The old gentleman entered the
carriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the Morning
Chronicle. According to Jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at the
door, Carteret was in his office, and Mr. Delamere, with the aid of his
servant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk.
"Carteret," exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "what is all this talk about
lynching my man for murder and robbery and criminal assault? It's
perfectly absurd! The man was raised by me; he has lived in my house
forty years. He has been honest, faithful, and trustworthy. He would no
more be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson Tom. Sandy
has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect
disgrace upon it."
"My dear Mr. Delamere," asked Carteret, with an indulgent smile, "how
could a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family? I should
really like to know."
"How, sir? A white family raised him. Like all the negroes, he has been
clay in the hands of the white people. They are what we have made them,
or permitted them to become."
"We are not God, Mr. Delamere! We do not claim to have created
these--masterpieces."
"No; but we thought to overrule God's laws, and we enslaved these people
for our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying to
our souls the flattering unction that we were making of barbarous
negroes civilized and Christian men. If we did not, if instead of making
them Christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselves
to blame, and if these prey upon society, it is our just punishment! But
my negroes, Carteret, were well raised and well behaved.
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