The hindered hand
by Sutton E. Griggs · English · Gutenberg #24577 · 446,875 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The hindered hand
or, The reign of the repressionist
Author: Sutton E. Griggs
Illustrator: Robert E. Bell
Release date: February 11, 2008 [eBook #24577]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24577
Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Victoria Woosley and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HINDERED HAND ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Victoria Woosley and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
"_Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall
soon stretch out her hands unto God._"
THE
HINDERED HAND:
OR,
THE REIGN OF THE
REPRESSIONIST.
BY
SUTTON E. GRIGGS.
THIRD EDITION--REVISED.
AMS PRESS
NEW YORK
Reprinted from a copy in the New York Public Library
Schomburg Collection
From the edition of 1905, Nashville
First AMS EDITION published 1969
Manufactured in the United States of America
Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 77-100533
AMS PRESS, INC.
New York, N.Y. 10003
_DEDICATION._
_To a devoted father, of rugged strength of character,
and, withal, pre-eminently a man
of peace, and to a loving mother,
ever tender and serene of soul--
To these twin moulders of the hearthside, who
have ever been anxious that their children
should contribute naught but what is
good to the world, this volume is
most affectionately dedicated
by their son,_
_THE AUTHOR._
SOLEMNLY ATTESTED.
Upon a matter of such tremendous importance to the American people as is
the subject herein treated, it is perhaps due our readers to let them
know how much of fact disports itself through these pages in the garb of
fiction.
We beg to say that in no part of the book has the author consciously
done violence to conditions as he has been permitted to view them, amid
which conditions he has spent his whole life, up to the present hour, as
an intensely absorbed observer.
If in any of these pages the reader comes across that which puts him in
a mood to chide, may the author not hope that the wrath aroused be not
wasted upon the inconsequential painter, but directed toward the
landscape that forced the brush into his hand, stretched the canvas, and
shouted in irresistible tones: "Write!"
Very respectfully,
SUTTON E. GRIGGS.
Nashville, Tenn., May, 1905.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
BY ROBERT E. BELL.
Pages.
"The young woman looked into his face" 20-21
"Her pretty brown eyes nestling" 24-25
"Name me as I was named" 40-41
"The rock battle was now on" 54-55
"What do they take me to be" 86-87
"Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah" 114-115
"Poor Bud, her helpless husband" 134-135
"To and fro the two men swayed" 164-165
"Is it a crime for me?" 174-175
"I have tellerphoned 'round the world" 184-185
"She made a flag of truce" 188-189
"Don't circumscribe the able, noble souls" 234-235
"We machine men in the South" 258-259
"Ensal bent forward and kissed Tiara" 290-291
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
OCCURRENCES THAT PUZZLE 11
CHAPTER II.
HIS FACE WAS HER GUIDE 19
CHAPTER III.
WHEREIN FORESTA FIRST APPEARS 24
CHAPTER IV.
THE WAYS OF A SEEKER AFTER FAME 30
CHAPTER V.
RATHER LATE IN LIFE TO BE STILL NAMELESS 36
CHAPTER VI.
FRIENDLY ENEMIES 46
CHAPTER VII.
OFFICERS OF THE LAW 53
CHAPTER VIII.
A MESSENGER THAT HESITATES 62
CHAPTER IX.
A PLOTTER IS HE 67
CHAPTER X.
ARABELLE SEABRIGHT 72
CHAPTER XI.
UNUSUAL FOR A MAN 77
CHAPTER XII.
A HONEYMOON OUT OF THE USUAL ORDER 82
CHAPTER XIII.
SHREWD MRS. CRAWFORD 88
CHAPTER XIV.
ALENE AND RAMON 94
CHAPTER XV.
UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENTS 99
CHAPTER XVI.
AN EAGER SEARCHER 108
CHAPTER XVII.
PECULIAR DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS 113
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISTS THAT VANISH 117
CHAPTER XIX.
THE FUGITIVES FLEE AGAIN 122
CHAPTER XX.
THE BLAZE 129
CHAPTER XXI.
PLANNING TO ACT 138
CHAPTER XXII.
THE TWO PATHWAYS 142
CHAPTER XXIII.
THEY GRAPPLE 162
CHAPTER XXIV.
OUT OF JOINT WITH HIS TIMES 167
CHAPTER XXV.
A JOYFUL FAREWELL 178
CHAPTER XXVI.
GUS MARTIN 182
CHAPTER XXVII.
TIARA MYSTIFIES US 187
CHAPTER XXVIII.
POOR FELLOW! 191
CHAPTER XXIX.
A REVELATION 195
CHAPTER XXX.
MR. A. HOSTILITY 201
CHAPTER XXXI.
TWO OF A KIND 206
CHAPTER XXXII.
WORKING AND WAITING 214
CHAPTER XXXIII.
BACK IN ALMAVILLE 220
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A GREAT DAY IN COURT 224
CHAPTER XXXV.
EUNICE! EUNICE! 240
CHAPTER XXXVI.
ENTHUSIASTIC JOHN BLUE 252
CHAPTER XXXVII.
POSTPONING HIS SHOUT OF TRIUMPH 265
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
HE CANNOT, BUT HE DOES! 269
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A SON OF THE NEW SOUTH 276
CHAPTER XL.
SORROW AND GLADNESS 289
TUNING THE LYRE.
In the long ago when the earth was in process of formation, it must have
been that those forces of nature most expert in the fashioning of the
beautiful were ordered to come together as collaborators and give to the
world Almaville!
Journeying toward the designated spot, they halted on the outskirts of
the site of the contemplated city, and tossed up a series of engirdling
hills, whose slopes and crests covered with verdure might afford in the
days to come a beautiful sight to the inhabitants when riding forth to
get a whiff of country air. These same forces of nature, evidently in
love with their work, arranged, it seems, for all the beautiful clouds
with their varying hues to pass in daily review over the head of the
city to be born.
In all that appertains to physical excellence Almaville was made
attractive, and somewhere, perhaps behind yon hills, the forces rested
until man set his foot upon the soil and prepared to build. They so
charged the air and all the environments with the spirit of the
beautiful, that the men who later wrought in building the city found
themselves the surprised and happy creators of a lovely habitation.
On an eminence crowning the center of the area whereon the city is
planted, the State has builded its capitol, and from the tower thereof
one can see the engaging network of streets, contemplate the splendid
architecture of the buildings, and gaze upon the noble trees that boldly
line the sidewalks, and thus testify that they are not afraid of
civilization.
Even in the matter of climate Almaville is highly favored, it would
seem. Her summers are not too hot nor her winters too cold, and many a
fevered brow finds solace in her balmy breezes.
The war gods saw and admired her, and decreed that one of the famous
battles of the Civil War should be fought within her environs, that
their memory might ever be cherished here.
Philanthropy, it seems, singled out Almaville for special attention,
granting unto her opportunities for learning that well might cause proud
Athens to touch her crown to see that it was still there and had not
been lifted by her modern rival.
A murky river runs through Almaville and a dark stream flows through the
lives of all of us who dwell upon its banks. But yonder! yonder! is the
ocean! Where?
THE AUTHOR.
THE HINDERED HAND.
CHAPTER I.
_Occurrences That Puzzle._
To the pagan yet remaining in man it would seem that yon railroad train
plunging toward the Southland is somehow conscious of the fact that it
is playing a part in events of tremendous import, for observe how it
pierces the darkness with its one wild eye, cleaves the air with its
steely front and causes wars and thunders to creep into the dreams of
the people by whose homes it makes its midnight rush.
Well, this train now moving toward Almaville, queen city of the South,
measured by the results that developed from that night's journey, is
fully entitled to all its fretting and fuming, brag and bluster of steam
and smoke, and to its wearisome jangle of clanging bell and shrieking
whistle and rumbling wheel.
It was summer time. A Negro porter passing through a coach set apart for
white passengers noted the fixedness with which a young woman with a
pretty face and a pair of beautiful blue eyes was regarding him. Her
head was inclined to one side, her hand so supporting her face that a
prettily shaped ear peeped out from between her fingers. In the look of
her eye there was a slight suggestion of immaturity, which, however, was
contradicted by the firm outlines of her face. As the porter drew near
her seat she significantly directed her look to a certain spot on the
car floor, thence to the eyes of the porter.
Having in mind the well understood dictum of the white man of the South
that the Negro man and the white woman are to be utterly oblivious of
the existence of each other, this Negro porter was loth to believe that
the young woman was trying surreptitiously to attract his attention, and
he passed out of the coach hurriedly. In a short while he returned and
again noted how intently the young woman regarded him. This time he
observed that she had evidently been weeping and that there was a look
of hopeless sorrow in her eyes. Again the young woman looked at him,
then upon the floor and up at him once more. The porter looked down upon
the spot indicated by her look, saw a note, stooped and picked it up. He
returned to the coach or rather to the end of a coach, set apart for
Negroes, took a rear seat and surveyed the car preparatory to reading
the note which the young woman plainly indicated was for him.
"I don't want white girls passing me notes," thought the Negro,
clutching the note tightly and continuing to glance about the coach in a
half-frightened manner. He arose to hoist the window by which he sat,
intending to utilize it to be rid of the note in case the occasion
should demand it. His fears had begun to suggest to him that perhaps
some white man had noticed his taking cognizance of the young woman's
efforts to attract his attention.
As the Negro section of the coach was the forward section and next to
the baggage car, any person coming from the section set apart for the
whites would be to the back of the Negro passengers. The porter
therefore changed his seat, going forward and taking a position where he
would be facing any one coming from the coach for whites. He raised the
window by which he sat and his eye wandered out into the darkness amid
the sombre trees that went speeding along, and there arose to haunt him
mental visions of a sea of angry white faces closing around some one
dark face, perhaps guilty and perhaps innocent; and as he thought
thereon he shuddered. He felt sorely tempted to toss the note out of the
window unread, but remembering the pleading look on the face of the
young woman he did not follow the promptings of his fear.
"In case of trouble, this crew in here couldn't help a fellow much,"
said the porter, moving his eyes about slowly again, taking note one by
one of those in the section with him. There was the conductor, who
though a white man, seemed always to prefer to sit in the section set
apart for the Negroes. There was the newsboy, also white, taking up two
seats with his wares.
"As well as they know me they would go with the other gang. A white man
is a white man, and don't you forget it," mused the porter.
There were two male passengers sitting together, Negroes, one of whom
was so light of complexion that he could easily have passed for white,
while the other was of a dark brown hue.
"A fine looking fellow," thought the porter concerning the dark young
man.
Across the aisle from the two young men mentioned, and a seat or so in
advance of them, sat a young woman whose face was covered with a very
thick veil. The perfect mould of her shoulders, the attractiveness of
her wealth of black hair massed at the back of her head--these things
were demanding, the porter noticed, many an admiring glance from the
darker of the two young men.
The porter seemed about to forget his note in observing with what
regularity the young man's eyes would wander off and straightway return
to rest upon the beautiful form of the young woman, but an incident
occurred that brought his mind back very forcibly to the note. The door
from the section for the whites opened and two white men entered.
The porter's hand in which the note was held cautiously crept toward the
open window, while he eyed the two white men whom he feared had come to
accuse him of an attempted flirtation with a young white woman. One of
the men reached behind to his hip pocket and the porter half arose in
his seat, throwing up his hands in alarm, expecting a pistol to appear
to cover him. The white man was simply drawing out a flask of whiskey to
offer his companion a drink.
Ensal Ellwood, the dark young man, looking around to see if the parties
who had entered had closed the door behind them (for the adjoining
section was the white people's smoking apartment, and care had to be
exercised to keep smoke and tobacco fumes out), saw the two white men
about to take a drink. He arose quickly and advancing to the two men,
said quietly, urbanely and yet with an air of firmness,
"Gentlemen, the law prescribes that this coach shall be used exclusively
by Negro passengers and we must ask that you do not make our first-class
apartment a drinking room for the whites."
The two men stared at Ensal and he looked them frankly in the face that
they might see that in a dignified manner he would insist to the last
upon the rights of the Negro passengers. The justness of Ensal's
request, his unostentatious, manly bearing had the desired effect. The
two men quietly turned about and left the car.
The porter who had been standing during this little scene now sat down,
opened the note and read as follows:
"MR. PORTER: When this train is within a fifteen minutes' run
of Almaville please pass through this coach and so announce.
Then stand on the platform leading from this coach to the
coach in which the Negroes have their section.
"FROM THE GIRL THAT LOOKED AT YOU."
The first part of this request the porter concluded to comply with, but
he registered all sorts of vows to the effect that he would never be
found waiting on any platform for any white girl. He murmered to
himself.
"My young lady, you may sign yourself, 'From the girl that looked at
you;' but with all due respect my signature is 'The boy that wasn't
there.'"
Again he looked out of the window at the same sombre trees and into the
gloom of their shadows, and he put his hand in his collar as though it
was already too tight.
"No, my God!" he said softly. Tearing the note to shreds, he fed it to
the winds, lowered the window and began to whistle.
When the train was in the designated distance of Almaville the porter
entered the coach for whites in which sat the young woman who wrote the
note. "Fifteen minutes and the train pulls into Almaville," he
exclaimed, as he walked the aisle in an opposite direction to that
desired by the young woman. She at once understood and saw that she must
depend upon herself.
The fragile, beautiful creature arose and by holding to the ends of the
various seats staggered to the door. She opened it and by tenacious
clinging to the iron railings on the platform managed to pull herself
across to the adjoining coach. Passing through the smoker for the white
men she entered the Negro section. With a half stifled sob she threw
herself into the lap of the Negro girl and nestled her face on her
shoulder.
The young woman from the coach for the whites now tossed back the veil
of the Negro girl and the two girls kissed, looking each other in the
eyes, pledging in that kiss and in that look, the unswerving, eternal
devotion of heart to heart whatever the future might bring. The young
woman now slowly turned away and went toward the coach whence she came,
assisted by the wondering conductor.
From large dark eyes whose great native beauty was heightened by that
tender look of the soul that they harbored, the Negro girl stood
watching her visitor depart. The grace of her form that was somewhat
taller and somewhat larger than that of the average girl, stamped her as
a creature that could be truthfully called sublimely beautiful, thought
Ensal. Whatever complexion on general principles Ensal thought to be the
most attractive, he was now ready to concede that the delicate light
brown color of this girl could not be surpassed in beauty.
If, incredulous as to the accuracy of the estimate of her beauty forced
upon one at the first glance, an effort was made to analyze that face
and study its parts separately, each feature was seen to have a beauty
all its own.
"So sweet and beautiful a face and so lovely a form could only have been
handed to a soul of whom _they_ are not even worthy," thought Ensal.
A sober look was in Ensal's eye and some kind of a mad gallop was in his
heart. There was more than soberness in the blue eyes of Earl Bluefield,
Ensal's companion. When Ensal looked around at his friend he was
astonished at the terribly bitter look on his face.
The train emptied a number of its passengers and rushed on and on and
on, as if fleeing from the results to be anticipated from its deposit of
new and strange forces into the life of Almaville.
CHAPTER II.
_His Face Was Her Guide._
"This is a rich man's war and a poor man's fight." Such is said to have
been the character of the sentiment that was widespread in the ranks of
the Confederate army during the late Civil War.
Be that as it may, it is very evident that the highest interest of the
"poor whites" who bore the brunt of the fighting was to be conserved by
the collapse rather than the triumph of the cause for which they fought
with unsurpassed gallantry. For, with the downfall of the system of
enforced labor, the work of the world became an open market, and the
dignity of labor being restored, the "poor whites" had both a better
opportunity and a more congenial atmosphere to begin their rise. Thus
the stars in their courses fought for the "poor whites" in fighting
bitterly against them.
