CHAPTER XIIIThedays that followed were full of interest for Kenneth and Jane. The constitution and bylaws were drafted and approved and sent to Atlanta to be printed by a coloured printing firm. Judge Stevenson prepared the articles of incorporation and did the necessary legal work, still refusing any pay for his services. Kenneth had offered to pay him out of his own pocket, but the judge told him: “Keep your money, Ken, I c’n wait. I’m gettin’ along in years now and I’ve been hopin’ that this problem that’s cursin’ the South would be settled befo’ I passed on. But what with these damn fool Kluxers kickin’ up hell ’round here, I don’t know whether I’ll see it or not. Your idea may do some good—I don’t know whether it will or not—but if I c’n help, let me know.” Kenneth thanked him and had been immeasurably encouraged by the old man’s attitude.As soon as the literature they had ordered was received, the first meeting was called by Tucker and Tracy at Ashland. Jane and her father drove out with Kenneth, who was to present the plan to the group gathered. The meeting was held at a little wooden church, whitewashed on the outside, and furnished within only with rude benches. On the walls were one or two highly coloured lithographs of religious subjects. The hall seated not more than two hundred and was crowded to capacity. Even the windows were comfortably filled by those unable to obtain a seat on the floor. The illumination was furnished by four kerosene lamps attached to the walls, two on each side.Hiram Tucker acted as chairman, while Tom Tracy took minutes of the meeting. After a preliminary announcement of the purpose of the gathering by the chairman, Kenneth was called upon to outline the plan that had been proposed. At the outset, having had no experience as a public speaker, he stumbled and faltered and knew not what to do with his hands. After a few minutes he jammed them into the side pockets of his coat and, warming to his subject, swung into a clear, forceful, and convincing recital of the purpose and possibilities of the co-operative societies. His enthusiasm became infectious. His audience began to share his zeal. Humble and lowly folks, their vision limited by the life they led, they had the feeling, as Kenneth talked on, of having been face to face with a blank wall of immeasurable height and impenetrable thickness. Under the spell of his words they seemed to see the miraculous opening of a door in this wall. Hope, which had been crushed to earth year after year by disappointing settlements for their labour, began to mount.As for Kenneth, he had forgotten his self-imposed inhibitions and prohibitions. Gone was the hesitation and doubt. He had seen a light where he had thought there was no light. His voice rang true andfirm, and there was a look of eager earnestness on his face as the pale, flickering light from the oil lamps illumined it.He finished with a flourish so dear to the hearts of coloured audiences. It was what the old-style coloured preacher used to call “de ’rousements.”“You husbands and sons and brothers, three years ago you were called on to fight for liberty and justice and democracy! Are you getting it?” He was answered by a rousing “No!” “What are you going to do about it?” he demanded. “Single-handed, you can do nothing! Organized, you can strike a blow for freedom, not only for yourselves but for countless generations of coloured children yet unborn! No race in all history has ever had its liberties and rights handed to it on a silver platter—such rights can come only when men are willing to struggle and sacrifice and work and die, if need be, to obtain them! I call on you here to-night to join in this movement which shall in time strike from our hands and feet the shackles which bind them, that we may move on as a race together to that greater freedom which we have so long desired and which so long has been denied us! Only slaves and cowards whine and beg! Men and women stand true and firm and struggle onwards and upwards until they reach their goal!” He paused impressively while the audience sat mute. He looked over the assemblage for a full minute and then demanded in a ringing voice: “What do you choose to be slaves or men?”He sat down. A salvo of applause greeted him.A Daniel had arisen to lead them! Kenneth took on a new importance and affection in the eyes and minds of his hearers. He had heard their Macedonian cry and answered it.As he mopped his brow, Kenneth felt that he had made a good beginning, although he was a bit ashamed of having made so direct an appeal at the end to emotion instead of to reason. At the same time he knew that it had been necessary. “’Rousements” were absolutely essential to awaken the response needed to get the co-operative societies under way. Without them his humble audience might not have been aroused to the point of action that was so necessary.Following Kenneth, Mr. Wilson made a stirring appeal to the crowd to come forward and give their names if they wanted to join