“I ’members de name er one of ’em,” said Josh, “an’ I ’members de name er de man dat killt ‘im, an’ I s’pec’ his time is mighty nigh come.”

“My advice is not heroic, but I think it is wise.  In this riot we are placed as we should be in a war:  we have no territory, no base of supplies, no organization, no outside sympathy,—­we stand in the position of a race, in a case like this, without money and without friends.  Our time will come,—­the time when we can command respect for our rights; but it is not yet in sight.  Give it up, boys, and wait.  Good may come of this, after all.”

Several of the men wavered, and looked irresolute.

“I reckon that’s all so, doctuh,” returned Josh, “an’, de way you put it, I don’ blame you ner Mr. Watson; but all dem reasons ain’ got no weight wid me.  I’m gwine in dat town, an’ ef any w’ite man ’sturbs me, dere’ll be trouble,—­dere’ll be double trouble,—­I feels it in my bones!”

“Remember your old mother, Josh,” said Miller.

“Yas, sub, I’ll ‘member her; dat’s all I kin do now.  I don’ need ter wait fer her no mo’, fer she died dis mo’nin’.  I’d lack ter see her buried, suh, but I may not have de chance.  Ef I gits killt, will you do me a favor?”

“Yes, Josh; what is it?”

“Ef I should git laid out in dis commotion dat’s gwine on, will you collec’ my wages f’m yo’ brother, and see dat de ole ’oman is put away right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Wid a nice coffin, an’ a nice fune’al, an’ a head-bo’d an’ a foot-bo’d?”

“Yes.”

“All right, suh!  Ef I don’ live ter do it, I’ll know it’ll be ’tended ter right.  Now we’re gwine out ter de cotton compress, an’ git a lot er colored men tergether, an’ ef de w’ite folks ’sturbs me, I shouldn’t be s’prise’ ef dere’d be a mix-up;—­an’ ef dere is, me an one w’ite man ‘ll stan’ befo’ de jedgment th’one er God dis day; an’ it won’t be me w’at’ll be ’feared er de jedgment.  Come along, boys!  Dese gentlemen may have somethin’ ter live fer; but ez fer my pa’t, I’d ruther be a dead nigger any day dan a live dog!”

XXXIII

INTO THE LION’S JAWS

The party under Josh’s leadership moved off down the road.  Miller, while entirely convinced that he had acted wisely in declining to accompany them, was yet conscious of a distinct feeling of shame and envy that he, too, did not feel impelled to throw away his life in a hopeless struggle.

Watson left the buggy and disappeared by a path at the roadside.  Miller drove rapidly forward.  After entering the town, he passed several small parties of white men, but escaped scrutiny by sitting well back in his buggy, the presumption being that a well-dressed man with a good horse and buggy was white.  Torn with anxiety, he reached home at about four o’clock.  Driving the horse into the yard, he sprang down from the buggy and hastened to the house, which he found locked, front and rear.