At one time the Negroes of the cities of the South had almost a
monopoly of the work of transferring passengers and baggage to
and from the depots, but white men organized transfer companies, placed
white agents on the incoming trains to solicit patronage, employed white
men to drive the transfer wagons and thus largely wrested the business
from the hands of the Negroes. But the Negroes would yet drive up to the
station, hoping for some measure of success in the spirited contests
that would arise in attempts to capture such gleanings as the advance
agents of the transfer companies had left behind.
So, when the train on which we rode into Almaville poured its stream of
passengers upon the platform of the car shed and they had ascended the
steps to the depot platform, they were greeted with a series of shouts
from the Negro hackmen and expressmen standing at the edge of the
platform, the preponderance of the chances against them lending color to
their cries.
Ensal Ellwood and Earl Bluefield boarded a street car, while the Negro
girl who had occupied the coach with them, not knowing anything about
the city, went in the direction of the clamoring hackmen, hoping that
some one of them might tell her where she could find proper
entertainment for the night. As she drew near, the line of hackmen bent
forward, with hands outstretched for traveling bags, each man eyeing her
intently as if hoping that the character of the look bestowed upon her
might influence her choice. One man pulled off his hat, hoping to
impress her with a mark of respect not exhibited by the others. The
remainder of the hackmen quickly pulled off their hats, determined that
no one should have the advantage. The young woman tossed back her veil
that she might see the better.
[Illustration: "The young woman looked into his face and recoiled."
(20-21.)]
A young man better dressed than the hackmen was standing behind them.
The moment he caught sight of the young woman's astonishingly beautiful
face he pushed through the crowd, walked rapidly to her side, gently
took hold of her satchel, and said quietly, "You will go with me. I will
see you properly cared for."
The young woman looked into his face and recoiled. His tone was
respectful and there was nothing affronting in his look or demeanor, yet
the young woman felt utterly repelled.
"That's right, lady. Don't go with him. Go with any of the rest of these
men in preference to him," said a genial faced young man, slightly below
medium height, rather corpulent and very dark.
The young woman looked in his direction and was favorably impressed with
his open, frank expression.
"I'll trust myself to your care," said she, pulling away from the well
dressed young man.
Leroy Crutcher, for such was his name, cast a look of malignant hatred
at Bud Harper, the successful hackman and muttered something under his
breath. He also scowled at the young woman whose utter disdain of him
had cut him to the quick.
"I will get even with the pair of them, if it takes me the balance of my
life," said Leroy Crutcher to the group of hackmen, after Bud Harper and
the young woman had driven away.
The men looked at him in sullen, contemptuous silence, loathing and yet
dreading him more than they did a serpent, for he conducted a house of
ill-repute for the exclusive use of white men and Negro girls, and,
being diligent in endeavoring to bring to his home any and all Negro
girls to whom his white patrons might take a fancy, had great influence
with this element of whites.
Noting the indisposition of the men to talk to him, and rightly
interpreting their contemptuous silence, Crutcher drew from his pocket a
wallet full of greenbacks. Taking out as many one dollar bills as there
were hackmen, he threw them on the platform and said, "I am a gentleman,
myself. Money talks these days. Help yourselves, gentlemen."
The men did not look at the money. Each one returned to his vehicle and
journeyed to his humble home, leaving Crutcher alone upon the platform.
If the hackmen had taken his money it would have served as proof to him
that they were no better than he, that they were not in a business like
his simply because they lacked his skill and finesse.
The action of the hackmen intensified his resentment at the treatment
accorded him by Bud Harper and the young woman, and, meditating
vengeance, he now walked toward his den of infamy where his mother had
reigned in her day and where he was born of a white father.
The human race has not thus far even approached the point of
constructing such habitations as would render mankind indifferent to
rumblings underground, nor has society such secure foundation that it
can think lightly of its lower elements.
In the long run the LeRoy Crutchers will be heard from. It is
inevitable.
CHAPTER III.
_Wherein Foresta First Appears._
When the young woman who had committed herself to Bud Harper's care
awoke the next morning she saw standing near her a tall, slender, Negro
girl, of a dark brown complexion.
"My name is Foresta," said the girl, showing the tips of her beautiful
white teeth. Her lips were thin, her nose prettily chiseled, her skin
smooth, her brow high, her head covered with an ample supply of jet
black hair. "Excuse me, please," said Foresta, "but mama told me to tell
you that breakfast would soon be ready."
Foresta having delivered her message, for which she was thanked, did not
at once turn to leave. Her pretty brown eyes nestling under equally
pretty eyebrows, looked lovingly into the stranger's face. Without
saying more, however, Foresta left the room. A little later she brought
the young woman's breakfast, clearing the center table to make room for
it.
[Illustration: "Her pretty brown eyes, nestling under equally pretty
eyebrows, looked lovingly into the stranger's face." (24-25.)]
"We eat in the kitchen. It is mighty warm in there, though, in the
summer time with fire in the stove. We thought we would do a little
better by you than that," said Foresta apologetically. She sat down to
keep the young woman's company while the latter was eating.
"That was Bud Harper that brought you here last night," said Foresta,
unable to repress a smile over some pleasing thought that was passing
through her mind.
The young woman looked up from her breakfast. "My!" she said, "Your eyes
are pretty. They are such a lovely brown."
"I'll swap hair with you," said Foresta, feeling of her own hair and
looking admiringly at the wealth of beautiful black hair on the young
woman's head.
"You would cheat yourself. Your hair isn't as long as mine, but it is so
black and lovely," said the young woman.
Looking at Foresta from head to foot, plainly but neatly dressed, the
young woman remarked, "You are a pretty girl, Foresta--and a good girl,"
pausing between the former and the latter complimentary reference.
Foresta's kindly face lighted up with joy at the compliment. For some
time she had felt, without knowing what it was that she felt, the need
of a confidante--some one with a fellow-feeling to whom she could talk.
"Something funny happened once about Bud Harper and----"
"Yourself," said the young woman, with a sweet, knowing look.
"Yes," admitted Foresta with a light laugh, pleased that the young woman
was entering so readily into the spirit of the recital. "Bud had a
brother Dave that looked just like him," said Foresta. "Almost, I mean,"
she added, remembering that nobody was to be put on a level with Bud.
"Poor Dave is dead now," she said in sad tones, looking the young woman
fully in the face as if making a further study of her.
Satisfied with the result of the inspection, Foresta now said in a
confidential tone: "Dave died in the penitentiary. He and a white man
got in a fight. Dave killed him in self-defense. Dave could have come
clear, but it wouldn't have done any good. He would have been lynched.
His lawyers advised him to take a twenty years' sentence to satisfy the
clamor, and said they were sure they could get him a pardon. All of
Dave's friends thought it was better to take his chances with a good
governor rather than a mob."
Foresta's eyes now filled with tears. "It did hurt poor Dave so to go to
the penitentiary. He was such a good-hearted boy. He died there in about
a year and a half. It may be he's better off." Foresta now paused an
instant. Shaking off the spell of sadness she said, "But that's not what
I started out to tell you."
"I know it isn't," said the young woman, smiling sadly.
"Don't be too sure you know what I have to tell," said Foresta,
laughing. "It is really something funny."
"I am listening," said the young woman.
"One night Bud went to church with me. You know our church is called the
'high falutin' church,' and a good many of the poorer and plain people
don't like to go there. Well, Bud isn't a highly educated boy and he
doesn't like our church for anything. He likes the preacher all right.
He will hardly ever go in and sit with me. He walks about out doors till
church is out, then comes back home with me. You are tired listening to
my foolishness, aren't you?" asked Foresta.
"Not at all. I am interested," said the young woman reassuringly.
"Well, Bud is a sort of a bashful boy. Dave was just the opposite. Dave
was full of nerve. Bud kept a 'hemming and hawing' trying to, trying to
er----"
"Well, just say that he was trying to," said the young woman, and the
two laughed heartily.
"Dave kept after Bud to speak out, but Bud was afraid that he would
spoil matters," resumed Foresta. "They rigged up a scheme to find out
where I stood without Bud's risking too much. Now, remember, Bud and
Dave looked just alike, almost. Many a time I have taken one for the
other. When little they often got scolded and beaten for one another.
Their father never could tell them apart. Bud came to church with me
one night, and he and Dave agreed that Dave was to carry me home without
my knowing it was Dave. Dave was to make out that he was Bud and make a
dash of some sort to find out how Bud stood with me. On our way home
Dave didn't talk much. That helped to fool me, because Bud and I have
gone along not saying a word; only looking at each other now and then.
But that night Dave, whom I was taking to be Bud, was unusually quiet.
And I thought then that he was meditating something. When Dave got home
with me, he stood between me and the gate and said, 'You must pay toll
to get in.' I knew he was asking me to kiss him. 'If you don't let me by
I will call mama,' I said, mostly for fun, for I knew that Bud thought
mama was against him. You ought to have seen Dave stepping aside to let
me in. I didn't say another word, but walked into the yard and upon the
porch. I knocked. Mama came and unlocked the door and went back. 'Good
night,' said I. But Dave wouldn't move. He was so afraid that he had
spoiled things for Bud. I stood there and thought a while. It came to me
that it might not be wise to treat Bud's first attempt to say what I was
willing for him to say, too coolly. And yet I didn't want to appear too
anxious. You know what I mean," said Foresta appealingly.
"I understand you, perfectly, though my time hasn't come yet," said the
young woman.
"So I stood on the porch," continued Foresta, "looking away from Dave,
thinking and thinking how I could save myself and not hurt Bud too much.
Womanlike, I suppose, I decided to make a sacrifice of myself. I opened
my door a little. Quick as a flash, but so he could plainly see what I
was doing, I threw a kiss and darted in the house. Dave fairly flew to
where Bud was waiting for him. Dave told Bud all about it and the two
boys liked to have hugged each other to death. Dave having opened the
way, Bud grew bolder very fast. After everything was understood between
us and the time set, Bud told me all about the trick. And I boxed his
ears for him. If you are here I want you to come to my and Bud's
wedding."
Foresta now arose to go. Holding up a finger of warning, she said, "We
haven't told the old folks yet."
CHAPTER IV.
_The Ways of A Seeker After Fame._
This world of ours, thought of in comparison with man the individual, is
so very, very large; its sons and daughters departed, now on hand and
yet to come, form such an innumerable host; the ever-increasing needs of
the living are so varied and urgent; the advance cry of the future
bidding us to prepare for its coming is so insistent; the contest for
supremacy, raging everywhere, must be fought out among so many souls of
power--these accumulated considerations so operate that it is given unto
but a few of those who come upon the earth to obtain a look of
recognition from the universal eye; and fewer still are they who, by
virtue of inherited capacity, proper bent, necessary environment and the
happy conjunction of the deed and the hour, so labor as to move to
admiration, sympathy or reverence the universal heart, an achievement,
apart from which no man, however talented, may hope to sit among the
earth's immortals.
The fact that enduring world prominence is an achievement rarely and
with great difficulty attained operates upon different individuals in
different ways. Some grow weary of the strenuous strife, give up the
contest with a sigh and retire, as it were, to the shade of the trees
and with more or less of yearning await the coming of the deeper shades
of the evening eternal. Others, fully conscious that they have been
entrusted with a world message, confront a mountain with as much courage
as they do a sand dune, and press onward, whether the stars are in a
guiding or a hiding mood.
Mrs. Arabelle Seabright, aspirant for world honors, sat in a
rocking-chair in her room in the Domain Hotel, Almaville, the stopping
place of the wealthiest and most aristocratic visitors. Her small well
shaped hands were lying one upon the other, resting on the back of an
open book which was in her lap, face downward. Slowly she rocked
backward and forward, tapping first one foot and then the other upon the
floor. It was very evident that she was thinking, but a glance at the
face was all that was needed to tell one that this thinking was not due
to irresolution or uncertainty of purpose.
Nothing was ever more plainly written upon the human countenance than
that this woman knew her own mind and knew the course which she was to
pursue. Her thinking now is with a view to making travel along the
elected course as agreeable as possible. The door to her room opened and
there entered a young man of medium height with delicate, almost
feminine features. His face was covered with a full beard that was so
black as to appear almost uncanny, and it seemed so much out of place on
one so young, the wearer not being over twenty-five at most.
"You have come to say 'yes,' my boy," said Mrs. Seabright, rising to
meet her son.
The young man had really come to say "no," but that firm, unyielding
look in his mother's eyes halted him. Instead of the determined stand
which he had resolved to take, in the presence of his mother's imperious
will, all he could say was, "Mother, I--I--I--had hoped otherwise."
His mother shook her head and looked him directly in the eyes. She
wanted him to see the determination written in her own eyes.
He saw and collapsed. "I will go, mother," said he. "Be seated, mother,"
he requested.
Mrs. Seabright, directing a look of inquiry at her son, sat down.
He now dropped on his knees and rested his head upon her lap. "Mother,
say to me the prayer that you taught me in my childhood--days when you
were not this way. Lead me back there once more, for something within
tells me that life is never more to be life to me."
Mrs. Seabright did not at all relish the sentimental turn of her son's
mind, but she began in as tender tones as she could summon:
"Now I lay me down to sleep."
"Now I lay me down to sleep," repeated the young man.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep," his mother continued.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep," said he.
"If I should die before I wake," the mother said.
"If I should die before I wake," said the son.
"I pray the Lord my soul to take," concluded the mother.
"I pray the Lord my soul to take," the son repeated lingeringly.
"Mother, truly I am laying me down to sleep. I am putting my life, my
soul away. When I awake from this sleep into which your influence as a
mother has lulled me, I shall awake to look into the face of my
Creator."
The young man now arose and turning upon his mother, he said out of a
burning heart: "Oh, mother! May your soul meet God. As I leave you, let
me tell you it takes that to reach your case!"
"You are not the son of your mother," quietly said she.
The young man now rushed from the room to get out of the presence of one
who, though his mother, possessed nothing in common with his own soul.
In spite of the manner of his leaving, Mrs. Seabright knew full well
that he would perform unto the utmost all that she had exacted of him.
Mrs. Seabright resumed her seat and rocked to and fro complacently for a
few moments. Arising, she went to a rolling door, leading to a room
adjoining her own. There, coiled upon the bed, lay the beautiful young
woman whom we first saw endeavoring to attract the attention of the
Negro porter to a note. Her hair lay wildly about her pretty brow, there
were tear stains upon her cheeks and her eyelids were closed. A fear
seized Mrs. Seabright that her daughter might be dead. Rushing to the
bedside, she called, "Eunice! Eunice!"
The young woman opened her blue eyes into her mother's, sat up and began
to sob violently. The mother put her arms around the young woman, but
the latter jumped from the bed and pulled herself away.
"Now, Eunice, don't act in that way. You can't see how bright a future I
have mapped out for you. If you only knew!"
The young woman shook her head in rejection of all that the mother might
offer.
"I will let you see her as often as you choose, Eunice!"
"Will you?" almost shrieked the young woman, stamping her foot upon the
floor, a wild look of joy leaping into her eye.
"If you will let me plan your future I will not interfere with your
relations with her whatever."
"Mother, mother," said the young woman rushing to Mrs. Seabright and
throwing her arms about her neck. Between sobs she said, "Mother,
mother, do with me what you will, just so you allow me to be with her
when I choose. Oh, mother, how I wish you were now what you were before
the adder bit you."
Mrs. Seabright, unmoved by this outburst, gently released herself from
her daughter's grasp and returned to her rocking chair.
"I shall yet harness to my cause the two forces that are the most potent
yet revealed in shaping the course of human society," said she. Going to
her window, she looked out into the skies and whispered in confidence to
the stars:
"I shall be remembered as long as you shall shine."
