Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly: A Story of the Wilmington Massacre.Thorne, Jack
History
Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly: A Story of the Wilmington Massacre.
Thorne, Jack
African Americans -- North Carolina -- Wilmington -- Fiction; Wilmington (N.C.) -- History -- Fiction
molested no more during the night, but shooting was kept up at intervals
in the neighborhood all night. Some citizens slept under their houses
for safety.
The morning of the 11th of November dawned clear and cold, and the
sufferings of those who were compelled to sleep in the open air were
terrible. At about nine o'clock Rev. Simons called at my house. He had
his wagon laden with comfortables for the suffering ones. "Hundreds are
in the woods," he said after greeting me, "and God only knows what their
sufferings were during the night."
"People of the Saxon race, whom we have trusted so implicitly, this is
your work, for which you must answer to God," and with his hand he
brushed away a tear. Together we rode to the woods, my husband remaining
home with the children. Far beyond "Jump and Run" we came upon quite a
crowd of women and children, who had built a large fire, and were
huddled about it. One woman, a tall creature, ran to meet us as we
approached with outstretched hands and a maniacal stare in her eyes.
"Where's my husband?" she shrieked. "Is it true he is killed? An' are
you comin' to kill me?" "No, my dear," answered the minister, "we come
to bring you comfort." "No! no! no!" she cried. "Tell me no more about
God. Hagar's children have no God. They are forsaken! Lost! lost! lost!"
Several women came up and took hold of the demented creature and led her
away. "She's los' her mind," said one. "She sat here las' night an' saw
her dear friend an' neighbor die in the agony of childbirth; and that,
with the news of her husband's death has unbalanced her mind." "There
lays the woman," said another, taking the minister by the hand and
leading him to where--cold and lifeless--the body of the woman with that
of the new-born babe by its side. The poor, demented creature had taken
a seat upon a stump beside the corpse, and was moaning and wringing her
hands. "Lord, be merciful!" exclaimed the minister, with clasped hands.
"They are all about here," said another woman; "these are not all that
have died during the night." We busied ourselves in giving such comfort
as lay in our power. In our search among the bushes we came across
several dead and others dying from the night's exposure. So thoroughly
frightened were these people that we could not induce them to believe it
safe to venture back to their own homes. The situation was indeed
appalling. On our way into the city we met some humane whites going out
to persuade the frightened refugees back.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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