the newly formed society. Those who had the money were urged to join at once. At first, only a few came forward. Then they came in numbers until around the table at which sat Secretary Tracy there was an excited, chattering, milling throng.After the meeting Mr. Phillips accepted Mr. Wilson’s invitation to ride home in his car. Kenneth did not object—it enabled him to be alone with Jane. They talked of the meeting as they walked to the car. Jane gave Kenneth’s hand a faint squeeze. “Oh, Kenneth, you were splendid!” she declared.It was a perfect night—one created for making love. A soft light filtered through the leaves ofthe trees, casting a lace-like shadow on the earth. The air was soft and languorous, as it can be only on a spring evening in the South, as soft and caressing as the touch of a baby’s hands. From near at hand came the mingled odour of honeysuckle and cape jasmine and magnolia blossoms and roses. The world seemed at peace. No sound disturbed the air save the chattering and singing of a mockingbird, as lovely as the sob of velvety, full-throated violins, and the voices, growing fainter and fainter, of the crowd leaving the now deserted church. It would have taken a much stronger man than Kenneth to resist the spell of so perfect an evening. He was not mawkishly sentimental—rather he detested the moon-calfish type of man who rolled his eyes and whispered empty, silly compliments in the ear of whatever girl he met. On the other hand, he was amazingly ignorant of women. As a youngster he had been exceedingly chary of the little girls of the neighbourhood, preferring to spend his time playing baseball or shooting marbles. This shyness had never entirely left him. From his youth on he had had but one strong passion in his life that passion had possessed his every thought and in it was centred his every ambition—his desire and determination to become a great surgeon. His one serious venture into the realm of love-making had been the affair with the girl in New York, but that had not taken a strong enough hold upon him to leave much of a mark. So rapidly had it begun and ended that he had had in it little experience in the great American sport of“petting.” It was thus easy for him to fall head over heels in love with Jane, for she was, in fact, the first girl in his life outside of his sister who had come into his life in more than a casual way.Jane, on the other hand, had, innocently enough, flirted as every pretty girl (and many who are not pretty) will do. She appreciated Kenneth’s fine qualities: he was capable, industrious, and handsome in a way. He annoyed her at times by his almost bovine stupidity in expressing his love. She naturally liked the idea of having the love of a man who is naïve, who has not run the whole gamut of emotions in affairs with other girls; yet, also naturally enough, she did expect him to have at least somesavoir faire, to be able to win her with some degree of the finesse that every girl wants and expects. She resented his business-like matter-of-factness in seeking her—as coldly calculating, it seemed to her, as though he were operating on one of his patients. In this she was doing him an injustice. Underneath his surface placidity Kenneth’s love had become a raging flame—he cursed the shell of professional dignity which had crossed over and become a part of himself.Thus they walked through the soft spring air, she wishing he would do that which he in his ignorance felt would be the unwisest thing he could attempt. Thus is life made up of paradoxical situations where a word, a look, an otherwise insignificant gesture, would clear away at one fell swoop mountainous clouds of doubt and misunderstanding.Jane stood, one foot on the ground, the other on the step, her hand resting on the opened door of the car. A faintly provocative smile flitted over her face. Kenneth longed to seize this elusive, seductive girl in his arms, press her close to him, and tell her of his love. She wanted him to. Instead he steeled himself against yielding to the impulse that almost overcame him, and helped her with complete decorum into the car. …They did not say much on the way home. Jane bade him good night, he thought somewhat coldly—as though she were vexed. He told her he was leaving the next morning for Atlanta to operate on Mrs. Tucker. She made no comment. He wondered as he drove home what he had done to offend her. …As he neared the house, he suddenly remembered that he had promised to look in on old Mrs. Amos, whose “rheumatics” had been giving her considerable pain. It was charity work, as she would never be able to pay him. She had sent for him several times during the day, but he had been kept so busy he had had no time to go. He was annoyed at himself for promising to call to see the quarrelsome old woman who was far more dictatorial and exacting than most of the patients who paid him promptly. With a muttered imprecation at being bothered with her just after his annoying experience with Jane and her inexplicable