Hard by the house of fame sits the home of infamy. Those who offer too
strange a price for the former are given the latter.
CHAPTER V.
_Rather Late In Life To Be Still Nameless._
On the morrow following our ride into Almaville on the passenger train,
toward twilight Ensal Ellwood sat upon the front porch of his pretty
little home, a sober look in his firm, kindly eyes. By his side sat his
aged mother, whose sweet dark face of regular features was crowned with
hair that was now white from the combined efforts of time and sorrow.
Her usually placid countenance wore a look of positive alarm. She had
just been a listener to a conversation between her son and Gus Martin.
Gus Martin was a Negro of brownish hue, whose high cheek bones, keen
eyes, coarse black hair and erect carriage told plainly of the Indian
blood in his veins. Gus was a great admirer of both Ensal and Earl
Bluefield and the three had gone to the Spanish-American war together,
Ensal, who was a minister, as chaplain, Gus and Earl as soldiers. These
three were present at the battle of San Juan Hill, and Gus, who was
himself notoriously brave, scarcely knew which to admire the more,
Ensal's searching words that inspired the men for that world-famous dash
or Earl's enthusiastic, infectious daring on the actual scene of
conflict.
Gus could read and write in a fashion, but was by no means as well
educated as either Ensal or Earl, his friends, and consequently looked
to them largely for guidance.
Earl had made efforts to secure promotion upon the record of his
services in battle, but had failed, because, according to common
opinion, of the disinclination of the South to have Negro officers in
the army. Gus Martin took Earl's failure to secure promotion more to
heart than did Earl himself. Gus was a follower but not a member of the
church of which Ensal was pastor, and he had come to pour forth his
sentiments to Ensal anent the failure of his friend Earl to be rewarded.
Ordinarily the well-known tractability of the Negro seemed uppermost in
him, but this evening all of his Indian hot blood seemed to come to the
fore. His voice was husky with passion and his black eyes flashed
defiance. He questioned the existence of God, and, begging pardon,
asserted that the Gospel was the Negro's greatest curse in that it
unmanned the race. As for the United States government, he said, "The
flag aint any more to me than any other dirty rag. I fit fur it. My
blood run out o' three holes on the groun' to keep it floatin', and
whut will it do fur me? Now jes' tell me whut?"
Ensal endeavored to show that the spirit of the national government was
very correct and that the lesser governments within the government
caused the weakness. He held that in the course of time the national
government would mould the inner circles of government to its way of
thinking.
"Excuse me, Elder; but that kind o' talk makes me sick. You are a good
Christian man, I really think; but like most cullud people you are too
jam full o' patience an' hope. I'll be blessed if I don't b'lieve Job
was a cullud man. I ganny, I got Indian blood in me and if they pester
this kid they are goin' to hear sump'in' drap."
It was to this conversation that Ensal's mother had listened with
disturbed feelings. She believed firmly in God and her only remedies for
all the ills of earth were prayer and time. Therefore it ruffled her
beyond measure to have a new spirit appearing in the race.
"Ensal, there isn't any good in that Gus Martin," said she, in earnest,
tremulous tones, nodding her head in the direction of the departing Gus.
"I may be dead, my son, but you will see that the devil will be to pay
this side of hearing the last of him," she continued.
Ensal did not look in his mother's direction, but stole one of her thin
worn hands and placed it between his own. He felt that his mother's
prediction with regard to Gus Martin was only too likely to be
fulfilled.
At this juncture two young women appeared at the gate and entered. They
were Foresta Crump and the young woman whom we saw taken to Foresta's
home on the preceding evening. Being informed that the stranger desired
a conference with him, Ensal retired to his study, lighted the room and
invited her to enter. Foresta remained upon the porch and entertained
Mrs. Ellwood, with whom she was a favorite, because of her peculiarly
lovable disposition and her attention to the aged.
When the young woman was seated, Ensal took a seat and looked in her
direction, saying, "Consider me at your service, please." There was an
air of unnatural calm about the young woman. She now removed her hat
from her head and Ensal noted that her hair was so arranged as to allow
her face to fully stand as nature gave it to her, unrelieved. He also
noticed that her attire was of a simple order throughout, though good
taste and ample means were needed to produce the results attained by her
dress. The light of the train that had told Ensal that she was
beautiful, had only hinted at the attractiveness of form and feature as
disclosed upon closer inspection.
The young woman seemed in no haste to begin the conversation about the
matter that had brought her there, and chatted with Ensal in a
desultory manner. She was studying Ensal and was affording him an
opportunity to study her. Ensal had been so highly spoken of to her, and
in her present state of mind she was so anxious to meet such a person as
he was represented to be that she was calling into requisition all the
powers of intuition of which her soul was capable.
At length an instant of quiet on the part of his visitor told Ensal that
she was now to approach the matter that had given rise to her call.
"Mr. Ellwood," began the young woman, "it sometimes happens in the
course of human life that we are compelled to appeal to the faith that
people have in us. Life is more or less a matter of faith anyway, but
ordinarily there is some sort of buttress for our faith in surrounding
circumstances. To-night, I bring not one shred of circumstance, not one
bit of history from my past life, and yet I appeal to you for faith in
me, absolute unquestioning faith."
Her earnest tones and the pleading look in her beautiful eyes and the
trembling of her form burned those words into Ensal's memory:
"I have the necessary faith," said Ensal, earnestly and quietly.
"I have come to Almaville to begin life anew. This has become necessary
through no act of my own. This is all I care to say on that point, and I
do not promise to ever break the seal of silence with regard to the
past. I wish to find a name and I wish to find friends among the really
good people of Almaville, the good Negroes. I am lately from New York
and I am your friend. With these facts and only these, can you name me,
can you place me in touch with your friends?" said the young woman.
[Illustration: "'Name me as I was named when a babe. The name that I have
borne shall know me no more,' replied the young woman."
(40-41.)]
"Name you?" enquired Ensal.
"Name me as I was named when a babe. The name that I have borne shall
know me no more," replied the young woman.
As pastor of a Negro church at a period when almost the entire
leadership of the race was centered in that functionary, Ensal was
accustomed to having all sorts of matters placed before him, but the
present requirement was rather unique in all of his experience as a
pastor. He arose from the chair and began to walk slowly to and fro
across the room, having asked the indulgence of the young woman for
resorting to his favorite method of procedure when engaged in serious
reflection. If we must tell the truth of this young man, the question
which he was debating most was somewhat at variance with those raised by
her requests.
Ensal had come to the conclusion many years previous that marriage was
not for him, and hitherto woman had had no entrance into the inner
chambers of his thoughts. And this beautiful stranger, nameless and
homeless, had almost wrested the door of his heart from its hinges,
without even an attempt thereat, and the young man was trying to
grapple with the new experiences born into his consciousness.
Finding that he lost ground by trying to reason with his heart, Ensal
let the wilful member alone and engaged in the more honest task of
naming his visitor. Turning toward the young woman, glad that he had
something to say, so that he might look into her beautiful face again,
he said:
"I name you Tiara."
Ensal assigned the name with so much warmth that Tiara dropped her eyes,
and the faintest symptoms of a smile appeared on her face.
"You have forgotten the latter part of my name," she remarked.
Ensal resumed his walking. Happening to look up at the top of his desk
he caught sight of a sculptured bust of Frederick Douglass. He paused,
and pointing to the bust, said:
"Behold one whose distinctive mission in the world was to serve as a
harbinger for his race! A star of the first magnitude, he rose in the
night of American slavery, attracted the admiring gaze of the civilized
world, and so thrilled the hearts of men that they broke the chains of
all his kind in the hope of further enriching the firmament of lofty
human endeavor with stars like unto him. I name you Tiara Douglass."
Ensal turned to Tiara, his face enkindled with enthusiasm. He stepped
back, threw up his hands, and plainly showed in his eyes the unbounded
surprise which he felt at the way in which Tiara had received his
suggestion for a surname. There Tiara sat, tears evidently long pent-up
freely flowing and her body shaking with, emotion.
To find a word expressive of Ensal's bewildered state of mind is a
problem to be handed over to the type of man engaged in the search for
perpetual motion and does not come within the purview of a simple
author. Man who tames the lion, harnesses the winds, makes a whimperer
of steam and cowers the lightning--this same vainglorious, triumphant
man is simply helpless in the presence of a woman's tears! Ensal stole
quietly to his seat and sat there in a state of amazement.
Tiara looked up through her tears, a few pretty locks of hair having now
fallen in beautiful disorder across her brow.
"Mr. Ellwood, I cannot endure the name Douglass and I cannot explain,"
said she.
Ensal now perceived that this name Douglass had somehow made the girl's
thoughts touch upon the very core of her life's troubles.
"Douglass, Douglass, Douglass; no not Douglass," repeated Tiara in
passionate tones, evidently trying to accept the name for Ensal's sake
and yet being unable to do so.
"Your name shall be Tiara Merlow," said Ensal.
"Merlow--Merlow. I like that," said Tiara.
"I will arrange for you to stop with Mrs. Helen Crawford," said Ensal.
"Thank you," said Tiara.
Tiara now arose to go, but it was evident that there was something yet
unspoken. As she reached the door of the room she turned around and
looked Ensal directly in the face. Ensal had been following her to the
door, and the two now stood near each other.
"She is just tall and large enough to be grand in appearance, which,
coupled with her beauty of face and symmetry of form, make her fit to
set a new standard of loveliness in woman," mentally observed Ensal.
"Mr. Ellwood," said Tiara, "I perceive that you are an admirer of
Frederick Douglass. Do you approve of his marriage to a white woman?"
Ensal was about to answer, when something in Tiara's look told him that
he was somehow about to pass final judgment upon himself. He looked at
Tiara to see if he could glean from her countenance a hint of her
leaning, but her countenance was purposely a blank. He now tried to
recall the tone in which she asked the question, but as he remembered
it, that, too, was noncommittal. He was not seeking to divine Tiara's
opinion with a view to shaping his own accordingly. If it was apparent
that he and she agreed, he was of course ready to answer. If they were
to differ, he preferred to postpone answering until such a time as he
might be able to accompany his answer with his reason for the same.
Ensal now said smilingly, "Practice suspension of judgment in my case.
In some way I may let you know my views on the matter later on."
"All right," said Tiara, slowly turning to leave.
It was evident to Ensal that further progress in her favor was largely
contingent upon his answer, and the marriage of Frederick Douglass to a
white woman became an exceedingly live question with him. He accompanied
Tiara and Foresta home and the moonlight and starlight never before
appeared so glorious to him or nature so benign.
After all the heart makes its world.
CHAPTER VI.
_Friendly Enemies._
It has always been a mooted question with Ensal as to whether he did or
did not sleep the night of Tiara's call at his residence. But he has
ever stood ready to take oath or affirmation that, whether waking or
sleeping, Tiara was constantly in his thoughts that night. And when
turning his face toward the window the following morning he saw streaks
of golden sunshine stretched across the floor, and realized that there
was a nameless something within him which that sunlight could not match,
he knew that the crisis in his life had come.
After a frugal meal with his mother, and the planting of a kiss of
unusual warmth upon her cheek, Ensal stepped forth for his day's duties.
As he went out of his gate he noticed a white man across the street
acting as though he was sketching his (Ensal's) home. Feeling that he
was warranted in having as much interest in the man as the man seemed to
have in that which pertained to him, Ensal walked somewhat obliquely
across the street, coming near enough to the man to receive an
explanation, if the man desired to give one, or, at any rate, near
enough to have a good view of the sketch taken.
The white man took advantage of the opportunity to get a full look at
Ensal, who felt a little uneasiness at the intense interest which the
man's whole countenance showed that he had in him. The man's eyes had an
earnest, pained expression. His cheeks were hollow and seemed to
indicate that he was just going into or emerging from a hard spell of
sickness. His hat was a faded brown derby and his suit of clothes was of
a tough, coarse fibre and much worn. Standing by him on the sidewalk was
what appeared to be a much battered drummer's case to which the man's
eye would revert oftener than the utmost caution would seem to have
rendered necessary. Ensal passed on, but somehow this strange white man
came into his mind and demanded a share in the thoughts which would
otherwise have gone undividedly to Tiara.
Ensal called at the home of Mrs. Crawford and made it possible for Tiara
to arrange for a home with her, an alliance which would at once afford
Tiara an entrance into the social life of the best Negro circles. This
much accomplished, Ensal started in the direction of the Crump's to
apprise Tiara of the arrangements.
"Why so much haste?"
Ensal turned and looked into the face of his friend, Earl Bluefield.
"Was I walking fast?" asked Ensal.
"Fast!" exclaimed Earl. "If you can induce the saints in your church to
give the devil half as much trouble to catch them as you have given me,
why they will be saved all right. Really a person who didn't know would
have thought that your mother-in-law had died and that you were hurrying
to make arrangements for her funeral," said Earl.
"By the way," said Ensal, "I am glad that I met you. A-a friend of mine
from New York, a Miss Merlow, Tiara Merlow, is in the city. I wish you
to pay her a call with me to-morrow evening. May I make the engagement?"
Earl dropped his head in meditation. His brain was exceedingly active.
Beneath this apparently simple proposal of Ensal's lay hidden many
possibilities.
Ensal and Earl represented two types in the Negro race, the conservative
and the radical. They both stood for the ultimate recognition of the
rights of the Negro as an American citizen, but their methods were
opposite. They intuitively assumed, it seemed, opposite sides on every
question that arose pertaining to the race, and championed their
respective sides with much warmth and vigor. Yet they remained friends,
were great admirers of each other, and lived each in the hope of
converting the other to his way of thinking.
On the question of racial connection Ensal was really proud of the fact
that he was a Negro, and felt that had he been entrusted with the
determining of his racial affinity he would have chosen membership in
the Negro race. Earl accepted the fact of his connection with the Negro
race as a matter of course, had no desire to alter the relationship, and
felt neither dejection nor elation on account thereof.
Ensal felt that the acceptance of slavery on the part of the Negro in
preference to extermination was evidence of adaptability to conditions
that assured the presence of the Negro on the earth in the final wind up
of things, in full possession of all the advantages that time and
progress promise. Earl rather admired the Indian and felt that the dead
Indian refusing to be enslaved was a richer heritage to the world than
the yielding and thriving Negro.
Ensal held that the course of the Negro during the Civil War in caring
for the wives and children of the men fighting for their enslavement was
a tribute to their humanity and would prove an invaluable asset in all
future reckonings. While thoroughly approving of the Negro's protection
of the women and children of the whites from violence, Earl was sorry
that the thousand torches which Grady said would have disbanded the
Southern armies were not lighted. Ensal deprecated all talk and thought
of the sword as the final arbiter of the troubles between the races.
Earl had his dreams--and his plans as well.
The procuring of the full recognition of the rights of the Negro was
such a passion with Ensal that Earl relied upon it to finally bring him
from the ranks of the conservatives to the radicals. Earl was fully
convinced within himself that all of Ensal's hopes of a satisfactory,
peaceful adjustment of matters were to be dashed to the ground, and
knowing how thoroughly Ensal's soul was committed to the advancement of
the race, he really expected Ensal to develop into the leader of the
radicals. But this looming into view of a young woman, a friend of
Ensal's, was liable, Earl thought, to complicate matters.
Earl had all along rejoiced in Ensal's determination to remain
unmarried, fearing that family life might add to his conservatism. This
accounts for the fact that Ensal's simple invitation to call on a Miss
Tiara Merlow on the following evening so deeply affected Earl.
"Yes, yes, I'll go," said Earl slowly, almost as much to himself as to
Ensal.
Ensal knew Earl so well that he could have told him the character of his
(Earl's) thoughts.
