VIII
THE CAMPAIGN DRAGS
The campaign for white supremacy was dragging. Carteret had set out, inthe columns of the Morning Chronicle, all the reasons why this movement,inaugurated by the three men who had met, six months before, at theoffice of the Chronicle, should be supported by the white public. Negrocitizenship was a grotesque farce--Sambo and Dinah raised from thekitchen to the cabinet were a spectacle to make the gods laugh. The lawsby which it had been sought to put the negroes on a level with thewhites must be swept away in theory, as they had failed in fact. If itwere impossible, without a further education of public opinion, tosecure the repeal of the fifteenth amendment, it was at least the solemnduty of the state to endeavor, through its own constitution, to escapefrom the domination of a weak and incompetent electorate and confine thenegro to that inferior condition for which nature had evidently designedhim.
In spite of the force and intelligence with which Carteret had expressedthese and similar views, they had not met the immediate responseanticipated. There were thoughtful men, willing to let well enoughalone, who saw no necessity for such a movement. They believed thatpeace, prosperity, and popular education offered a surer remedy forsocial ills than the reopening of issues supposed to have been settled.There were timid men who shrank from civic strife. There were busy men,who had something else to do. There were a few fair men, prepared toadmit, privately, that a class constituting half to two thirds of thepopulation were fairly entitled to some representation in the law-makingbodies. Perhaps there might have been found, somewhere in the state, asingle white man ready to concede that all men were entitled to equalrights before the law.
That there were some white men who had learned little and forgottennothing goes without saying, for knowledge and wisdom are notimpartially distributed among even the most favored race. There wereignorant and vicious negroes, and they had a monopoly of neitherignorance nor crime, for there were prosperous negroes andpoverty-stricken whites. Until Carteret and his committee began theirbaleful campaign the people of the state were living in peace andharmony. The anti-negro legislation in more southern states, with largenegro majorities, had awakened scarcely an echo in this state, with apopulation two thirds white. Even the triumph of the Fusion party hadnot been regarded as a race issue. It remained for Carteret and hisfriends to discover, with inspiration from whatever supernatural sourcethe discriminating reader may elect, that the darker race, docile byinstinct, humble by training, patiently waiting upon its as yetuncertain destiny, was an incubus, a corpse chained to the body politic,and that the negro vote was a source of danger to the state, no matterhow cast or by whom directed.
To discuss means for counteracting this apathy, a meeting of the "BigThree," as they had begun to designate themselves jocularly, was held atthe office of the "Morning Chronicle," on the next day but one afterlittle Dodie's fortunate escape from the knife.
"It seems," said General Belmont, opening the discussion, "as though wehad undertaken more than we can carry through. It is clear that we mustreckon on opposition, both at home and abroad. If we are to hope forsuccess, we must extend the lines of our campaign. The North, as well asour own people, must be convinced that we have right upon our side. Weare conscious of the purity of our motives, but we should avoid even theappearance of evil."
McBane was tapping the floor impatiently with his foot during thisharangue.
"I don't see the use," he interrupted, "of so much beating about thebush. We may as well be honest about this thing. We are going to put theniggers down because we want to, and think we can; so why waste our timein mere pretense? I'm no hypocrite myself,--if I want a thing I take it,provided I'm strong enough."
"My dear captain," resumed the general, with biting suavity, "yourfrankness does you credit,--'an honest man's the noblest work ofGod,'--but we cannot carry on politics in these degenerate times withouta certain amount of diplomacy. In the good old days when your father wasalive, and perhaps nowadays in the discipline of convicts, direct andsimple methods might be safely resorted to; but this is a modern age,and in dealing with so fundamental a right as the suffrage we mustprofess a decent regard for the opinions of even that misguided portionof mankind which may not agree with us. This is the age of crowds, andwe must have the crowd with us." The captain flushed at the allusionto his father's calling, at which he took more offense than at themention of his own. He knew perfectly well that these old aristocrats,while reaping the profits of slavery, had despised the instruments bywhich they were attained--the poor-white overseer only less than theblack slave. McBane was rich; he lived in Wellington, but he had neverbeen invited to the home of either General Belmont or Major Carteret,nor asked to join the club of which they were members. His face,therefore, wore a distinct scowl, and his single eye glowed ominously.He would help these fellows carry the state for white supremacy, andthen he would have his innings,--he would have more to say than theydreamed, as to who should fill the offices under the new deal. Men of nobetter birth or breeding than he had represented Southern states inCongress since the war. Why should he not run for governor,representative, whatever he chose? He had money enough to buy out half adozen of these broken-down aristocrats, and money was all-powerful.
"You see, captain," the general went on, looking McBane smilingly andunflinchingly in the eye, "we need white immigration--we need Northerncapital. 'A good name is better than great riches,' and we must proveour cause a righteous one."
"We must be armed at all points," added Carteret, "and prepared fordefense as well as for attack,--we must make our campaign a nationalone."
"For instance," resumed the general, "you, Carteret, represent theAssociated Press. Through your hands passes all the news of the state.What more powerful medium for the propagation of an idea? The man whowould govern a nation by writing its songs was a blethering idiot besidethe fellow who can edit its news dispatches. The negroes are playinginto our hands,--every crime that one of them commits is reported by us.With the latitude they have had in this state they are growing moreimpudent and self-assertive every day. A yellow demagogue in New Yorkmade a speech only a few days ago, in which he deliberately, and in coldblood, advised negroes to defend themselves to the death when attackedby white people! I remember well the time when it was death for a negroto strike a white man."
"It's death now, if he strikes the right one," interjected McBane,restored to better humor by this mention of a congenial subject.
The general smiled a fine smile. He had heard the story of how McBanehad lost his other eye.
"The local negro paper is quite outspoken, too," continued the general,"if not impudent. We must keep track of that; it may furnish us somegood campaign material."
"Yes," returned Carteret, "we must see to that. I threw a copy into thewaste-basket this morning, without looking at it. Here it is now!"
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