behaviour, he drove through the darkened streets to Mrs. Amos’ home. He found her sitting in a creaky rocking-chair. She began immediately to pour maledictions on his head for neglecting her all day. He answered her shortly, gave her her medicine, and left.Carefully guiding the car through the gullies and holes in the unpaved street, he set out for home. Nearing the corner of Harris and State Streets, he heard a sound as of several automobiles. He looked down Harris Street just in time to see three closed cars stop suddenly at the corner. From one of them two white-robed figures descended, lifting a large, black bundle that seemed exceedingly heavy. This done, the figures jumped hurriedly into the car, and it with the other two speeded away in the direction from which they had come.Kenneth, his curiosity aroused, turned his car around and drove to the spot to see what was going on. As he slowed his car at the corner, a muffled groan came from the object lying there in the street. Hastily getting down, he turned it over and in the half-light found it to be the body of a human being. His hands felt sticky. Holding them close to his face, he found them smeared with tar.He got from his car a small flashlight. Going back to the inert mass, he turned the ray of light on the body and found it to be that of a naked woman, covered with tar yet warm to the touch. Between the dabs of the sticky mess on the woman’s back were long welts, some of them bleeding, as though a heavy-thonged whip had been applied with great force. The hair was dishevelled and in its strands were bits of the melted tar. Kenneth experienced a feeling of nausea at the revolting sight. The woman lay on herface. From her mouth and nose there ran a stream of blood which already was forming a little pool beneath her face that became bloody mud as it mixed with the dust in the road. Seizing her by her left shoulder, Kenneth half raised the body and turned his flashlight on the woman’s face. It was Nancy Ware, the wife of the Negro killed by George Parker. Half carrying, half dragging the limp form, Kenneth managed in some fashion to get Nancy to her own home a few doors away. The door stood open as though Nancy had left it for a minute to call on one of her neighbours. On the table in the front room, there stood a lamp yet burning, the chimney blackened with the soot caused by the wind blowing upon it. Beside the lamp lay a garment on which Nancy had been sewing.Kenneth placed her on the bed and hurried next door to summon help. His efforts were unsuccessful. He pounded on the door with both fists, calling out in his excitement to the occupants to open up. After what seemed an infinite delay, a window to the left of the door cautiously opened and an inquiring voice wanted to know what was the matter. Seeing who it was, the owner of the voice disappeared and a minute later opened the door. Kenneth hastily told what had happened, brushing aside a muttered excuse that the delay in answering was due to the fact that “I didn’ know but whut you might ‘a’ been the p’lice.”On going back to Nancy’s cottage, Kenneth gave her a restorative and endeavoured to relieve her suffering. She began to revive after a few minutes. In the meantime the neighbours called by Kenneth arrived, and they removed as much as they could of the tar from Nancy’s body. Kenneth then examined her back, finding it covered with long and ugly gashes that bled profusedly. He dressed them and Nancy was arranged as comfortably as possible. He found himself so tired after the hard work and excitement of the day and evening that he was almost ready to drop in his tracks. At the same time he had an uncontrollable desire to find out just what had happened to Nancy Ware. He was almost certain the Ku Klux Klan had done it, but he wanted to hear the story from Nancy’s own lips. The neighbours had gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, elderly woman who had volunteered to remain with Nancy until morning.After the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she began to show signs of returning consciousness. Kenneth watched her eagerly. Five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. She gave a low moan—almost a whimper. Suddenly she cried out in the terror of delirium: “Doan let ‘em whip me no mo’! Doan let ’em whip me no mo?!” and writhed in her agony. She struggled to arise but Kenneth, sitting by the side of the bed, managed with the aid of the other woman to restrain Nancy and calm her. Afterwards she became more rational. Her eyes opened. In them was a gleam of recognition of Kenneth and he knew she was regaining consciousness.Another wait. Then, at Kenneth’s questioning, she began to tell what had happened. For weeks he had thought but little of her and the tragedy that had taken place in this same house, other events having crowded it out of his mind.“Doc, you won’t let ’em get me again, will you?” she pleaded with a whimper like a child’s. Kenneth assured her he wouldn’t.