On the following evening as Ensal and Earl sat in the parlor of the
Crawford's chatting, Tiara parted the curtains shutting off an adjoining
room, and stepped in. Her hair was arranged in two rich black braids
tied up so as to extend only to her shoulders. The hair on the front
part of her head was allowed to come forward, but not enough to forbid
glimpses of a well rounded, beautiful forehead. As she stood there,
symmetrical in form, just large and tall enough to be commanding in
appearance, Ensal again inwardly declared that she was the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen, heard of or dreamed about. Her eyes
would have made a face of less regular features appear beautiful. As for
Tiara, they made her beauty simply dazzling.
When Earl's wits, swept away by Tiara's beauty, slowly returned, it
dawned upon him to his great astonishment that he was face to face with
the young woman who had ridden into Almaville with Ensal and himself.
"If she was Ensal's friend, why did he not make himself known to her on
the train?" asked Earl of himself. But this query was soon dislodged
from his mind by one of far more interest to him, to wit: "Is it not
likely that I may utilize this young woman as a means of bringing to me
a second glimpse of that girl that paid us a visit from the coach for
whites?"
Earl was introduced in due form and joined in the conversation now and
then; but it was evident to Ensal that he was, for some cause, ill at
ease. Tiara and Ensal, however, enjoyed the evening, each intently
weighing the remarks of the other.
They say that Cupid is blind. This may be true of him at some stage of
the proceedings, but when he is looking for a spot at which to let fly
an arrow, he could play schoolmaster to Argus, of the many eyes.
Ensal and Earl departed, Ensal going home to live the evening over
through the night, while Earl called upon Leroy Crutcher and engaged him
to use Tiara Merlow as a clue to trace the unknown young woman.
"Is this honorable, this forming an alliance with Leroy Crutcher, this
placing of a surveillance, as it were, on the movements of my friend's
friend?"
These questions came to Earl more than once that night and the answer of
the hot blood of his soul was: "Conditions have made me an outlaw among
my kind. Rubbish aside, am I not as much of an Anglo-Saxon as any of
them? Does not my soul respond to those things and those things only to
which their souls respond? He that is without the law shall be judged
without the law."
Judged! That is a solemn and sometimes an awful affair with nature.
CHAPTER VII.
_Officers Of The Law._
"Hold on, there!" said one of a group of white boys on their way to
school. The command was addressed to a Negro lad fourteen years of age.
"Where are you going?" asked the self-appointed spokesman of the white
boys. The Negro lad looked sullenly at the white boy.
"No need of clouding up; you can't rain," said the white boy. "Don't you
know the law? The school board said for you niggers to get to school a
half hour before we white children. What do you mean by hanging around
and going to school on our time?"
"It is none of your business," said the Negro.
"I guess you had better skip, Mr. Coon," said the white boy. The group
now sat down on the curbing, while the Negro walked away. The white boys
gathered stones preparatory for battle.
The race problem had at last reached the childhood of the two races. In
former days the children of the whites and the Negroes had played
together, and ties of friendship were formed that often survived the
changes of later years when one playmate became a master and his fellow
became his servant. But that friendly commingling of other days was
practically all gone now, and clashes between the white and Negro
children became so frequent that the school authorities had decreed
separate hours for the opening and closing of the schools of the two
races, so as to lessen the friction as much as possible.
"Fly, you black face nigger, you," shouted a white boy.
"My face ain't near as black as your heart," rejoined the Negro,
adroitly dodging the stones thrown by the white boys. The Negro threw
his books to the sidewalk and soon had a handful of missiles.
The rock battle was now on in earnest, the white boys feeling sure that
their superior numbers would soon put the lone warrior to flight. The
Negro entered into the battle with his whole soul, and was vigorous and
alert. It was his idea that the injuring of one or two of his opponents
would bring the battle to a close. A policeman rounded a corner leading
to the street in which the rock battle was raging. The Negro's back was
to the policeman, while the other boys were facing him. They dropped
their stones and assumed a pacific and frightened attitude in time to
impress the policeman that they were being needlessly assaulted by the
Negro.
[Illustration: "The rock battle was now on in earnest, the white boys
feeling sure that their superior numbers would soon put
the lone warrior to flight."
(54-55)]
The Negro who did not see the policeman, ascribed the capitulation of
his opponents to his own vigorous campaign, and now picked up his books,
a look of exultation on his face. When he turned he found himself in the
arms of the policeman. One of the boys, it developed, had been slightly
bruised by one of the Negro's rocks. The Negro was put under arrest and
locked up in the station house for the night.
The next morning as Tiara was perusing the paper, she noticed that a
Negro boy, Henry Crump, had been arrested on a charge of assault and
battery.
"Henry Crump--Henry Crump--Crump--Crump! That name is familiar to me,"
said Tiara, laying aside the paper to see if she could recall why the
name sounded so familiarly to her. "I have it," said she, springing to
her feet. "Why, I stayed with the Crumps the first night that I was in
Almaville. And it is their little Henry in trouble. I'll help the little
fellow out," said she.
Tiara observed that little Henry's case was set for ten o'clock that
morning and it was then nine. She dispatched a note to Ensal, who
immediately responded in person to accompany her to the place of the
trial.
"This," said Ensal, "is but a symptom of a growing disease. In the days
before the war the young master and the Negro boys played together and
there was undoubtedly a strong tie of personal friendship between the
slaveholding class and the Negroes on their plantation. But all is
changed now. Rarely do you find white and Negro children playing
together, and the feeling of estrangement grows apace with the years."
"What is pending?" earnestly asked Tiara, turning her large, anxious
eyes on Ensal.
"Heaven alone knows," replied Ensal. "Just think! In order to have peace
here between the children of the two races, the school authorities
provide that there shall be a difference of an half hour between the
respective hours of going to and coming from school," continued Ensal.
They were soon at the police station. Climbing the flight of stairs they
entered a room crowded with Negroes from the lower stratum. The great
majority of the women, it could be seen, had made some effort at
respectability in attire. Some of the occupants of the room were there
as witnesses in cases, others because of interest in parties to be
tried, while the majority were there to pass judgment on the judge and
learn as best they might the ways of the court and the law. Here and
there was a sprinkling of respectable people who had by means of some
mischance been caught in the drift.
One by one parties charged with offenses were called forward, fined and
ordered released or passed back. At length the case of Henry Crump was
called, and he came forward at a rather brisk pace, looking confidently
at his mother and Foresta who had come prepared to lift him out of his
trouble. On the same seat with Foresta and her mother sat Tiara and
Ensal and their presence somehow gave added assurance to Henry.
Henry made his statements, the witnesses were examined and in the
monotone with which the police judge went through with all of the cases,
he said, "Fined twenty dollars and costs."
Foresta half arose, shocked at the amount, and Mrs. Crump crouched back
in her seat in despair. Foresta had in her hand a crisp ten dollar bill
which the family had raised, not dreaming that the fine would go above
that amount.
"Pass him back," said the judge. Henry cast an inquiring look at Foresta
and his mother. Tears were in Foresta's eyes and Henry knew that they
were helpless. It simply meant that he was to have a pick on his leg and
work the streets of Almaville. He dropped his head disconsolately,
nervously fumbled his hat, and tears appeared in his eyes. The sting
went deep into his boyish soul as he walked away.
"Wait a minute!" rang out Tiara's voice, and going up to the judge's
desk, she put down a fifty-dollar-bill, saying, "Take the amount of the
fine and costs out of this."
The judge looked up somewhat surprised. Tiara's act, born purely out of
sympathy for the youthfulness of Henry and of sentimental regard for the
first family that harbored her in Almaville, was totally
misunderstood by the court officials. They fancied they scented a race
contest in the matter and felt that Tiara was simply trying to show
that it was all right for a Negro boy to stand up against white boys.
They now decided to punish Henry to the limit of the law.
"Release the prisoner," said the judge.
Henry was released and Foresta and her frail looking mother rushed to
Tiara to thank her. While they were doing this the deputy sheriff
stepped up and rearrested Henry.
"Pardon me," said Ensal, interrupting the felicitations of the ladies.
"We are not through yet. I see they are taking the boy over to the
County Court."
"That isn't right," cried Foresta, as she followed the group.
The Criminal Court was then in session, and Henry's case was not long in
being called. The deputy sheriff was seen to whisper a few words aside
to the judge. The jury brought in a verdict of guilty and the judge
assessed his punishment at ten months on the county farm.
Henry was now placed on the bench, where sat the row of convicted
prisoners awaiting the pleasure of the sheriff, whose duty it was to
deliver them to the places assigned them. As the boy took his seat on
this bench to await the issue of other trials, when the sheriff would
carry all the prisoners over together, there began to crowd to his mind
all that he knew of Negroes on the county farm. He had heard of the
indecent manner of whipping Negro women practiced out there. He saw one
woman whose eye had been knocked out by an overseer. He had seen a
petition emanating from the colored people containing sworn allegations
setting forth a multitude of horrors.
Henry remembered having seen one boy return whose foot was frost-bitten
and had to be amputated as the result of exposure at the farm. It was
summer now, but ten months would carry him fully through the winter at
the farm. The thoughts of a stay there was too much for him. Arising
quickly he sprang up into the court house window. An officer rushed
toward him to intercept him, but it was too late. Out of the window he
jumped, dropping to the pavement below. He dashed out of the side gate
of the court house yard and ran southward across the square, in the
center of which the court house stood. Coming to the street which led to
the bridge over the river that intersected the city, he turned eastward
and started across the bridge with all the speed at his command.
The court officials were now in hot pursuit of the fleeing lad, one
officer seizing a buggy, another jumping upon a street car and ordering
the motorman to proceed at his utmost speed.
Henry had almost covered the full length of the bridge when the cry of
the officers, caught up from one to another, had about come up with him.
When he had all but reached the farther end of the bridge, in order to
avoid an officer whom he saw standing awaiting him with a drawn pistol,
he leaped over the railing and dropped about twenty feet, striking the
embankment reared up for a resting place for the end of the bridge.
This officer of the law saw Henry leap and ran to the steps which were
not far from the spot whence he had jumped. The officer reached the
steps in time to see Henry sliding toward the water's edge. The officer
began running down the steps, shooting as he ran. The people on the
bridge crowded to the side over which Henry had leaped and witnessed the
race between Henry and the shooting officer. Henry fell and it was
thought that he was hit, but he arose and continued his running. He
turned under the bridge and ran along parallel with the waters of the
river. After passing fully under the bridge, Henry plunged into the
stream and ran somewhat diagonally toward the center of the river until
he was up to his neck in water.
"Move a step further out and I will kill you," said a bareheaded
officer, who had at last reached the river bank, brandishing his pistol
as he spoke.
By this time hundreds, perhaps a thousand or so, of people had gathered
on the bridge. Henry stood in the water tossing his arms up and down. He
feared to come ashore and was equally afraid to try to swim further out,
feeling that he would be killed in any event. Some one on the bridge
lifted a revolver to the railing, leveled it at Henry's head and fired.
"Shame! Shame! Shame!" was the word passed from lip to lip, as the noise
of the shot was heard. Henry threw up his hands and fell, his arms
upstretched above his head as he disappeared beneath the surface of the
water. No one of the thousands stirred. In breathless silence they
watched the spot where the lad had sunk out of sight. Some felt that
Henry had simply dived and in due time would rise. Second after second
passed, on the brief moments of time flew, while the eager eyes of the
multitude were fastened on the murky waters of the river. Henry did not
rise. He was dead. When it was known that life must be extinct, officers
of the law rowed out to where he was last seen and fished his body out.
Ensal who had followed the chase now returned to the court house. Tiara,
Foresta and Foresta's mother had heard the shooting and formed an
awe-struck group, fearing that something had happened and yet hoping
against hope. Ensal's sad countenance told them that their worst fears
were realized.
"Henry is dead, mama," moaned Foresta, as she threw her arms about her
frail mama's neck. "He is dead, mama; let's go home," wailed Foresta
again.
Ensal and Tiara returned to Mrs. Crawford's.
CHAPTER VIII.
_A Messenger That Hesitates._
Mrs. Crump sat in her room, her elbows propped up on her knees and her
cheeks resting on her hands. The death of Henry, her only boy, was
indeed a severe blow to her, but at this particular moment she was
bearing up well under it, reserving her strength by a supreme effort of
her will to the end that she might comfort her husband when he became
aware of the tragedy.
Foresta had gone for her father with the understanding that she was not
to tell him what had occurred, but was to allow her mother to break the
news to him upon his arrival home.
Every step that Foresta took on her sorrowful journey was accompanied by
a rain of tears. As she drew near the place where her father was at
work, she stopped and tried to remove all traces of sorrow. She wiped
and wiped her eyes, but the tears persisted in flowing. Her father was
at work in a quarry as a rock breaker.
The city was using small stones as a sort of pavement for the streets,
and aged Negro men were given the work of breaking rocks into fragments
to be used in that way. The occupation was not an ideal one, as
employment was of a fluctuating character, and the sitting on the
ground, often damp, was not conducive to health. The amount earned in
proportion to the labor performed was very small. But aged men unable to
move about very much found this to be about all that they could do. So,
the rock pile grew to be the accepted goal of all the Negro men who wore
themselves out in other service without laying aside a competence or
establishing themselves permanently in the good graces of their
employees.
There were many who did thus establish themselves, and Ford Crump would
have been such a one but for the following chain of circumstances, to
which account you may give heed while waiting on Foresta to feel
self-possessed enough to approach her father.
Soon after the Civil War Mr. Arthur Daleman came to Almaville and
entered business. Ford Crump, Foresta's father, then a young man, was
his first Negro employee. The business grew until Mr. Daleman was
rightly classed as a very rich man.
For several years after Mr. Arthur Daleman's marriage, no children had
come to bless their home. Early one morning, as Mr. Daleman was crossing
the bridge, he saw a young white girl acting rather suspiciously,
peering up and down the bridge. Drawing near, he found that she had an
infant wrapped in a bundle. Fully believing that it was the intention of
the girl to drown the babe, he asked that she give him the child. This
the young woman very gladly did. As the child grew, Mrs. Daleman's heart
warmed to it and after several years of anxious thought and observation
of the child the couple decided to adopt it as their son. Within a year
after this was done a beautiful little girl, whom they called Alene, was
born to them.
When Mr. Daleman grew wealthy, he decided to travel through the North
and induce capital to invest in the South. He felt that the commercial
tie between the sections would be of the greatest possible value and it
was said of him that he brought more outside capital into the South than
any other one man. He turned his business over to his adopted son,
Arthur Daleman, Jr.
Arthur Daleman, Jr., did not like Negroes, and though Ford Crump had
been with the business from its infancy, his presence was not desired by
the new manager. When Ford Crump got so that he was not as active as was
desired, he was summarily dismissed and his place given to a young white
man. Arthur Daleman, Sr., whose interests were now immense, never came
near the store, and, as a consequence, did not know the fate that had
overtaken his faithful employee.
Ford Crump did not appeal to Mr. Daleman, Sr., in the matter, partly
through pride and partly because he could not bear the irritating tone
of the younger Daleman, which was in such striking contrast to the
kindly manner of the elder Daleman. He had saved his earnings and bought
a little home, and he was now willing to take his chances in the world
even at his advanced age. It was thus that he found his way to the rock
pile.
We now return to our messenger. Foresta sees that she is not going to be
able to appear before her father free from signs of sorrow, and she
decides on another course. Picking up a stone she rubbed it violently on
the back of her hand, tearing the skin and causing blood to flow. She
now hurried to the spot where her father sat, and said,
"Papa, mama wants you!"
The tone of Foresta's voice caused her father to look up quickly and
anxiously.
"What are you crying about, my dear?" asked Mr. Crump.
