conversation that they got their surprise.
Murphy came in. He seemed tired and worn; he was a picture, in fact, of the result of such a raid. He sat himself down with a sigh that was not altogether one of relief. All waited, with drawn breath.
"That's the worst place I have seen the inside of," he said, and shook his head in emphasis.
"Where did the wagon pick you fellows up?" inquired Glenview. "I don't recall hearing any."
"No wagon picked us up. We walked all the way. They didn't carry us to the city pen, but to the county jail."
"What!" cried the Mis', while Glenview appeared to regard it with incredulity.
And then all were silent, with a cold feeling creeping through their veins, as the grim reality came upon them. It would now be thirty-seven fifty, and not five dollars, for the county made no exception for Sunday.
All the day through, John Moore raised from his hard seat, and gazed out through the heavy bars that penned him in. "Will they never come, will they never come!" he cried to himself, but only the heat and multitudes of Negroes greeted his gaze, as it eagerly sought the door to freedom.
And all day Glenview walked from one bondman to another.
"No," said the wealthiest Negro doctor, who had bailed out many. "I've quit going anybody's bond. I don't think, from the experience I have had, that I would be justified in going my brother's hereafter." He had a few to jump them, and it cost him a pretty penny, he afterwards told Wyeth, to get them back.
"He's worthless," said the druggist, apparently amused, at least satisfied with his solution for the present. "Heowes me two fifty for medicine I sold him, and trusted to my sorrow. But I'll tell you what I will do." He changed his tone to one of thought, then went on. "Now you tell the Mis' if she will come down here and give me seven fifty, five of this is going the bond that'll put the thief on the street, because it is he who has been doing that stealing up there, and all of you don't seem to know it, and the remainder, two fifty, is what he owes me. Tell her to bring it to me in cash, understand, the long green, and out he comes, to go back soon where he ought to be, for he has honestly no right to be free."
Of course, Mis' never had such an amount, so Moore, insofar as this source was concerned, was doomed to stay in the hot place for some time. Glenview went to another.
"That nigga! Hell! Why I wouldn't go his bond to stay in Heaven, he is so crooked and undependable."
That was the end of it for that day, and the night settled down.
It would cost ten dollars cash to secure release through professional bondsmen; and, inasmuch as John had not the tenth part of that, he reposed for several days in his new place of abode, and became very dirty and bedraggled in the meantime. Always so clean and tidy—thus the Mis' kept him, that he was hardly recognizable, when a few days afterward, he returned. It was Murphy who secured bond, and Wyeth came upon him in some surprise that evening. He sat quietly on the porch with the Bible in his hand, so, greeting him, Wyeth asked how he "liked" it. The other said:
"Whew! The worse place I was ever in." He had been in them before, but not this one; but he did not, of course, deem it necessary to make this mention. It had been made by others. "Two hundred nigga's in the room I was in, and God knows how many more elsewhere. And they were one-armed and one-legged, one-eyed and toothless, earless and one-eared; but the whole bunch, every one of them, were filthy. And the place was rotten!"
Yet more than five hundred Negroes, most of them young men, preferred the place to freedom.
"I Love You!" She Said
Miss Annie Palmer had about despaired of winning Sidney Wyeth, and by this time was not nearly so considerate when he called, as she had been some weeks before. And, besides, Wyeth had an insistent way of seeing things, which was not the custom of her friends. When he called, sometimes, instead of giving up to the easier things in life, and which concerned the select few, he was liable to bring up a subject concerning the future of the Negro of the south, as he is today, etc., etc., etc. So it came to pass, that Miss Palmer was only good at times; and at those times, she was liable to be good by fits and starts, and then she "got cranky." Notwithstanding the fact, they were still friends, nothing more, and, as Miss Palmer sometimes sighed to herself, "Will never be anything more."
"You were, I thought," she declared one day, "the sweetest kind of a boy. But of late you are so concerned about Y.M.C.A.'s, and libraries, and schools, and the like, for our people, and how many are being killed and all that, that I am sometimes serious in my belief that you are losing your mind."
"I came to show you the article inThe Herald, by the park commissioner, with regard to the establishing of a park for Negroes. I suppose you have read it? I am certainly glad to know that you have white people in your city, who are showing some interest in the civic welfare of our race; and from what he has suggested, with regard to this park for our people, to be centrally located, there is conclusive evidence, that the white people are coming to appreciate that the evolution of these black people can be brought about otherwise than in the chain gang."