“Doc, I ain’t done nuthin’ t’ them Kluxers. Hones’ t’ Gawd, I ain’t.” Kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn’t.“I was jes’ sittin’ here tendin’ to my own business when dey come a rap on de do’. W’en I open de do’, dere wuz two o; dem Kluxers standin’ dere—befo’ I could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my mouf.” A shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to her at the memory of what she had been through.“Dey put me in a automobile and ca’ied me way out yonder in de woods by de fact’ry. Dey pull all my clo’es off me and den dey whip me till I couldn’ stan’ up no mo’. Den dey tell me I been talkin’ too much. Doc, I ain’t said a word t’ nobdy ‘cept dat dey oughter do somethin’t that man George Parker for killin’ my man Bud. … Den dey po’ed tar all over me and kick me and spit on me some mo’. … Said I oughter had mo’ sense dan t’ talk ’bout no white gemmen. Oh—oh—oh—ain’t dey nothin’ to he’p us po’ cullud fo’ks—ain’t dey nobody—ain’t dey nobody?”It was just as Kenneth had suspected. Good God,and these were the self-elected defenders of morals in the South! What if Nancy wasn’t all that she should have been?—whose was the greater fault—hers or George Parker’s? He could see him now in the bank—smug, a hypocritical smile on his face, talking about what the white people have got to do to stop these troublesome “niggers” from getting too cheeky—about protecting “pure” Southern womanhood from attacks by “black, burly brutes.” And the Klan with all its boasted and advertised chivalry—twenty or thirty strong men to beat up and maltreat one lone woman, because she “talked too much” about the brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! Kenneth’s optimism over the organization of the cooperative societies began to cool—in its stead there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage against the men who had done this deed to Nancy Ware. God, but he would have given anything he owned to get them all together and kill them one by one—slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! The damned, cowardly devils! The filthy, smug-faced hypocrites!Nancy was resting easily Kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger, more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this deed—impotent because his skin was black and he lived in the South—went home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night which remained before he took the train to Atlanta.
Thedays that followed were full of interest for Kenneth and Jane. The constitution and bylaws were drafted and approved and sent to Atlanta to be printed by a coloured printing firm. Judge Stevenson prepared the articles of incorporation and did the necessary legal work, still refusing any pay for his services. Kenneth had offered to pay him out of his own pocket, but the judge told him: “Keep your money, Ken, I c’n wait. I’m gettin’ along in years now and I’ve been hopin’ that this problem that’s cursin’ the South would be settled befo’ I passed on. But what with these damn fool Kluxers kickin’ up hell ’round here, I don’t know whether I’ll see it or not. Your idea may do some good—I don’t know whether it will or not—but if I c’n help, let me know.” Kenneth thanked him and had been immeasurably encouraged by the old man’s attitude.
As soon as the literature they had ordered was received, the first meeting was called by Tucker and Tracy at Ashland. Jane and her father drove out with Kenneth, who was to present the plan to the group gathered. The meeting was held at a little wooden church, whitewashed on the outside, and furnished within only with rude benches. On the walls were one or two highly coloured lithographs of religious subjects. The hall seated not more than two hundred and was crowded to capacity. Even the windows were comfortably filled by those unable to obtain a seat on the floor. The illumination was furnished by four kerosene lamps attached to the walls, two on each side.
Hiram Tucker acted as chairman, while Tom Tracy took minutes of the meeting. After a preliminary announcement of the purpose of the gathering by the chairman, Kenneth was called upon to outline the plan that had been proposed. At the outset, having had no experience as a public speaker, he stumbled and faltered and knew not what to do with his hands. After a few minutes he jammed them into the side pockets of his coat and, warming to his subject, swung into a clear, forceful, and convincing recital of the purpose and possibilities of the co-operative societies. His enthusiasm became infectious. His audience began to share his zeal. Humble and lowly folks, their vision limited by the life they led, they had the feeling, as Kenneth talked on, of having been face to face with a blank wall of immeasurable height and impenetrable thickness. Under the spell of his words they seemed to see the miraculous opening of a door in this wall. Hope, which had been crushed to earth year after year by disappointing settlements for their labour, began to mount.