Foresta made no reply, but held out her hand so that her father could
see it.
"Poor thing; how did you hurt it?" he asked.
"Don't think about that. Mama wants you. Come on!" said Foresta,
averting her face.
The father and daughter trudged along home, the father trying to say
comforting things to Foresta and she weeping the more bitterly the
while. At length it occurred to Mr. Crump that Foresta was more deeply
touched than would have been the case if her trouble had been merely
that of a bruised hand. Stopping, he said,
"Say, now, Foresta, is your mama hurt?"
"O no, papa! Mama is not hurt. Come on!"
"Is Henry----"
Foresta perceived the coming question, and ran to avoid it. They were
now near home. Foresta rushed in and threw her arms around her mother.
Hearing her father's footsteps, she ran into the kitchen, leaving her
mother to break the news.
"Ford, we haven't any little Henry now!" said Mrs. Crump in sad,
soothing tones.
Ford Crump whirled away from his wife and walked rapidly out of the room
through the kitchen into the back yard. Little Henry's chief task was
attending to the chickens, and Mr. Crump stood at the fence running
across the yard to form an enclosure for the fowl.
"Chicks, your best friend is gone," said he.
"My head! my head!" he cried.
Foresta and her mother heard his cry and reached him just in time to
break the force of the fall, but not in time to prevent his answering
the final summons.
CHAPTER IX.
_A Plotter Is He._
Neighbors came and took charge of the body of Ford Crump. The body of
Henry was brought home and received the same kindly attention. Foresta
and her mother now set forth to make arrangements for the burial. The
undertakers asked for a lien on their place as a guarantee of the
payment of the debt.
Upon investigation it transpired that the place had been purchased by
Arthur Daleman, Sr., in his own name. Mr. Crump had paid him in full for
the place but the proper transfer had never been made. Mr. Daleman was
not in the city and Arthur Daleman, Jr., refused to have anything to do
with the matter. He also intimated that unless Mrs. Crump could show a
clear title to the place, she would be charged rent.
This intimation did not worry Mrs. Crump, for she knew Arthur Daleman,
Sr., to be the soul of honor and knew that he would do what was right,
title or no title. But her personal confidence in Mr. Daleman could not
be converted into cash, and she had to look elsewhere for money.
There infested Almaville scores of loan companies that charged
exorbitant rates of interest and had their contracts so arranged that a
failure to pay put them in possession of the household goods of the
party in debt. It was also held to be a criminal offense punishable by a
term in the penitentiary for a person to borrow money from more than one
company on the same items of furniture.
Little Henry had always asserted that he was going to be a merchant when
he became a man, and made it a custom to pick up and preserve such
business cards as were thrown into his yard. From his pile of cards
stacked in a corner Mrs. Crump learned the location of these loan
companies and decided to resort to them for the money needed. Getting a
small sum from each, she had borrowed from fifteen companies when she at
last got the amount demanded by the undertaker.
Arthur Daleman, Jr., was not making money as fast as he desired in the
business turned over to him by his father, so he had resorted to the
loan business. Knowing that people would often borrow from more than one
loan company in spite of the regulations forbidding it, and reasoning
that such borrowers would be even more sure than others to pay, because
of fear of the penitentiary, he had ten loan companies of his own
operating in different buildings under various names.
It happened that on the evening that Foresta and her mother made the
rounds borrowing money, he was on an inspecting tour of his loan
companies. Mrs. Crump borrowed money from five of Arthur Daleman's
companies without, of course, knowing it. Arthur Daleman, Jr., himself
was present in two places when she was borrowing the money. On each of
these occasions he had taken more than a passing interest in Foresta.
Her beauty was by no means diminished by the mourning attire, and Arthur
Daleman, Jr., found himself admiring her, notwithstanding his hatred of
her race. When the papers were signed in the second loan transaction
which he witnessed, he said to himself with a feeling of satisfaction:
"My way is tolerably clear."
With the money procured from the various loan companies little Henry and
his father were given what the people called a nice burial. Within a
week after the interment Arthur Daleman, Jr., made his appearance at
Mrs. Crump's home. Foresta was at school when he called, and when she
reached home she found her mother standing, facing him, with an angry
and excited look in her eyes. Foresta read in her mother's countenance
that she was angry and that the advantage in whatever matter it was, was
not altogether on her side.
"What is it, mama?" asked Foresta.
"This man wants you to hire out in his family after you graduate."
Foresta looked at the man in surprise. The thought of going into the
service of the whites was utterly foreign to her ambition.
"You may take your choice," said Arthur Daleman, Jr., sure of his
ground.
"What choice?" asked Foresta, alarmed by the man's tone of assurance.
"It is this way. Negro servants are not up to what they used to be. They
are getting squeamish, and you have to be so careful how you speak to
them or they will leave you. We are kept always on the lookout for a
servant girl."
"What on earth have I to do with that?" asked Foresta, her eyes widening
with astonishment.
"This much--I am going to have a measure of stability in my family
service somehow. Your mother here is in a tight box. All I have to do is
to speak the word and to the penitentiary she goes!" said Daleman.
Foresta grew weak, her lips slightly parted and she backed to the wall
for support.
Arthur Daleman, Jr., continued: "Borrowing money from loan companies
takes the form of a sale, as you can see by reading any of the
contracts. Now you can't sell a thing to two different people at the
same time. The law does not allow such. It is a penitentiary offense.
See?"
Foresta rushed to her mother and threw her arms about her and sobbed
bitterly.
Mrs. Crump said, "I'll go to the pen. Come after me when you get ready!
but Fores' shall never work for you."
"Take your choice," said Arthur Daleman, Jr., and walked from the room.
Foresta tore herself from her mother's arms and rushed out of the room
after him. "Mister! Wait!" she called. "Don't do anything to mama. I'll
come and do the work faithfully," said Foresta trying to smile.
"All right," said Daleman, smiling, "Be a good girl and you won't have a
better friend than I am," said he, in a significant tone, trying to
awaken Foresta to the real situation.
If she understood it her impassive countenance did not reveal the fact.
The world at large has heard that the problem of the South is the
protection of the white woman. There is another woman in the South.
CHAPTER X.
_Arabelle Seabright._
"Arabelle, I am not going to have a thing to do with this whole matter.
Suppose the bottom falls out and we are detected. Just imagine _my_
fate."
"Detected?" hissed Mrs. Arabelle Seabright, turning a scornful gaze upon
her husband. "You talk as though we have committed or are about to
commit some crime. You just stay in your place, please, and leave
matters to me."
"Do you mean to tell me that I need not meet the man?" asked Mr.
Seabright eagerly.
"Yes!" replied Mrs. Seabright.
He leaped out of his chair and waltzed across the room, kissed his wife
and darted through the door.
"Fool!" she muttered between her teeth.
Mrs. Arabelle Seabright in her room in the Domain Hotel was now awaiting
the arrival of a newspaper reporter, the next victim to be bent to her
will. It had been on her programme to have her daughter Eunice and her
husband present during a part of the interview with the reporter, but
as they were not entering enthusiastically into her plans she was rather
glad that they had declined to be present.
It was not long before a Mr. Gilman, reporter for the "Daily Columbian,"
was ushered into Mrs. Seabright's room.
"Let us understand each other at the outset, if possible," said Mrs.
Seabright, with a smile, directing a kindly gaze in the direction of the
young man. Mr. Gilman bowed deferentially, but said nothing.
"I am ambitious." said Mrs. Seabright.
"Ambitious people are the ones that carry the world forward," ventured
the young man modestly.
"I have an unbounded ambition,--an ambition to live in history as long
as a record of human affairs is kept. Oh! I hate death!" said Mrs.
Seabright with a shudder, stamping a foot upon the floor for emphasis.
"I have money with which to further my ambitions. I am aware of the
traditions of your paper, the 'Columbian.' I shall not ask you to
violate them. But if you will put your heart in your labor and be an
incessant worker in my interest, your ambitions will be gratified. A
fair exchange is no robbery. You put me on the way to attain my ends and
I shall do the like for you. Is it a bargain?"
"Whatever I may be able to do consistently, I shall certainly do, and
shall be duly appreciative of whatever may result in my favor in
consequence of work worthily done," said the young man with so much
fervor that Mrs. Seabright knew that she was well fortified in that
direction.
Bit by bit the Almaville public was educated as to the Seabrights. They
were descendants of sires that took a prominent part in the affairs of
the Colonies during and succeeding the period of the American
Revolution. Mr. Seabright inherited a large fortune which a keen
business sense had enabled him to increase very materially. He had now
moved to Almaville to found one of the largest furniture manufacturing
establishments in the country. He was so absorbed in business pursuits
that he did not relish social affairs much, but his charming wife was
such a dispenser of hospitality that she made up for his deficiency.
Eunice, reputed to be the sole heir to the Seabright millions, was a
girl of great beauty, highly accomplished, and the center of attraction
of any group of which she formed a part.
A valuable tract of land had already been purchased for the
manufacturing establishment and a contract for the construction of the
plant had been let. As soon as a suitable location could be found, Mr.
Seabright was going to erect a mansion in Almaville that would be the
pride of the South. An option had been taken on a piece of property in
the West End that about measured up to the requirements, and the
likelihood was that the residence would be constructed there.
The mere prospect had caused the prices of the property in that
vicinity, already valuable, to soar much higher.
The public soon perceived that the conservative, the reliable
"Columbian," the paper of the Southern aristocracy, was favorably
impressed with the Seabrights as a valuable addition to the commercial
and social life of Almaville, and even the most exclusive circles
prepared to make room for the newcomers.
The Hon. H. G. Volrees sat in his law office with his chair tilted back,
his chestnut brown hair much rumpled upon his large Daniel Webster
looking head. Here was one of the most astute legal minds of the state
and the real head of the Democratic party of the state. He was now
forty-five years old and unmarried. He had never held public office but
was seriously considering entering the race for United States Senator. A
venerable senator was to retire within about three years and the
position could be his if he but indicated a willingness to accept.
The Hon. H. G. Volrees had large ambitions. He was anxious to restore
the old time prestige of the South in the councils of the nation. He was
a well-to-do man but did not have the money to gain an assured social
position at the nation's capital. He fancied he detected the flavor of
ambition in those flattering notices concerning the Seabrights.
"It may be that my hour has come," said Mr. Volrees, picking up the
paper and looking again at the published picture of Eunice. He closed
his desk and went to his hotel.
Mrs. Arabelle Seabright's net had caught its fish. And what had the fish
caught? Now _that_ is the vital question.
CHAPTER XI.
_Unusual For A Man._
Never in all of human history was an ambitious woman more satisfied with
the progress of her plans than was Mrs. Arabelle Seabright. In due time
the Hon. H. G. Volrees had formed her acquaintance and it was not long
before they had come to an understanding. Eunice demurred not in the
least when it was made known to her that she was to be Mrs. H. G.
Volrees.
At an opportune time the Hon. H. G. Volrees announced his willingness to
accept a seat in the United States Senate and long before the time of
the election party leaders vied with each other in declaring in his
favor. When the success of his candidacy was assured he approached Mrs.
Seabright with a view to laying claim to his bride. The announcement of
the engagement was made, the date of the marriage was set and
preparations for the great event went on apace. Eunice appeared to enter
heartily into all the plannings, and was seemingly happy to an unusual
degree.
The "Daily Columbian" did its share in stimulating interest in the
forthcoming marriage. Almaville as a whole seemed to be particularly
well pleased with the proposed wedding, involving, as it did, a union of
the wealth and beauty of the North with the brain and chivalry of the
South.
As for Mr. Seabright, the more his family attracted social attention the
more uneasy he grew. At first he did make out to accompany his wife to
church and to theaters; but he had such a way of staring at the ceiling,
avoiding the gaze of people, and hurrying away to escape introductions,
that finally she was glad to leave him at home. Many brilliant social
functions were given at his home, but he was always absent.
A Mrs. Marsh, in whom curiosity was more strongly developed than even in
the rest of her kind, was determined to find out something about this
eccentric Mr. Seabright. She managed to get on intimate terms with Mrs.
Seabright, and was very free in moving to and fro in the Seabright
residence. Her intentions were not however hidden from Mrs. Seabright.
She knew that Mrs. Marsh was planning to get closer to her husband as a
matter of curiosity, and she was glad of the experiment, hoping that
Mrs. Marsh would eventually succeed in making him at home in the social
circle.
There was a sort of turret-shaped cupola crowning the Seabright
residence and Mr. Seabright made this his retreat. It was fitted up
with a telephone connecting it with the rest of the house and with his
place of business. It also had connections with a long distance system.
The door to his den was always locked, and no one could gain admission
without first calling him up over the telephone.
One day Mrs. Marsh, who was a good mimic imitated the voice of a foreman
in Mr. Seabright's factory and caused him to open the door of his den.
When Mr. Seabright caught sight of a woman's face and form he made a
quick attempt to close the door, but Mrs. Marsh apprehending such an
attempt, thrust a foot in so as to prevent this.
"Will you kindly withdraw?" asked Mr. Seabright, excitedly, holding the
door as nearly closed as the foot would allow.
"No, thank you; I have had too hard a time getting here," said Mrs.
Marsh cheerily. "To be frank, Mr. Seabright, would you allow a lady to
be able to truthfully charge you with discourtesy?" asked Mrs. Marsh
naively.
Mr. Seabright opened the door in despair, intending to dart out of the
room as soon as Mrs. Marsh entered.
Mrs. Marsh was looking for just such a step and forestalled it by
closing the door and pocketing the key. She now took a seat and bade Mr.
Seabright to do likewise. Seeing that he had an unusual character to
deal with, Mr. Seabright sat down resignedly to await the further
pleasure of his female captor.
Mrs. Marsh looked directly at Mr. Seabright, and said, "I have broken
through all rules of propriety in order to get to you. I wish to say to
you, Mr. Seabright, that this plea of absorption in your business is all
humbug. You have other and secret reasons for not desiring to appear in
our social circles."
The perspiration broke out in great beads on Mr. Seabright's face.
"You have treated your wife and daughter shamefully, refusing to honor
their social affairs with your presence," continued Mrs. Marsh.
The tone of reproach in this remark, indicating that Mrs. Marsh did not
approve of his absence from social functions, caused Mr. Seabright to
feel slightly better, as she evidently did not think that the secret
reasons governing his course were to his discredit personally, else she
would not have lamented his absence.
"You are from the North and rate the Southern women as being beneath
your notice, do you?" inquired Mrs. Marsh.
"O no! no! no!" said Mr. Seabright. "On the contrary, I very much
admire----," he did not finish the sentence, some fresh thought checking
him in the midst of the utterance.
Mrs. Marsh waited for him to finish, but he did not go on with the
remark. Finally, finding herself unable to make any headway with Mr.
Seabright, Mrs. Marsh eventually arose to go.
"I would be very thankful if before you leave you will sign a statement
that I shall draw up," said Mr. Seabright eagerly, going to his desk to
do the writing.
Mrs. Marsh looked at him a much puzzled woman. His phenomenal success as
a business man gave proof of his sound mental condition, and yet he
acted so queerly about everything else.
"I wonder what sort of a statement he wants me to sign," thought she.
The paper ran as follows:
"This is to certify that I was in the presence of Mr. Seabright
unaccompanied for a few moments and can testify that his treatment of me
was in every way exemplary."
Mrs. Marsh smiled in an amused manner. "You are making me testify to the
fact that I deserved my cool reception. I will sign." So saying she
attached her signature to the paper and departed.
Mr. Seabright folded up the statement and put it among his most valuable
papers. "This may save two hundred and eight bones from being broken. I
think that is the number of bones in the human body," said he,
double-locking his door.
