# The Leopard's Spots (1902)/Book 2/Chapter 8

GASTON found the Preacher quietly smoking, seated on the rustic under a giant oak that stood in the corner of the square.
Under this tree the speakers' stand had always been built for joint debates in political campaigns.
Here, when a boy he had heard the great debate between Zebulon B. Vance and Judge Thomas Settle in the fierce campaign which followed the overthrow of Legree when the Republican party, under the leadership of Judge Settle made its desperate effort for life. Settle, who was a man of masterful personality, eloquent, and in dead earnest in his appeal for a new South, had made a speech of great power to a crowd that were hostile to every idea for which he stood; and yet he dazzled or stunned them into sullen silence.
And then he recalled with flashes of memory vivid as lightning, the miracle that had followed. He could see Vance now as he slowly lifted his big lion-like head, and calmly looked over the sea of faces with eagle eyes that could flash with resistless humour or blaze with the fury of elemental passion. He reviewed the terrible past in which he had played the tragic role of their war Governor, and tore into tatters with the facts of history the logic of his opponent. And then he opened his batteries of wit and ridicule,—wit that cut to the heart's red blood, and yet convulsed the hearer with its unexpected turn. Ridicule that withered and scorched ​what it touched into ashes. Five thousand people now in breathless suspense as he swung them into heaven on the wings of deathless words, now screaming with laughter, and now hushed in tears!
The scene that followed this triumph! Two stalwart mountain men snatched him from the rostrum and bore him on their shoulders through the shouting, weeping crowd. Women pressed close and kissed his hands, and old men reached forward their hands to touch his garments. Ah! if he could inherit the power of this king among men! To-night as Gaston walked under that tree with his heart beating with the ecstasy of a new-found source of life, he felt that he could do, and that he would do, what the master had done before him!
"Charlie, I've heard some startling news since you left home, and I can't sleep nights thinking about it."
"You've heard of McLeod's scheme."
"Exactly. And it means the ruin of this state and the ruin of the South unless it can be defeated."
"How are you going to do it?"
"It's a puzzle but it's got to be done. Half the farmers in the strongholds of Democracy are crazy over their fool Sub-Treasury and a hundred other fakir dreams. McLeod has promised them everything—Sub-Treasury, pumpkin leaves for money,—anything they want if they will join forces with his niggers and carry the state. You are the man to begin now a quiet but thorough organisation of the young men, and oust the fools from control of the party.
"When the white race begin to hobnob with the Negro and seek his favour, they must grant him absolute equality. That means ultimately social as well as political equality. You can't ask a man to vote for you and kick him down your front doorstep and tell him to come around the back way."
​"I think you exaggerate the social danger, but I see the political end of it."
"I don't exaggerate in the least. I am looking into the future. This racial instinct is the ordinance of our life. Lose it and we have no future. One drop of Negro blood makes a negro. It kinks the hair, flattens the nose, thickens the lip, puts out the light of intellect, and lights the fires of brutal passions. The beginning of Negro equality as a vital fact is the beginning of the end of this nation's life. There is enough negro blood here to make mulatto the whole Republic."
"Such a danger seems too remote for serious alarm to me," replied the younger man.
"Ah! there's the tragedy," passionately cried the Preacher. "You younger men are growing careless and indifferent to this terrible problem. It's the one unsolved and unsolvable riddle of the coming century. Can you build, in a Democracy, a nation inside a nation of two hostile races? We must do this or become mulatto, and that is death. Every inch in the approach of these races across the barriers that separate them is a movement toward death. You cannot seek the Negro vote without asking him to your home sooner or later. If you ask him to your house, he will break bread with you at last. And if you seat him at your table, he has the right to ask your daughter's hand in marriage."
"It seems to me a far cry to that. But I see the political crisis. What is your plan?"
"This,—organise the young Democracy in every township in the state, and put yourself at its head, control the primaries and down the old crowd. They've got to follow you. Fight the campaign with the desperation of despair. If you are defeated, God have mercy on us, but you will be ready for the next battle."
"I'll do it," said Gaston with emphasis.
​"Then I want you to go on a mission to Col. Duke, the President of the National Farmer's Alliance. He's a good Baptist. He means well, but he's crazy. He dreams of the Presidency when he has established the Sub-Treasury for the farmers. He's afraid of the Negro, and is nervous about using him. He knows I am the most influential Baptist preacher in the state. Tell him I say you will win, and that we will give him the nomination for Governor, and put him in line for the Presidency."
"When shall I go to see him?"
"Immediately. Get ready to-night."
The next week McLeod was seated in his office at Hambright receiving reports from his political henchmen at Raleigh.
"I tell you, McLeod, there's a hitch. Something's dropped. Duke's as coy as a maid of sixteen. He says no decision can be made now until he submits a lot of rot to all the lodges of the Alliance and the "Referendum" decides these points. You'd better get hold of him and comb the kinks out of him quick."
McLeod's eyes flashed with anger, as he twisted the points of his red moustache.
"It's that damned Baptist Preacher," he said. "I'll get even with him yet if it's the only thorough job I do on this earth."