As for Kenneth, he had forgotten his self-imposed inhibitions and prohibitions. Gone was the hesitation and doubt. He had seen a light where he had thought there was no light. His voice rang true andfirm, and there was a look of eager earnestness on his face as the pale, flickering light from the oil lamps illumined it.
He finished with a flourish so dear to the hearts of coloured audiences. It was what the old-style coloured preacher used to call “de ’rousements.”
“You husbands and sons and brothers, three years ago you were called on to fight for liberty and justice and democracy! Are you getting it?” He was answered by a rousing “No!” “What are you going to do about it?” he demanded. “Single-handed, you can do nothing! Organized, you can strike a blow for freedom, not only for yourselves but for countless generations of coloured children yet unborn! No race in all history has ever had its liberties and rights handed to it on a silver platter—such rights can come only when men are willing to struggle and sacrifice and work and die, if need be, to obtain them! I call on you here to-night to join in this movement which shall in time strike from our hands and feet the shackles which bind them, that we may move on as a race together to that greater freedom which we have so long desired and which so long has been denied us! Only slaves and cowards whine and beg! Men and women stand true and firm and struggle onwards and upwards until they reach their goal!” He paused impressively while the audience sat mute. He looked over the assemblage for a full minute and then demanded in a ringing voice: “What do you choose to be slaves or men?”
He sat down. A salvo of applause greeted him.A Daniel had arisen to lead them! Kenneth took on a new importance and affection in the eyes and minds of his hearers. He had heard their Macedonian cry and answered it.
As he mopped his brow, Kenneth felt that he had made a good beginning, although he was a bit ashamed of having made so direct an appeal at the end to emotion instead of to reason. At the same time he knew that it had been necessary. “’Rousements” were absolutely essential to awaken the response needed to get the co-operative societies under way. Without them his humble audience might not have been aroused to the point of action that was so necessary.
Following Kenneth, Mr. Wilson made a stirring appeal to the crowd to come forward and give their names if they wanted to join the newly formed society. Those who had the money were urged to join at once. At first, only a few came forward. Then they came in numbers until around the table at which sat Secretary Tracy there was an excited, chattering, milling throng.
After the meeting Mr. Phillips accepted Mr. Wilson’s invitation to ride home in his car. Kenneth did not object—it enabled him to be alone with Jane. They talked of the meeting as they walked to the car. Jane gave Kenneth’s hand a faint squeeze. “Oh, Kenneth, you were splendid!” she declared.
It was a perfect night—one created for making love. A soft light filtered through the leaves ofthe trees, casting a lace-like shadow on the earth. The air was soft and languorous, as it can be only on a spring evening in the South, as soft and caressing as the touch of a baby’s hands. From near at hand came the mingled odour of honeysuckle and cape jasmine and magnolia blossoms and roses. The world seemed at peace. No sound disturbed the air save the chattering and singing of a mockingbird, as lovely as the sob of velvety, full-throated violins, and the voices, growing fainter and fainter, of the crowd leaving the now deserted church. It would have taken a much stronger man than Kenneth to resist the spell of so perfect an evening. He was not mawkishly sentimental—rather he detested the moon-calfish type of man who rolled his eyes and whispered empty, silly compliments in the ear of whatever girl he met. On the other hand, he was amazingly ignorant of women. As a youngster he had been exceedingly chary of the little girls of the neighbourhood, preferring to spend his time playing baseball or shooting marbles. This shyness had never entirely left him. From his youth on he had had but one strong passion in his life that passion had possessed his every thought and in it was centred his every ambition—his desire and determination to become a great surgeon. His one serious venture into the realm of love-making had been the affair with the girl in New York, but that had not taken a strong enough hold upon him to leave much of a mark. So rapidly had it begun and ended that he had had in it little experience in the great American sport of“petting.” It was thus easy for him to fall head over heels in love with Jane, for she was, in fact, the first girl in his life outside of his sister who had come into his life in more than a casual way.