CHAPTER XII.
_A Honeymoon Out Of The Usual Order._
The much heralded Volrees-Seabright marriage is at last a reality, and a
morning train is now bearing the distinguished couple through the
beautiful mountain scenery of the state, en route to an Atlantic
seaport, whence they are to set sail for an extended tour through the
Old World.
As the porter passed through the coach in which Eunice sat, he
recognized her and she likewise recognized him. Eunice perceived that
the porter remembered her and she was glad of it, for it simplified the
work before her.
In order that they both might look directly out of a window Eunice
insisted on taking a seat behind Mr. Volrees. Taking advantage of her
position she wrote the following note.
"MR. PORTER: Enclosed you will find a one hundred dollar note.
For this you must see to it that this train stops after it has
gone a few hundred feet into the long tunnel. Now you had better
do as I tell you or else I will see that you have trouble. You
know that any white woman can have a Negro's life taken at a
word. Beware! Do as I tell you and say nothing to any one!"
The porter took the note and read it with much anxiety. There came to
his mind instance after instance in which white women had given innocent
Negro men great trouble. He had heard how that Negro tramps begging for
food had been greeted by such a show of fear and excitement on the part
of those approached for food that the tramps had been overtaken and
lynched for alleged attempts at heinous offenses, when the real offense
was that of begging for bread. He recalled one case particularly that
took place on a farm adjoining the one on which he was reared.
The father of a girl seriously objected to the attentions being paid his
daughter by a white man, and he cautioned his old faithful Negro servant
to keep a watch upon the movements of the daughter with a view to
preventing an elopement. Seeing that there was not much hope of
outwitting the father without first getting rid of the Negro, the girl
decided to get him out of the way. The Negro was so loyal to his
employer and so faithful in the discharge of his duties that the girl
knew that she could not attack him from that quarter. One morning before
day she was found lying upon the front porch of her home, her dress
covered with blood. When after much effort she finally spoke, she laid a
grave charge at the door of the Negro servant. He was apprehended and a
mob was formed to lynch him. The father of the girl, however, doubted
her story and insisted that the Negro be given a trial. Within a very
few days the girl eloped with the suitor so unacceptable to her father.
After her marriage she testified that the Negro was innocent, that the
blood found on her was the blood of a chicken sprinkled there by herself
and that she concocted the whole story of the outrage to get rid of the
surveillance of the faithful Negro servant.
The perturbed porter canvassed in his mind the stock of alleged facts
circulated secretly among the Negroes setting forth the manner in which
some white women used their unlimited power of life and death over Negro
men, things that may in some age of the world's history come to light.
After thoroughly considering the situation, the porter succumbed to the
temptation and concluded to stop the train according to Eunice's
directions.
Eunice read in the porter's eyes his acquiesence and her spirits rose
high. She was all life and animation and the Hon. H. G. Volrees was
regaling himself with thoughts of his home as the social center of the
life of Washington.
"Let me bring you a drink of water," said Eunice laughingly.
"And where does Southern chivalry take up its abode while you do that?"
asked Volrees.
"In the granting of the first request of a newly made and happy bride,"
said Eunice, playfully pulling Volrees down in his seat and tripping
gaily out to get the water. She used a cup which she had brought along
and into which she had dropped a drug of some sort.
Volrees drank the water suspecting nothing. As the day wore on he found
himself growing very sleepy, but did not associate it with the water
which he had taken. In order to get his business in such shape that he
could leave it, he had not found much time for rest of late and felt
that his tired body was now calling for rest. Eunice arranged a tidy
little pillow for his head and watched him sink into a profound slumber.
Toward nightfall the train reached the designated tunnel. Eunice under
cover of the darkness, incident to passing through the tunnel, went to
the door of the coach without attracting much attention. When the train
made the stop prearranged with the porter, Eunice dropped off of the
coach step and stood with her back pressed against the tunnel wall. The
train soon pulled out, the officials concluding that it was the shrewd
trick of some tramp "riding the blind baggage" (between the baggage and
the express car), who desired an easy way for alighting.
On and on rolled the train bearing the sleeping Mr. Volrees. When he
awoke the sunlight of the day following the one on which he went to
sleep was falling in his face. Tied to his wrist he saw a letter.
Looking about for Eunice and missing her, he concluded that she was
playing some joke, and with a smile he took the note from his wrist and
read:
"DEAR MR. VOLREES: Pray act sensibly in this trying period that
has come in your life. Think well before you act. I am a
sincere friend of yours and really like you. Now it will pay
you to do just as I am going to tell you to do. Continue your
journey to the Old World. From each point mapped out for a
sojourn send back the appropriate letter from the batch which I
have written and am leaving with you. I have read much of the
places which we have planned to visit and I am sure that my
letters have enough of local color to pass for letters written
on the scene. Send these letters back to be passed around and
read by my friends.
"In some foreign country telegraph back that I am dead. Your
ingenuity can supply the details. By this time mother knows all
and will join me in my advice to you. When you return to this
country come as a widower and enjoy the money which comes to
you through your marriage with me. By all that is sacred in
earth and in heaven, I swear that I shall ever remain dead to
you and will in no way directly or indirectly cross your path.
Nor shall any one save my mother know that I am alive and she
shall never see or hear from me again.
"EUNICE."
It was not long before Mr. Volrees was handed a telegram which read as
follows:
"For God's sake do as the girl directs. So much is involved!
"ARABELLE SEABRIGHT."
[Illustration: "What do they take me to be, a knight errant of hell and
a simpleton withal? I swear by every shining star that I
shall probe to the bottom of this matter if it shakes the
foundations of the earth,' said he."
(86-87.)]
The Hon. H. G. Volrees' wrath knew no bounds. "What do they take me to
be, a knight errant of hell and a simpleton withal? I swear by every
shining star that I shall probe to the bottom of this matter if it
shakes the foundations of the earth," said he. He took the first train
back to Almaville, his spirit crushed within him, though he bore his
sorrow with an outward calm. He utterly refused to discuss the affair,
as did also Mrs. Seabright. Almaville society had not received so
profound a shock since the unexplained course of Sam Houston in
returning his young bride to her parents and disappearing among the
Indians.
CHAPTER XIII.
_Shrewd Mrs. Crawford._
Between Tiara and Ensal there existed a barrier which had seemingly
prevented a development of the ties that all who knew the two expected
with full assurance.
The attitude of a Negro on the social question as between the races was
no child's play with Tiara. It struck at the very root of the deepest
convictions of her soul, and she was firmly resolved to allow no Negro
into the inner circle of her friendship of whose views on that question
she was ignorant. She had, as she felt, practiced "suspension of
judgment" with regard to Ensal, and assured herself that he was making
no progress in her esteem. She also impressed Ensal that he was a
decidedly stationary quantity, no further advanced in her esteem than on
the occasion of their first meeting.
This situation did not displease Ensal altogether. He felt that so long
as Tiara did not and would not take more than a passing interest in him,
he could continue to keep in abeyance that grave question as to whether,
in view of the drift of things, a young Negro, absorbed as he was in
the question of the condition of the race, should form family ties. So
he journeyed along cherishing an ever-increasing attachment, but content
for the present to worship her at a distance.
Mrs. Crawford, with all her quietness, was an exceedingly wise woman.
She did not know exactly what it was, but she knew as well as did Ensal
and Tiara that there was an artificial barrier between them. She also
knew that if ever a man loved a woman, Ensal was in love with Tiara. And
she knew more. She knew that Tiara was self-deceived; that Tiara herself
would be the most astonished person imaginable when she awoke to find
out how much she really cared for Ensal.
Mrs. Crawford knew Ensal's reasons for hesitating to form family ties,
but did not regard them as substantial. She was determined that Ensal
and Tiara should marry; her whole heart was set upon the project. Never
in her whole life had she met a couple more clearly designed for each
other than this pair, as she viewed the matter. She knew how firm of
mind both Ensal and Tiara were and how useless it would be to attempt to
talk to either of them. In view of the secret barrier, Tiara would have
given her to understand that the matter was not worthy of a second's
consideration. As for Ensal he could not have been brought to think that
Tiara came any nearer being in love with him than with the rankest
stranger, for in all their conversations, not being settled upon the
question of marriage, as a matter of honor he had neither sought to
develop nor to test the strength of Tiara's regard for himself.
Mrs. Crawford felt fully justified under the circumstances in forcing
matters to an issue. She perceived that to do this involved a great
sacrifice on her part, the temporary loss of Tiara's friendship; but she
decided that the purchase was worthy of the price.
One night as Tiara was about to retire to rest, Mrs. Crawford dropped
into her room for one of their customary chats. After talking on various
topics she brought the subject around to Ensal.
"Now there is a young man that inspires many people with contempt," said
Mrs. Crawford, in a manner to suggest that she, too, was one of that
many.
Tiara almost fell, clutching the footboard of the bed for support.
"How can any one possibly have such an opinion of Mr. Ellwood?" asked
Tiara, in tones of deepest injury.
Mrs. Crawford merely shrugged her shoulders.
"I have never met a nobler man," continued Tiara.
"Oh, some people have faith in the fellow," said Mrs. Crawford
sneeringly.
"You seem to have changed, Mrs. Crawford. It hasn't been so long since I
heard you speaking of Mr. Ellwood in the highest possible terms."
"We learn more of people from time to time and must revise our estimates
of them in keeping with our more extensive knowledge," replied Mrs.
Crawford.
"Be specific, Mrs. Crawford; Mr. Ellwood is a friend of mine," said
Tiara, now thoroughly aroused.
"Oh, if you are that much of a friend, you might not be competent to
weigh the evidence in the case," said Mrs. Crawford, smiling and arising
as if to go.
"Would you cast aspersions upon a person's character and treat the
matter so lightly?" asked Tiara, a flush of anger appearing on her face.
"Things other than moral blemishes inspire contempt sometimes. I do not
care to say more about the matter. Good night," said Mrs. Crawford.
Tiara went no further with her preparations for retiring. She stowed
away all of her possessions in her trunk and locked it. She then sat
down and wrote a note to Mrs. Crawford, thanking her for her many
courtesies and expressing regret that she found it beyond her power of
endurance to longer stay under her roof.
Tiara now went to the telephone in the hallway and called for a
carriage. It was not long in coming and she was soon being whirled in
the direction of Mrs. Crump's residence.
Mrs. Crump was glad to receive Tiara and she was again assigned to the
room in which she slept on the night of her arrival in Almaville. Tiara
did not go to bed, but rocked to and fro, anxious for day to break,
eager, so eager to see Ensal. At length the question crept into her
consciousness: "Why are you so enraged? Are you as anxious to see every
one whom you have defended as you are to see this one?"
"My God! I love the man!" said Tiara, rising from her chair and throwing
herself face downward across the bed. "Oh, I must never see him again.
He might read this awful, this maddening love in my eyes."
Early the next morning, Mrs. Crawford sent for Ensal.
"Mr. Ellwood, I wish you had been more frank with me," said Mrs.
Crawford.
"Please explain," said Ensal.
"I took occasion to discuss you rather freely last night, and I seem to
have given mortal offense to Miss Merlow, who appears to be madly in
love with you."
Ensal was perplexed and knew not what to say.
"Where is Miss Merlow?" asked Ensal.
"She became so indignant that she left my house last night. When you win
people's love to such a degree as that, you ought to post your friends
so that they may be careful. Miss Merlow has gone to Mrs. Crump's. I
shall offer you no explanation of my course until you have heard from
Miss Merlow. Now leave me and go to her." Much mystified at the strange
turn of events, Ensal took his departure.
The postman early that same morning had left the following note at Mrs.
Crump's for Tiara.
"Ensal Ellwood is a noble young man. You loved him and did not
know it. I have opened your eyes. Forgive me, dear, but I could
not see two, whom I regard so highly, so far apart. As for
Ellwood, the lad has never had his right mind since he first
met you.
"MADGE CRAWFORD."
That day a telegram came to Mrs. Crawford's for Tiara and she carried it
to the latter forthwith. When the two met there was a mischievous
twinkle in Mrs. Crawford's eyes and the light of happiness in Tiara's.
When Tiara read the telegram she appeared much disturbed. That night she
left Almaville. When she returned she bought her a home on the outskirts
of the city, took Mrs. Crump to live with her, and denied herself to all
her former Almaville friends, Ensal included. Eunice Volrees or
Seabright, had come to stay with Tiara and the latter had for the sake
of Eunice shut herself out from all her friends.
CHAPTER XIV.
_Alene and Ramon._
Alene Daleman and Ramon Mansford stood within the vestibule of the
former's home. Ramon's arm was around Alene's waist and her beautiful
black eyes were upturned to his, as if to say, "Fathom the love we tell
of, if you can." Down stoops Ramon and plants a fervent, lingering kiss
upon the lips of the girl he loves, saying, as he stroked her hair,
"The last token of love until the minister has his say."
"Let me have a last, too," said Alene, tiptoeing to plant a kiss upon
Ramon's lips, and thus the two parted.
Light of heart, Alene went tripping to Foresta's room and said:
"Foresta, as you know, the house is full of people who have come from a
distance to attend my wedding. You need not stay here to-night. I will
occupy your room."
Foresta was very glad indeed, as an early release enabled her to carry
out some plans of her own.
* * * * *
"Mama," said Foresta, her face buried in her mother's lap, "I have
something which I wish to tell you."
Her mother stroked her hair, and said, "Tell me, dear."
"You know Mr. Arthur Daleman, Jr., threatened you with the penitentiary,
but compromised the matter on the condition that I should work for him."
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Crump, beginning to breathe fast through the
force of increased excitement.
"He pretended that he would not cancel the matter, in order that he
might be sure to hold me as a servant," said the girl.
Foresta paused and her mother said, "Go on; I am listening."
"He had dark purposes, mama," said Foresta.
"Yes," said Mrs. Crump, rather feebly, fearful of what was to come.
Foresta, detecting considerable anxiety in her mother's voice, looked up
quickly.
"Now, mama, don't look so scared and troubled; it isn't anything awful,
now." So saying, she buried her face again and continued her recital.
"He pretends to love me, mama. He has tried many times to kiss me. I
knew what kind of a sword he held over you, and while I resented his
advances, I sought not to enrage him for your sake."
"Well!" said Mrs. Crump, thoroughly alarmed.
"I kept him in his place by threatening to tell Miss Alene. He thinks
lots of her and that scared him. He wouldn't care about anybody else."
Foresta took another look into her mother's face, then resumed her
former attitude. Continuing, she said:
"Miss Alene leaves to-morrow, and I am afraid to stay there with him.
You know a colored girl has no protection. If a white girl is insulted
her insulter is shot down and the one who kills him is highly honored.
If a colored girl is insulted by a white man and a colored man resents
it, the colored man is lynched."
Mrs. Crump let a tear drop and it fell on Foresta's cheek. Foresta felt
the tear and raised herself and said.
"Now, you bad mama, you! What's the use crying? I'll take care of
myself," a fierce gleam coming into her pretty eyes.
Having wiped her mother's cheeks free from tears, Foresta buried her
face again.
"I am not going back any more. I am going to get married to-night. Bud
and I are going to get married. And Bud has saved up enough money to pay
us out of debt."
Mrs. Crump now understood why Foresta was hiding her face. She
remembered her own feelings when the question of marriage had to be
broached to her mother. She bent over and kissed Foresta.
"Bud and I are going to run away and get married. Run away from you,"
said Foresta laughingly. "And you must be awfully surprised when we come
back. We are going to do this to avoid a lot of useless expense in
getting up a big wedding. That money can go to help us get rid of those
eating cancers, those old loan men."
Mrs. Crump knew how much Foresta's heart had always been set on a fine
wedding, and she knew that Foresta was making that sacrifice for her
sake.