"Please don't today, Mr. Wyeth, please don't," she begged. "Promise just once that you will try to be, if it's only for a minute, as you were when I became acquainted with you. Let's drop this matter about the park and all that today. These Negroes here would do nothing with a park but fight in it. And a library, they don't read; so what's the use." She came to him, and before he could say a word in protest, she had gotten on the davenport, and beside him very closely. In that moment, Miss Palmer felt that she wanted to hear him say something about her.
"Listen," she said, in a voice that was full of feigned passion. "Do you care for me?" It was so sudden that he did not know how to accept it, whether as a joke or serious. He had, of late, been backing up on the flirtation. However, she was evidently serious, so, with a jolly word, he talked with her at some length about nothing. Presently she became meditative. She spoke of her unhappy life with a sigh, and then fell to accounts regarding her little boy.
"My entire hope is centered in him. I intend to make a doctor out of him, and to do that, I will have to work hard and save money to put him through school when he is grown up, and you see what that will call for."
He was a lad of ten years, and the image of his mother. The future of the American Negro was bright in his eyes; and he assisted commerce to a degree, by consuming as much coca cola as he could buy, with as many nickels as he could gather; likewise, peanuts, crackerjack and candies.
"He'ssomeboy," glowed Wyeth, enthusiastically. "I wish I possessed a lad like him. I would feel proud."
"Wouldn't you like to have something to do with him?" she said, and he replied jokingly:
"Sure."
She nestled close, very close. So close that he felt her hot breath upon his cheek. "You do care for me a little, don't you?" she almost implored. He was embarrassed, but replied:
"Of course, Ilikeyou."
"I love you," she said. "I love you," she said again.
"Ooh, mamma!" cried her son, at that moment. "Come and see the funny man coming down the street. Ooh, but he is so funny!" She moved away guiltily. A moment later, he arose and took his leave.
"Please Git d' Ole Man Outta Jail"
"Ump-um-um! Man, you done bring dat book heah t'day 'n' I ain' got a cent. Nary a cent!"
"Oh, but you're a good joker," he laughed, depreciatingly. "You drew four or five great big dollars Saturday night, and I know you saved a part of it for the book, as you said you would, didn't you?"
"Yesser, yesser, ah knows ah said I would; but sumpin' done happened since then; sumpin' I wa'n't figurin' on. Sumpin' I sho wasn't lookin' fo'."
"Oh...."
"Yes," embarrassed. "Y'see, it's lak dis: Ma ole man 'e went down town Sat'dy night 'n'—well, 'e got'n a li'l trouble. Yes, lak a nigga, y' know. Got in dis heah trouble, 'n it done took all I had t' get'm out; 'sides, I did'n' have 'nough 'n' had t' borra frum ma whi' people."
"That's too bad indeed," said Wyeth. Sometimes he said this freely, and again, his voice carried a touch of disappointment and impatience, because, sometimes he met a half dozen such instances, when he went to deliver on Monday. As a rule, and since he was by now accustomed to it, he offered sympathy to the unfortunate wife who had to pay so many fines, and went his way.
"Yeh. 'Es allus gittin' in sumpin'. Las' yeah—ah maybe 'twas las' month—'e got in jail, 'n' when I got 'im out dat time, I swo' I's gwine let 'im stay du nex' time 'e went off'm heah and did'n' come back. 'N ah did'n' get'im out right away dis time. Ah let'm stay tree days, but 'e jes' keep sendin' up heah 'n' worrin' 'n' worrin' th' life outta me—'n' I was worried anyhow—wi' 'Uh please ole 'oman, jes' please come'in git du ole man outta jail.' So 'e jes' promis' so faithful, 'n' jes' begged so 'a'd until I was at last p'vailed on wi' du 'elp a-Jaysus,t' git'im out jes' this time—'n' you c'n jes' depen' on it, its the las' time I gi'n git dat no 'count nigga a-mine outta dat place, so help me Jaysus, du las' time!" And she bustled about her duties, with a determined set of the head.
"How did he come to get locked up this time?"
