Lane had said, "If I can't get the
bellwether to jump the way I want, I'll transfer the bell." This he
had tried to do. The effort was very like him.

The Rev. Mr. Clay, looking down into more frowning faces than he cared
to see, spoke more boldly than he felt. He told his people that though
they had their own opinions and ideas, it was well to hear both sides.
He said, "The brothah," meaning the candidate, "had a few thoughts to
pussent," and he hoped they'd listen to him quietly. Then he added
subtly: "Of co'se Brothah Lane knows we colo'ed folks 're goin' to
think our own way, anyhow."

The people laughed and applauded, and Lane went to his work. They were
quiet and attentive. Every now and then some old brother grunted and
shook his head. But in the main they merely listened.

Lane was pleasing, plausible and convincing, and the brass band which
he had brought with him was especially effective. The audience left
the church shaking their heads with a different meaning, and all the
way home there were remarks such as, "He sholy tol' de truth," "Dat
man was right," "They ain't no way to 'ny a word he said."

Just at that particular moment it looked very dark for the other
candidate, especially as the brass band lingered around an hour or so
and discoursed sweet music in the streets where the negroes most did
congregate.

Twenty years ago such a thing could not have happened, but the ties
which had bound the older generation irrevocably to one party were
being loosed upon the younger men. The old men said "We know;" the
young ones said "We have heard," and so there was hardly anything of
the blind allegiance which had made even free thought seem treason to
their fathers.

Now all of this was the reason of the great indignation that was rife
in the breasts of other Little Africans and which culminated in a mass
meeting called by Deacon Isham Swift and held at Bethel Chapel a few
nights later. For two or three days before this congregation of the
opposing elements there were ominous mutterings. On the streets
little knots of negroes stood and told of the terrible thing that had
taken place at Mount Moriah. Shoulders were grasped, heads were wagged
and awful things prophesied as the result of this compromise with the
general enemy. No one was louder in his denunciation of the
treacherous course of the Rev. Ebenezer Clay than the Republican
bellwether, Deacon Swift. He saw in it signs of the break-up of racial
integ