"My sweet Foresta, you have been such a dear child--God will reward
you," said Mrs. Crump, burying her head on Foresta's shoulder. "This is
not what I had planned for my darling; but God knows what's best. His
will be done."
At the appointed hour Bud Harper was standing at Foresta's gate. Foresta
soon joined him and they took a train for a nearby town where they were
made man and wife.
In the meantime some awful things were happening at the Daleman
residence. Leroy Crutcher, of whom we caught a glimpse or so in an
earlier chapter, happened to be passing along the sidewalk that ran
parallel with the side of the Daleman residence. As he reached the alley
at the rear of the yard, he saw a man standing on a rock looking over
the back fence. The two men glared at each other. The moon was shining
brightly and they could see each other well.
Leroy turned away and walked along the street, saying to himself, "I
ought to have shot that scoundrel, Bud Harper, then and there."
Reflecting a little he said, "No, I must get him without hurting
myself."
The man about whom Leroy had thus spoken climbed over the fence and
crouched in the shadow of the coalhouse. His eyes were fixed on
Foresta's room and his vigil was ceaseless. At about eleven o'clock
Arthur Daleman, Jr., emerged from the hallway of the second story,
paused a few moments and crept toward Foresta's room.
"Yes, its true," muttered the Negro, between gritted teeth, the look of
a savage overspreading his face. He clambered over the fence saying,
"Wait a few minutes, happy couple."
In the meantime Arthur Daleman, Jr., had unlocked the door to Foresta's
room and stood as if rooted to the spot. There upon the bed lay Alene
instead of Foresta, as he could plainly see by the dimly burning light.
Fearing that Alene might awaken and see him, he quickly turned out the
light and stepped from the room. In his haste he left the door slightly
ajar. What took place thereafter the morning revealed.
CHAPTER XV.
_Unexpected Developments._
According to previous engagement, Mr. Arthur Daleman, Sr., Alene's
father, and Ramon Mansford, her affianced, went forth together for an
early morning walk. Arm in arm the somewhat aged Southerner and the
young Northerner sauntered forth.
"My boy," said Mr. Daleman, "I have thought to have a talk with you
concerning the dark shadow that projects itself over our section, the
Negro problem. Not that I would infect you with my peculiar views, but
that those of us and our descendants who abide here may have your
sympathy."
"My love for Alene invests all that is near to her with my abiding
sympathy," said Ramon with quiet fervor.
"Yes, but the mind must be informed if sympathy is to be intelligently
directed. To begin with, men of my class, families like mine have no
prejudice against Negroes nor they against us. We know them thoroughly
and they know us. There is never the slightest trespass on forbidden
ground by us or by them. It is a boast of many Negroes that they can
tell a 'quality' white person on sight, and practically all Negroes
ascribe their troubles to a certain class of whites."
"I have noticed the kindly relations between your people and all the
Negroes that have had dealings with them," interposed Ramon.
"My class was humane to the Negro in the days of slavery and under our
kindly care developed him from a savage into a thoroughly civilized man.
But I am glad slavery is gone. Under the system bad white men could own
slaves and their doings were sometimes terrible. They were the ones who
made Uncle Tom's Cabin possible and brought down upon us all the
maledictions of the world, Like 'poor dog Tray,' the humane class were
caught in bad company and we have paid for it. But all of that is in the
past. A word about the present and the future," said Mr. Daleman.
The two men were now in a grove of trees in the suburbs of the city. Mr.
Daleman took a seat on a stump and Ramon, unmindful of the dew, threw
himself at full length on the grass, and looked up intently into the
face of his prospective father-in-law.
Mr. Daleman now resumed: "The radical element at the South has always
given us trouble. The radicals hate the Negro and nothing is too bad for
them to do to him. We liberals like him and want to see him prosper.
Such of us liberals as labor to keep the Negro out of politics do so,
not out of hatred of him, but for his own good, as we see it. We hate to
see him the victim of the spleen of the radicals and they do grow
furious at the sight of the Negro in exalted station. In your Northern
home bear in mind these two classes of Southerners and remember that
some of us at least are anxious for the highest good to all."
Mr. Daleman now paused and a sad look came over his face.
He resumed: "One of the hardest tasks among us is the suppression of
lynching. In the very nature of things, as conditions now exist, there
cannot be such a thing as a trial of a charge of outrage by a Negro man
upon a white woman. Often in cases of that nature the crime charged is
disproved, by proving another offense involving collusion. Well, no
lawyer can be found who would set up such a defense for a Negro client
if the white woman in the case objected, for he would be killed,
perhaps, and, furthermore, collusion is punished in the same way as
outrage. So lynching is here fortified. Tolerated and condoned for one
thing it spreads to other things and men are lynched for trivial
offenses.
"If a departure could be made from the custom of public trials and jury
trials in such cases, relief might be found. The trials could be secret
and before a bench of judges. Care for the feelings of the woman and her
guardians, and things will be better. There is no pronounced sentiment
among the better classes in favor of lynching for other causes and it
can be put down. There is marked improvement in this matter, and it may
be that lynching may be stopped without the changes in jurisprudence
which I suggest."
Mr. Daleman now arose from his seat, saying, "Come, my son. They will be
awaiting breakfast for us, I fear. Tell the North that down in this
Southland there is an element of as noble men as the world affords; men
with a keen sense of justice and an unfaltering purpose to lift our
section to a position of high esteem in the estimation of the world. We
may seem to work at cross purposes with you of the North; we may be
overwhelmed by waves of race prejudice from time to time, but we are
here, and I claim to be one of them. I challenge the man, white or
black, rich or poor, to say that I ever mistreated him by word or deed."
"You need no vindication. Time was when practically all Southerners were
classed together by the outside, but that day has passed."
The two men walked back home in silence, Mr. Daleman thinking about the
future of his home without Alene, and Ramon thinking of his own future
home with her. When they got back to the house breakfast was ready and
they were soon seated at the table.
"Tell Alene to come down. I know the child is a little shy this morning,
but I must have her by my side this once more. Go for her, Arthur,"
said Mr. Daleman, Sr., to his son.
Arthur involuntarily drew back slightly at the request and his father
cast an inquiring look at him.
"I hate to disturb the child's slumbers. I doubt whether she slept much
last night," said Arthur, in somewhat husky tones.
"He hates to see Alene leave him," thought Mr. Daleman.
Arthur ascended the stairs and, coming to Alene's door found it slightly
ajar. He knocked, but received no response. He knocked harder, then
again and again. He knew that he had knocked hard enough to awaken one
from sleep, so he concluded that Alene must be up and in some other part
of the house. As she had left the door open, Arthur decided that the
room was prepared for entering. He had a secret desire to step in and
glance around the room in which, on the previous night, he stood in such
imminent danger of exposure. Pushing the door open, he stepped in
quickly, but far more quickly stepped out, terror stricken. Upon
Foresta's bed lay the beautiful Alene, her face covered with blood and
her hair falling over her face, dyeing itself a crimson red.
Arthur was speechless with horror. He ran his fingers through his hair,
brought his hand down over his face as if seeking by that means to clear
his brain so that he could answer the question as to whether he himself
had not committed the murder. Recovering his self-possession in a
measure, he dragged himself down stairs to where Mr. Daleman was. There
was such an awful look upon his face that Mr. Daleman was thoroughly
aroused.
"What is the trouble, Arthur?" asked Mr. Daleman.
Arthur said nothing, but made a motion in the direction of the room that
looked to be as much a sign of despair as of direction.
Mr. Daleman rushed up the stairway and into the room. A glance told him
the awful story. The kindly light that always lingered in his eyes died
out and a cold, keen glitter appeared. His form showing the slight
curvature of age, now stiffened under the iron influence of his will and
he stood erect. The tears tried to come, but he tossed the first away
and others feared to come. No more bitter cup was ever handed man to
drink; but he quaffed it, dregs and all. One awful unnamable fear,
involving the motive of the crime, haunted his soul. The family
physician was sent for and said tenderly, as he came from the room of
the murdered girl, "It might have been worse." Through the dark sorrow
of Mr. Daleman's soul there shot a gleam of joy. The two men clasped
hands in silence. The horror was less.
The whole city was soon in a furor of excitement. Bloodhounds were put
on the trail and about noon a Negro who had been tracked was
apprehended, sitting quietly on a bridge a few miles out from the city.
He made no effort to escape, and manifested no surprise when caught.
"Have they killed anybody else?" was his first and only utterance to the
officers who took him in charge. His captors did not deign to make
reply. The Negro was handcuffed and led back until the party arrived at
the outskirts of the city. The patrol wagon was telephoned for and the
Negro was soon safe in the station house. News spread like wildfire that
the criminal was in the prison and soon the street was full of
thousands. A mob was formed and an assault was planned upon the prison.
The chief of police came out on the steps of the building and, with
drawn pistol, declared that the majesty of the law would be maintained
at all hazards. He then retired within.
Nothing daunted the mob surged forward. The chief of police came forth
again and in a manner that left no room for mistake, declared that only
over his dead body could they take the prisoner. His long record as a
daring and faithful officer was well known and the mob now hesitated.
The sheriff of the county was out of the city at the time and one of his
deputies was in charge of affairs. This deputy had been laying plans
with a view to being the candidate of his party for the office of
sheriff at the next election, and he fancied that he now saw an
opportunity to curry favor with the masses. He elbowed his way through
the crowd and held a whispered conference with the leader of the mob.
Thereupon the leader took his place on the steps and harangued the mob
as follows:
"Fellow citizens, do not despair. The voice of the people is the voice
of God, and your voice shall be heard this day. I assure you of this
fact. I beg of you, however, that you now disperse. You shall meet again
under circumstances more favorable to your wishes."
The persons in front passed the word along, and knowing that some better
plan of action had been agreed upon, the crowd dispersed into
neighboring streets.
The deputy sheriff, armed with the proper papers, appeared at the
station house and demanded and secured the prisoner, as the city had no
jurisdiction over murder cases. When he had proceeded about a block with
his prisoner, a group of men who understood the matter raised a mighty
yell. The mob which had dispersed now reformed.
The prisoner was taken from the deputy sheriff, and was hurried to the
bridge connecting the two parts of the city. A rope was secured and the
Negro was dropped over the side of the bridge. As his form dangled
therefrom, every man in the crowd who could, and who had a pistol,
leaned over the railing and fired at the Negro. The rain of bullets made
the Negro's form swing to and fro. The crowd finally dispersed, leaving
the body suspended from the bridge.
Gus Martin had kept up with the mob from the beginning, walking about
with folded arms, betraying no trace of excitement save, perhaps, the
rapid chewing of the tobacco which was in his mouth. His blood was
stirred, but its Indian infusion contributed stoicism to him on this
occasion.
When the whites were through with the body, Gus went to the side of the
bridge and drew it up. Calling to his aid another Negro, he procured a
stretcher and bore the body to Bud Harper's home.
CHAPTER XVI.
_An Eager Searcher._
Up and down the street on which he lived, Ramon Mansford, the affianced
of Alene Daleman, walked as one in a trance. Night was coming and as the
shadows deepened the bitterness deepened in his soul.
"Think of it! my father sleeps in an unmarked grave somewhere in the
South, and I know that the hope of freeing the slave actuated him to
enlist in the army. For the Negro, my father buried his sword to the
hilt in the blood of his Southern brother and in turn received a thrust,
all for a race from which this vile miscreant has crept to murder Alene,
my Alene."
In the darkness of his own calamity distinctions between right and wrong
began to fade away, and he found his hatred of the Negro race assuming a
more violent form than that manifested by the native Southerner. In his
heart there was the harking back to times more than a thousand years
ago--to times when his race was a race of exterminators. At this
particular time it seemed to him that nothing would have suited him
better than to have taken the lead of forces bent on driving every black
face from the land. Now and then he would pause and ask himself:
"Is all this horror true? Is the sweet Alene gone? Was the dear one
foully murdered while I slept? Great God of heaven, can all this be
true? Must I go through life unsupported by the brave heart of Alene on
which I was depending for strength to conquer worlds?"
He sat down upon the curbstone and buried his face in his hands.
About twelve o'clock that night a Negro woman came rushing along at full
speed. Ramon seized her and she uttered a loud scream, falling in a
helpless heap at his feet. With a tight grip on her arm he said,
"Have you, too, blighted somebody's happiness? Have you murdered some
one?"
With terror stricken eyes the woman looked up into his face and said,
"Mistah, please lemme go, please sah!"
"What have you done?" sternly asked Ramon.
"Nothin' sah," said she. "I'se been roun' ter Dilsy Harper's, settin' up
ovah Bud Harper's daid body, whut wuz sent home frum de bridge. Wal,
sah, ez shuah ez dis here chile is bawn ter die, while we wuz settin' up
ovah Bud's body, Bud hisself walked in. We looked at Bud, den at de
body, en we wuz skeert ter death. Den de livin' Bud, went up an looked
down on de daid Bud, and de daid Bud skeert de livin' Bud, and de livin'
Bud fairly flew outen dat house. Den, bless yer soul, honey, dat ole
house wuz soon empty."
This weird tale furnished the needed diversion to Ramon's overburdened
mind. His thoughts began to run in another direction.
"Was the mob mistaken? Is the man thought to have been killed yet alive?
If one mistake has been made, who can say that two haven't been made? Is
her real murderer yet alive?"
Such were the thoughts that went crashing through Ramon's mind and his
grip on the woman's arm slackened. The woman wrenched herself loose and
continued her journey with increased speed.
As late as it was Ramon hurried to the Harpers' home and found the
Negroes standing about at a distance from the house, discussing the
sudden reappearance and disappearance of Bud Harper, when there, all
agreed, lay Bud before their very eyes.
Ramon returned to his home strangely becalmed, and though late in the
night he sat down and wrote the following letter to his home in the
North.
"MY DEAR NORFLEET: I am in the throes of an overwhelming
sorrow. My Alene has been foully murdered. A mystery surrounds
the case. We cannot fathom the motive of the crime. To-day
(rather yesterday now, for it is two o'clock in the morning) a
man accused of murdering her was lynched. To-night the man who
was supposed to have been lynched made his appearance at his
home. But the mother sticks to it that the real murderer, her
son, is the corpse, and appearances seem to bear out the
contention. Now it may be that Alene's murderer is yet alive
and that an injustice has been wrought upon somebody. My heart
is more firmly knit to my Southern white brethren than ever
before. I fling ambition to the winds. Tell my friends that I
shall not make the race for Congress, and thank them for me for
the way in which they have always seconded my aspirations. It
pains me much to not be in a position to attempt to scale the
heights which their loving hearts fancied I could make with
ease. I shall walk with my kith and kin of the South in the
shadow, for in the furnace of a common sorrow, my heart has
been melted into one with theirs. We of the South (you see I
call myself one of them), know not what the future has in store
for our beloved section, but we face the ordeal with the grim
determination of our race. If you believe in prayer, pray that
I may be just and may even in darkness do the right.
"RAMON, 'THE MAD.'"
When Alene had been laid to rest, Ramon, after lingering in Almaville
for a few weeks, disappeared completely, leaving behind no trace of
himself. He had previously given Mr. Daleman and friends assurances that
he would do no violence to himself. So while they knew not where he was
nor what was his mission, they were not unduly apprehensive as to his
welfare.
Ramon Mansford had simply stained himself a chocolate brown and had thus
passed from the Anglo-Saxon to the Negro race. He had gone to fathom the
mystery of Alene's murder.
CHAPTER XVII.
_Peculiar Divorce Proceedings._
"Dilsy Brooks, would you 'low me er few wurds wid you?"