Jane, on the other hand, had, innocently enough, flirted as every pretty girl (and many who are not pretty) will do. She appreciated Kenneth’s fine qualities: he was capable, industrious, and handsome in a way. He annoyed her at times by his almost bovine stupidity in expressing his love. She naturally liked the idea of having the love of a man who is naïve, who has not run the whole gamut of emotions in affairs with other girls; yet, also naturally enough, she did expect him to have at least somesavoir faire, to be able to win her with some degree of the finesse that every girl wants and expects. She resented his business-like matter-of-factness in seeking her—as coldly calculating, it seemed to her, as though he were operating on one of his patients. In this she was doing him an injustice. Underneath his surface placidity Kenneth’s love had become a raging flame—he cursed the shell of professional dignity which had crossed over and become a part of himself.
Thus they walked through the soft spring air, she wishing he would do that which he in his ignorance felt would be the unwisest thing he could attempt. Thus is life made up of paradoxical situations where a word, a look, an otherwise insignificant gesture, would clear away at one fell swoop mountainous clouds of doubt and misunderstanding.
Jane stood, one foot on the ground, the other on the step, her hand resting on the opened door of the car. A faintly provocative smile flitted over her face. Kenneth longed to seize this elusive, seductive girl in his arms, press her close to him, and tell her of his love. She wanted him to. Instead he steeled himself against yielding to the impulse that almost overcame him, and helped her with complete decorum into the car. …
They did not say much on the way home. Jane bade him good night, he thought somewhat coldly—as though she were vexed. He told her he was leaving the next morning for Atlanta to operate on Mrs. Tucker. She made no comment. He wondered as he drove home what he had done to offend her. …
As he neared the house, he suddenly remembered that he had promised to look in on old Mrs. Amos, whose “rheumatics” had been giving her considerable pain. It was charity work, as she would never be able to pay him. She had sent for him several times during the day, but he had been kept so busy he had had no time to go. He was annoyed at himself for promising to call to see the quarrelsome old woman who was far more dictatorial and exacting than most of the patients who paid him promptly. With a muttered imprecation at being bothered with her just after his annoying experience with Jane and her inexplicable behaviour, he drove through the darkened streets to Mrs. Amos’ home. He found her sitting in a creaky rocking-chair. She began immediately to pour maledictions on his head for neglecting her all day. He answered her shortly, gave her her medicine, and left.
Carefully guiding the car through the gullies and holes in the unpaved street, he set out for home. Nearing the corner of Harris and State Streets, he heard a sound as of several automobiles. He looked down Harris Street just in time to see three closed cars stop suddenly at the corner. From one of them two white-robed figures descended, lifting a large, black bundle that seemed exceedingly heavy. This done, the figures jumped hurriedly into the car, and it with the other two speeded away in the direction from which they had come.
Kenneth, his curiosity aroused, turned his car around and drove to the spot to see what was going on. As he slowed his car at the corner, a muffled groan came from the object lying there in the street. Hastily getting down, he turned it over and in the half-light found it to be the body of a human being. His hands felt sticky. Holding them close to his face, he found them smeared with tar.
He got from his car a small flashlight. Going back to the inert mass, he turned the ray of light on the body and found it to be that of a naked woman, covered with tar yet warm to the touch. Between the dabs of the sticky mess on the woman’s back were long welts, some of them bleeding, as though a heavy-thonged whip had been applied with great force. The hair was dishevelled and in its strands were bits of the melted tar. Kenneth experienced a feeling of nausea at the revolting sight. The woman lay on herface. From her mouth and nose there ran a stream of blood which already was forming a little pool beneath her face that became bloody mud as it mixed with the dust in the road. Seizing her by her left shoulder, Kenneth half raised the body and turned his flashlight on the woman’s face. It was Nancy Ware, the wife of the Negro killed by George Parker. Half carrying, half dragging the limp form, Kenneth managed in some fashion to get Nancy to her own home a few doors away. The door stood open as though Nancy had left it for a minute to call on one of her neighbours. On the table in the front room, there stood a lamp yet burning, the chimney blackened with the soot caused by the wind blowing upon it. Beside the lamp lay a garment on which Nancy had been sewing.