"Ugh! Yes, yes. It's lak dis—so 'e said. 'E was down t' a s'loon 'n' got t' argin' wid annuder nigga. 'N so den, dis udder nigga done 'posed on 'im; 'n' den dey got t' squabblin' 'n' d' p'lice dey runs in on'm 'n' line'm up. So d' wagin come 'long 'n' hurried 'm up t' jail. So, a'cose, Jedge Douglass 'e 'poses a big fine on'm and dey is jes' waitin' fo' somebody t' come 'n' pay 'is fine, 'cause, y' see, I done paid it a-fore already. So dey is jes' waitin' fo' me t' come 'n' pay it agin, 'n' don' send dis nigga t' du stockade, 'cause dey's done got so many triflin' nigga's out dare, until dey hates t' feed so many, 'n' wou' ruther git th' money 'f dey can."
And thus it went. Wyeth found the women, in a great measure, trying to do right, as they so regarded it. But the men, from the saloon to a tiger, thoroughly soaked themselves, regardless of the cost, so long as they had it. And then, to a crap game, where they lost the remainder. Evidently there must have been some winning; but Wyeth never happened to find the winner. They were all losers. If he had their orders and expected to deliver the book, he had to plan to deliver the same on Saturday night, and before they found the enticing game. And for telling the truth, they drew the line on that—refused to have anything to do whatever with keeping their word. When he ran into a man who was as good as his word, and which he did occasionally, he was so surprised that he became nervous. Many of the white agents and collectors informed him, that, with a few exceptions, they drew the line on any credit business with the men, because they simply could not trust them. Of course this was not among the so-called "best" people; but with them, he had a hard time securing an order, since, to make appearance was their obvious effort, in a large measure. When the cook advised him to see thebutler, he forthwith inquired whether he gambled or drank; for, if so, he thanked her for her kindness, and made no effort to get the order, for it was useless, in four cases out of five.
Hence it came to pass, that Sidney Wyeth learned that his people were the victims of liquor and gaming, and this was the result of ill training, ignorance, and lack of civic observation. If John Barleycorn was at the bottom of most of the crime—which grew, in most instances, out of discussions and differences of opinion regarding trifling matters—ignorance was at the bottom of the indulgence.
On this day, when he had completed his work, he stopped at the library. This was not open to colored people, which he knew; but, since what he desired could not be obtained elsewhere, he decided to go to the desk and make known the fact, and leave it to the civil regard of the librarian. He was ushered into a room to one side, which was not always used, and they brought anything to him that he wished. When he took his leave, he was invited to call at any time, and he could expect the same accommodations.
Some time later he did, and while looking through the matter which was the occasion of his visit, the librarian approached him, and said:
"You will perhaps be interested in hearing that it is the desire of the board, to take some steps toward a library for the colored people of the city."
"Indeed!" he replied. "I am sure I am interested. Nothing, I assure you, is much more needed."
"Yes," the other went on earnestly. "It has been the desire of the board to do so for some time; but, owing to the fact, I regret to say, that—well, those in your race whom we have waited for, and looked to, to take some initiative with regard to the matter, have not appeared to care much—well, not any, as yet." He paused a moment, while Wyeth waited.
"I presume," said he presently, "that you are one of the professors."
"No, I am not. I am not connected with any school, in fact, I am not connected with anything here, otherthan a book, of which I am the author, and which is being circulated by myself here in the city. But I am deeply interested in anything pertaining to what you mention."
"Oh, I see," said the other, and disappointment was evident in his tone. "I had hoped, from the interest you show in literature, that you are connected with one of the schools. But I will state what we have planned on, and what would be necessary on the part of your people, in order to stimulate such a movement.
"This city is, of course, unable to make such an investment; but it, the board, is willing to cooperate with the leaders of your people, the teachers and preachers, in bringing this to the attention of northern philanthropists, and, with a little effort concentrated on the issue, it is reasonable to suppose that, in view of libraries given to the different colored schools in the south, the securing of one here is quite possible."
"That is the way I have been compelled to see it, through knowledge gained in observation," Wyeth agreed.
"Oh, it can be obtained, it should be obtained." He paused again hesitantly, then went on, somewhat determinedly: "This city has a dreadful record for crime; and, while I regret to make the mention, yet, I think you will agree with me—"
"That the great amount of the crime is among the black population," Wyeth assisted, unembarrassed.
"Exactly. It is a dreadful affair, this daily murdering of human beings, and this continual herding to the chain gang. These people go there and get in so much trouble, because their minds are untrained—and this is due to their environment, which is bad. It is a distressing condition which the state is facing. A library will, in time, have a marked effect upon existing conditions. There is no park either, in fact, there is nothing but the open street, the schools and churches for the colored youth; whereas, the white children have everything to help them become the proper men and women. And yet, and here is where it becomes awkward for the public to doanything. You are aware that the south is poor, and, therefore, unable to give even their white population what the north can in regard to uplift; but, as I remarked, the leaders appear to show such little interest in betterment.
