Among the thirty-two black leaders rounded up by Bowling’s Red Shirts and escorted to the meeting were barber Carter Peamon, pawnbroker Tom Miller, lawyers Armond Scott and W. E. Henderson, and Jim Telfair of the Record. The others included a postal clerk, a butcher, a coal dealer, two undertakers, several laborers, and an alderman, Elijah Green. Only one minister, Sam noticed. There were key faces missing: the Manlys, most obviously, but also John Norwood, the Reverend J. Allen Kirk, the other ministers. Probably they were unavailable on such short notice. The Red Shirts had cast their net and dragged in whomever they caught.

The black men, nearly all wearing suits, were directed into the largest meeting room and told to sit against the wall in two rows behind a long board table. Waddell sat at the head of the table, hands folded on a sheaf of papers.

Across the table from the Negro delegation sat the newly formed Committee of Twenty-five—bank directors, railroad presidents, mill owners, insurance men, attorneys, brokers, two ministers, and a doctor.

Sam stood near the door. When everyone had crowded into the room, Waddell addressed the Negroes without preliminaries: “There will be no talking. No discussion. No argument. We are presenting an ultimatum.”

Then, without heat or fire, he read the White Man’s Declaration of Independence. The black men listened, first puzzled, then angry, then full of fear. Lawyer Henderson stood. “Colonel, you’ll be pleased to know that the Manlys have already left town.”

“Who’s that sitting next to you?” Hugh MacRae demanded.

“Carter Peamon, sir,” Peamon said.

“If you’re not the spitting image …”

Henderson continued trying to make his point. “The Daily Record is now defunct.”

“Sit down!” Waddell said. “I don’t want to hear a damned word out of you. Give us your answer in writing.”

“But Colonel—”

“Sit down! I’m not finished.”

Henderson slumped into his seat. Carter Peamon shifted nervously in his chair—MacRae kept staring at him. Sam had to admit Peamon looked a lot like Manly—same light complexion, same stylish moustache, same slight build.

Waddell read the amendment encouraging the present mayor and aldermen to resign. Alderman Elijah Green opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He turned his hat in his hands. To Sam, he looked like a defendant who had just read the guilty verdict in the faces of the jury.

“You will have until tomorrow morning at seven-thirty to reply in writing. Deliver it to my house on Fifth Street.” Waddell looked into their faces. Nobody said anything. “If you comply with all our demands, we may avoid violence. Otherwise,” he said, glancing back at Hugh MacRae, “we will take strong measures.”