Kenneth placed her on the bed and hurried next door to summon help. His efforts were unsuccessful. He pounded on the door with both fists, calling out in his excitement to the occupants to open up. After what seemed an infinite delay, a window to the left of the door cautiously opened and an inquiring voice wanted to know what was the matter. Seeing who it was, the owner of the voice disappeared and a minute later opened the door. Kenneth hastily told what had happened, brushing aside a muttered excuse that the delay in answering was due to the fact that “I didn’ know but whut you might ‘a’ been the p’lice.”
On going back to Nancy’s cottage, Kenneth gave her a restorative and endeavoured to relieve her suffering. She began to revive after a few minutes. In the meantime the neighbours called by Kenneth arrived, and they removed as much as they could of the tar from Nancy’s body. Kenneth then examined her back, finding it covered with long and ugly gashes that bled profusedly. He dressed them and Nancy was arranged as comfortably as possible. He found himself so tired after the hard work and excitement of the day and evening that he was almost ready to drop in his tracks. At the same time he had an uncontrollable desire to find out just what had happened to Nancy Ware. He was almost certain the Ku Klux Klan had done it, but he wanted to hear the story from Nancy’s own lips. The neighbours had gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, elderly woman who had volunteered to remain with Nancy until morning.
After the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she began to show signs of returning consciousness. Kenneth watched her eagerly. Five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. She gave a low moan—almost a whimper. Suddenly she cried out in the terror of delirium: “Doan let ‘em whip me no mo’! Doan let ’em whip me no mo?!” and writhed in her agony. She struggled to arise but Kenneth, sitting by the side of the bed, managed with the aid of the other woman to restrain Nancy and calm her. Afterwards she became more rational. Her eyes opened. In them was a gleam of recognition of Kenneth and he knew she was regaining consciousness.
Another wait. Then, at Kenneth’s questioning, she began to tell what had happened. For weeks he had thought but little of her and the tragedy that had taken place in this same house, other events having crowded it out of his mind.
“Doc, you won’t let ’em get me again, will you?” she pleaded with a whimper like a child’s. Kenneth assured her he wouldn’t.
“Doc, I ain’t done nuthin’ t’ them Kluxers. Hones’ t’ Gawd, I ain’t.” Kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn’t.
“I was jes’ sittin’ here tendin’ to my own business when dey come a rap on de do’. W’en I open de do’, dere wuz two o; dem Kluxers standin’ dere—befo’ I could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my mouf.” A shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to her at the memory of what she had been through.
“Dey put me in a automobile and ca’ied me way out yonder in de woods by de fact’ry. Dey pull all my clo’es off me and den dey whip me till I couldn’ stan’ up no mo’. Den dey tell me I been talkin’ too much. Doc, I ain’t said a word t’ nobdy ‘cept dat dey oughter do somethin’t that man George Parker for killin’ my man Bud. … Den dey po’ed tar all over me and kick me and spit on me some mo’. … Said I oughter had mo’ sense dan t’ talk ’bout no white gemmen. Oh—oh—oh—ain’t dey nothin’ to he’p us po’ cullud fo’ks—ain’t dey nobody—ain’t dey nobody?”
It was just as Kenneth had suspected. Good God,and these were the self-elected defenders of morals in the South! What if Nancy wasn’t all that she should have been?—whose was the greater fault—hers or George Parker’s? He could see him now in the bank—smug, a hypocritical smile on his face, talking about what the white people have got to do to stop these troublesome “niggers” from getting too cheeky—about protecting “pure” Southern womanhood from attacks by “black, burly brutes.” And the Klan with all its boasted and advertised chivalry—twenty or thirty strong men to beat up and maltreat one lone woman, because she “talked too much” about the brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! Kenneth’s optimism over the organization of the cooperative societies began to cool—in its stead there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage against the men who had done this deed to Nancy Ware. God, but he would have given anything he owned to get them all together and kill them one by one—slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! The damned, cowardly devils! The filthy, smug-faced hypocrites!
Nancy was resting easily Kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger, more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this deed—impotent because his skin was black and he lived in the South—went home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night which remained before he took the train to Atlanta.