"Now, for instance, if the teachers and preachers would unite themselves into a body, for the purpose of securing a library for the colored people of Effingham, and persist in this matter, eventually they would have a building, and not less than fifty thousand volumes. But, as it now stands, rarely do any of them call in the manner you do. And, before anything can be done by the board, it is expedient on the part of these people, to get some public sentiment, in favor of the proposal. Now, what is your opinion of it?"
"Of course, I cannot be otherwise than heartily in accordance with such a proposition. And, I regret to agree with you, that the people we, or you, look to as our leaders, show little interest in this matter. Publicity is necessary. I could, for instance, write an article calling attention to such a movement, and have it published in the colored paper; but they would not read it with other than a passing interest in such a sheet. I have had it in view for some time past of doing something—or, I should say, saying something. I shall not yet, however, state just what or how I will say it; but suffice that I am going to say something, and say it at a time and in such words, that the Negro public, as well as the whites, will, I hope, sit up and take notice."
"I am glad to hear that. Drop in at any time, and if we can help you in any way, we will be only too glad to do so," said the librarian, enthusiastically, and extended his hand.
When Wyeth got to his room, he thought long and deeply upon the subject. And when he retired that evening, he had begun the formulation of a plan that would wake up this sluggish resignation, which seemed to possess the race to whom the white people looked to for initiative.
The following Sunday, when he received his paper,The Herald, an article spread over the front page, double column, caught his attention, and he read it through, as no doubt every one did, who was interested in civic welfare. It was another by the park commissioner, and was in regard to a park to be centrally located, and to be used exclusively for the use of the colored population of the city.
In Effingham, there are perhaps a half dozen small and large parks, and all for white use exclusively. During the hot days of the long summer, black people must roast in their stuffy little homes, perhaps a fourth of which face alleys. Black children have no place to play, no place to exercise their little bodies, or give free vent to their desire for child play. Crime, therefore, is their greatest environment.
Stealing is so bad in this city, that the druggist remarked to Wyeth one day, that if he should awaken at two A.M. and see a Negro pushing a box car up the street, not to become excited or even be surprised. Since he had been in Effingham, a man who lived to the rear of his abode, and who owned a horse and wagon, had, on three different occasions, and in less than two months, found it in a remote part of the city. It was tied to a tree or a fence, or maybe not tied at all. It was nothing uncommon. The horse was used to haul stuff that had previously been spotted and later stolen. It is this that the colored children see and become acquainted with in their alley homes, and which makes criminals of so many long before they are of age.
The article by the park commissioner dealt with these conditions, as well as with the great amount of murder committed in the city. It was the desire, to locate a park near the heart of the city, so that these little children with the ebony faces, might find some relief from their alley homes, and in that way, help a little toward the discouragement of so much crime. The jail was overrun with both women and men prisoners; the funds for the purpose of building a larger jail was not forthcoming, so the city could do the least by giving these people some place of recreation.
However, went on the commissioner's article, neither the city nor the commissioner could be expected to make any move toward giving this to the colored people, until the colored people themselves, through their leaders, the preachers and teachers, of which there was estimated to be in the neighborhood of three hundred, would show, in some manner, that they desired it. To purchase the ground and remove the buildings thereon, prepare and dress it down to a park, would, of course, require a considerable outlay of capital. The commissioner, therefore, would be glad to consult with this body of people with a view to that end. If it was not convenient for all to come, he added, kindly write him their views and desires with regard to the matter. But the commissioners would consider it more demonstrative, if the teachers and preachers of the city, colored, would call upon him in person; and, in conclusion, he set a day, and requested that as many, if not all of them, would call at his office on the afternoon of the following Wednesday.
Wyeth spoke of the matter to those he knew; few though, had concerned themselves as much as to read it even; while others made idle remarks, and so the day came.
Yes, it came, and to the office went, to be exact, five teachers and three preachers out of a possible total number of three hundred. The commissioner was too discouraged to keep these precious eight very long, so, with a few words, announcement was made that a pasture, five miles from town, could be leased for a small figure, and that a car line went within a mile of it; so that it was moved and seconded, and the colored people got a park.
The following day, the papers were considerate enough to make small mention of it, and that was the end of the matter.
When Sidney Wyeth had learned the details, he decided upon a plan which will be unfolded in a later chapter.