Dilsy Harper, Bud's mother, paused in her knitting, pulled her
spectacles a little further down on her nose, and peered over them at
Silas Harper, her husband, who had just entered her room and stood with
his hat in his hand. He was low of stature, small and very bow-legged. A
short white beard graced his chin, while his upper lip was kept clean
shaven. His head was covered with the proverbial knotty, wool-like hair,
which was now the scene of a struggle for the mastery between the black
and gray. Since the moment that the news was brought to him that Bud was
accused of Alene's murder he had been acting rather queerly, even after
all things were taken into consideration, thought Mrs. Harper.
The tone of Mr. Harper's voice and his sober face led his wife to
believe that he was now about to unbosom himself. As he had seen fit to
call her by her maiden name, Mrs. Harper did not deign to reply.
"I is willin' ter 'cept yer silunce fer cunsent, as I feel I mus' say
whut air in me," Mr. Harper resumed. Continuing, he said: "Yer been
'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me."
Mrs. Harper could not stand that impeachment of her honor and she
quickly hissed,
"Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er hones' 'oman
myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin' 'twuz in yer."
"I 'peats ergin whut I dun sed. Yer hez been 'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer
been 'ceivin' me, an I ken prove it."
Mrs. Harper cast a withering look of contempt at her husband, folded her
arms and leaned back in her chair, more puzzled than ever at his queer
course.
"Now, Dilsy, let me ax yer some queshuns. W'en I wuz a lad in slabery
time, didunt I dribe my young missus 'bout whar' eber she went? An' she
wuz safe. Didunt dis heah same Silas do dat?" said he, his voice rising
to a high pitch in his earnestness. "W'en de yankees wuz fightin' our
folks and our mens wuz ter de front in battul, didunt dese hans er mine
hole de plow dat brung de corn ter feed my missus? At night did I sleep
er wink wen dare wuz eny t'ing lackly ter pester de wimmins?" said he in
the same high tones.
[Illustration: "'Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er
hones' 'oman myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin'
't wuz in yer.'"
(114-115.)]
"De wimmins befoh de wah an' since de wah an' in de wah hez allus hed a
pertectur in old Uncle Silas, an' yer knows it!" said he, pointing his
index finger at his wife. "Wal, I'm comin' ter de p'int. Bud's done kilt
er 'oman. He ain't no blood uv min'. You ain't been er true wife ter me.
He's sumbody else's boy. He aint mine. My blood don't run dat'er way."
Not a muscle in Mrs. Harper's face moved as she listened to this
indictment on the part of her husband.
"An', now," he continued, "you needunt min' 'bout sayin' eny ting 'bout
dis. I aint gwine ter say nothin' 'bout yer ter skanderlize yer. I am
gwine ter nail up de doh 'twixt you an' me. You aint no wife er min' fur
Bud an me aint got de same blood. He kilt er 'oman."
Mrs. Harper looked steadily at her husband, her anger gone, now that she
understood all. She leaned forward and parted her lips as if to speak.
She seemed to take a second thought and slowly leaned back in her chair.
It was evident that a debate was going on in her mind.
"No, he talks too much," said she to herself. She adjusted her
spectacles, picked up her knitting and resumed work, a gentle look of
forgiveness upon her face.
Silas Harper with bowed head, and shoulders more stooped than common,
walked from the room. Procuring a hammer and nails he soon had the
entrance from his room to that of his wife securely barred. And every
lick that he struck was like unto driving a nail into his own heart, for
he loved Dilsy, the love of his youth, the companion of his earlier
struggles after slavery, the joint purchaser of their four-room cottage,
and the mother of the two boys whom he had hitherto regarded as his
sons.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_Mists That Vanish._
In his far away peaceful Northern home, Norfleet, friend of Ramon
Mansford, received the following letter:
"MY DEAR NORFLEET: I am about at the end of one of the most
shocking and most mystifying affairs known to the human race.
In keeping with my resolve I disappeared into the Negro race
for the purpose of fathoming the mystery of the murder of my
beloved Alene. The fact that I could so disappear is one of
far-reaching significance. It shows what an awful predicament
the Negroes are in. Any white criminal has the race at his
mercy. By dropping into the Negro race to commit a crime and
immediately thereafter rejoining the white race, he has a most
splendid opportunity to escape. And men who commit the darker
crimes are not failing to take advantage of the open door; but
I picked up my pen to tell you my weird story.
"Well, I actually became a boarder in the home of Aunt Dilsy,
the mother of the man accused of murdering my Alene. By
mingling with the Negroes I came in contact with three
persistent beliefs which I investigated.
"First of all, the Negroes were practically a unit in holding
that Bud Harper had not committed the crime.
"On the next point to be mentioned the popular belief was
divided. The more intelligent class held that the Negro lynched
was not Bud Harper, but some strange Negro resembling him. When
confronted with the fact that Dilsy Harper accepted it as the
body of her son Bud, they shrugged their shoulders and said
that that report came from the white officers who would pretend
that a Negro had said just anything and that Aunt Dilsy would
hardly know Bud after the mob got through mutilating him. They
believed that Bud was living and that he had come home while
the body supposed to be his was lying there. The more
superstitious among them held that Bud was unjustly killed and
his ghost had come to the wake, and that it could be seen
almost any night on the bridge.
"I found whispered around in a rather select circle the belief
that Arthur Daleman, Jr., had killed Alene. It was thought that
Arthur was secretly in love with his foster sister and
in a fit of uncontrollable jealousy had murdered her. A Negro
woman, who went to the Daleman's to care for the house, was
reputed to have found in Arthur's room appliances for making
one assume the appearance of a Negro.
"Now all of these rumors I investigated and I came to the
conclusion that the truth of the matter was as follows:
"1. Bud Harper did not kill Alene.
"2. Bud Harper was not hanged.
"3. Bud Harper and not his ghost appeared at his home.
"4. Dilsy Harper accepted the body as that of Bud to prevent a
further quest of Bud.
"5. Arthur Daleman, Jr., bore some relation to Alene's murder.
"The fifth conclusion was forced upon me by the guilty
hangdog appearance of Arthur Daleman, Jr., which some people
mistook for sorrow over Alene's death.
"Now let me tell you the strange manner in which I received
confirmation of these things. On taking up my abode at Dilsy
Harper's I noticed that she and her husband had no dealings
with each other, though they lived in the same house. To-day I
came home and found the door unbarred and Silas Harper sitting
in his wife's room, his face all wreathed in smiles. Mrs.
Harper had been called away and he proceeded to unfold the
cause of his previous strained relations with his wife and his
present happy state. He had separated himself from her by the
process of the barred door, because she had borne him a son
that stood unpurged of a charge of having murdered a woman.
While thus separated from his wife, brooding over the disgrace
brought upon his name by his reputed son, he became very sick.
His wife offered to nurse him, but he refused her services.
"In order that Mrs. Harper might be near her husband in his
affliction, she gave him information that actually cured
him--lifted him from his bed. She explained to him that she
would have told him before, but feared that he would tell
abroad what she confided to him, and thereby occasion more
trouble. He promised to never divulge what she had said and
kept his promise by telling me, the first man that he had seen
since he was told. And here is the strange story that
disentangles a deep mystery and solves a question which I was
determined to probe to the bottom. I give in my own words the
story told me by Silas Harper.
"This couple, Silas and Dilsy Harper, had had two sons so very
much alike that hardly anyone save Mrs. Harper could readily
distinguish them when they were attired alike.
"Dave was one day walking along the street with a young lady
when a policeman collided with them. Words passed between them
and in the fight that ensued Dave wounded the policeman and was
sentenced to prison for twenty years. Another lad, a
consumptive was sentenced the same day for two years. The guard
that took them to the prison did not know one from the other,
and at the suggestion of the consumptive the two exchanged
names and sentences. When Dave Harper's name was called the
consumptive stepped forward and registered, and when the
latter's name was called Dave stepped forward. The prison
officials, not dreaming that a man with a two years' sentence
would exchange with one having twenty years' sentence, the
matter was arranged without difficulty. In less than a year's
time the consumptive, regarded as Dave Harper, died and was
buried as such.
"The real Dave Harper served the consumptive's two years'
sentence and was duly released from prison. He was so chagrined
over the disgrace that his incarceration in prison had brought
upon his family, he did not make himself known at home when
released. Desiring to live in Almaville and yet be free from
the danger of being identified as Dave Harper, he found
employment in a saloon patronized only by whites. It was here
that he overheard Arthur Daleman, Jr., telling his companions
of a pretty 'coon,' Foresta Crump, whom he had slated for his
next victim. Knowing that Foresta was Bud's fiancee he
determined to look into the matter. As he watched the Daleman
residence he saw Arthur Daleman, Jr., enter the servant girl's
room. Judging that Foresta was favorably receiving his
attentions Dave determined upon the killing of them both. Thus
it was that my dear Alene lost her life. She received a blow
that was drawn to her by the wicked plannings of her foster
brother.
"Dave Harper supposing that he killed Foresta and Arthur
Daleman, Jr., ran by home, made himself known to his mother and
confessed all to her. He told his mother that Leroy Crutcher
had seen him and no doubt mistook him for Bud and that he would
therefore be compelled to hover near the city so that he might
return and confess to the committing of the crime in case Bud
was about to be made to suffer for his deed.
"Such are the facts as they came to me from Aunt Dilsy's
husband. I have confronted Arthur Daleman, Jr., with the matter
and he has confessed to his part of the awful tragedy.
"I have now changed back to the white race. In my capacity of a
white man I have assured Aunt Dilsy that Bud Harper shall not
be molested and have assured Mrs. Crump that it is safe for
Foresta to return. The two women are happy souls. I have
succeeded in locating Bud and Foresta and shall leave at once
for the purpose of restoring them to their families and their
friends.
"My dear Norfleet, in view of the terrible way things get
twisted down here, don't you think it is an awful shame that
this weak and often hated race is denied the right of trial by
jury?
"RAMON."
CHAPTER XIX.
_The Fugitives Flee Again._
When Bud Harper and Foresta, on the night following their elopement,
returned to Almaville, Bud took Foresta by her home to break the news to
her mother, leaving her at the gate, while he went to his home to tell
his mother. Finding a corpse in his house and noting the terror that his
appearance seemed to inspire, Bud left and ran back to Foresta's home.
In the meantime Mrs. Crump had explained the situation to Foresta, who
now told Bud. With bowed heads and troubled hearts the three sat in deep
study as to what to do.
The white people were under the impression that Bud had committed the
murder. They had killed another man thinking that it was he. In case
they now apprehended him, would the popular feeling be that there was a
mistake in the lynching or a mistake as to Bud's having committed the
murder?
Bud felt fully able to demonstrate his innocence, but the ruthless mob
would hardly give him time to collect his evidence, he feared. Thus,
though innocent, he decided that it was best for him to leave Almaville
and remain in hiding for a time at least. Foresta asserted her
determination to go with him it mattered not where he went.
Bud gave to Foresta the privilege of choosing their exile. For a number
of years the condition of the Negroes in the cotton states farther South
had been weighing heavily on her mind. She had read how that under the
credit system, the country merchant, charging exorbitant prices for
merchandise for which the crops stood as security, was causing the Negro
farmer to work from year to year only to sink deeper and deeper into
debt. She had read of the contract system under which ignorant Negroes,
not knowing the contents of the papers signed, practically sold
themselves into slavery, agreeing to work for a number of years for a
mere pittance and further agreeing to be locked up in a stockade at
night and to pay for the expense of a recapture in case they attempted
to escape. She had heard much of the practice of peonage, how that
planters and contractors would enter into collusion with magistrates and
convict innocent Negroes of crimes in order that they might get Negro
laborers by the paying of fines assessed on these trumped up charges.
She had read accounts of investigations of the prison system of the
South, showing that the various states made the earning of money by the
prisoners a prime consideration, and detailing how brutal overseers were
wont to maltreat convicts leased to them by the state. These things
coupled with the absence of reformatories for youths were destined,
Foresta felt assured, to produce a harvest of criminals. What to her
mind added to the hopelessness of the plight of the Negroes was the fact
that an emigration agent was required to pay such a heavy tax and stood
in such a danger of bodily harm from the planters that nothing was being
done toward pointing the inhabitants of the blighted regions to better
lands.
Foresta concluded to choose Mississippi, a state in which conditions
were in some respects so thoroughly forbidding, as their future home.
Two things influenced her in making a choice, a desire to use her
education for the amelioration of the ills of which she had heard so
much and the thought that a land reputed to be so destitute of hope for
the Negro would be searched last of all for Negro refugees. So the two
had gone forth in the darkness and journeyed southward.
With money that Bud had saved they bought a small farm near Maulville,
Mississippi. It was not long before Foresta's quiet influence was felt
throughout that region. The whites who had been preying upon the more
ignorant of the Negroes were not long in tracing this new influence to
its source. It was agreed among them that the Fultons (for such was the
name assumed by Bud and Foresta) were rather undesirable neighbors and a
decision was reached to put them out of the way. The thousands of
individual murders, and lynching by mobs, had so blunted the sensibility
of these whites that they reached this decision without any qualms of
conscience. Sidney Fletcher was agreed upon as the man to rid the
settlement of Bud and Foresta.
On this particular afternoon, Foresta's hair was hanging down her back
in girlish fashion. A small cap sat upon the top of her head, while a
blue gingham apron protected her dress. She had finished the milking and
was walking toward the house when Sidney Fletcher, the owner of a
neighboring farm, approached her.
"Where has Tobe Stewart gone?" asked Fletcher, in a very gruff manner,
inquiring about a Negro lad who had run away from him.
Foresta looked at him steadily without replying.
"You ---- wench, you, you can't speak can you? You and that dad blasted
man of yours have got the big head, anyway," said Fletcher, drawing his
pistol and starting toward Foresta.
Foresta dropped her milk pail and ran into the house.
Fletcher took a seat on a bench in the yard and awaited the coming of
Bud Harper, Foresta's husband, who was out hunting and was not due for
some time yet.
Foresta stole out of the door on the other side of the house and reached
a patch of woods without being observed by Sidney Fletcher. By a
circuitous route she was able to place herself in Bud's pathway so as
to intercept him before he reached home.
"Oh, Bud," said Foresta, greeting her husband, "Old Sid Fletcher is at
our house waiting for you with a drawn revolver."
A frown came over Bud's face. "The jealous knave," said he. "Ever since
we bought this farm he has had a dislike for me and I have been
expecting trouble from him."
"Yes, Bud; but we must stay out of trouble. A colored man hasn't a dog's
show in this part of the world."
Bud sat down on a stump and Foresta dropped at his feet.
"Let's stay away from home to-night. We have had trouble enough, Bud,"
said Foresta pleadingly.
Bud looked down on her tenderly, and said, "It is a shame for a
peaceful, industrious man to have a home and not be able to go to it."
Just then Sidney Fletcher was seen coming in their direction.
"Get behind a tree; nobody knows what will take place," said Bud to
Foresta. She obeyed and Bud now calmly awaited the approach of Sidney
Fletcher.
When Fletcher got in shooting distance he deliberately opened fire on
Bud. After the third shot Bud raised his gun to his shoulder and fired
and Fletcher fell backward a corpse. Bud and Foresta now looked at each
other aghast. They knew the penalty attached to the raising of a black
hand against a white man, even when that man unjustly sought the life of
the black.
Rushing to their humble little home, Bud and Foresta hastily gathered a
few things into a bundle, seized whatever food there was in the house,
armed themselves and went forth as fugitives, Foresta attiring herself
in man's clothing. By day and by night, through fields and forest, swamp
and morass, avoiding the sight of man the unhappy couple fled.
The news of the killing of Fletcher was not long in getting abroad and a
mob of several hundred whites was soon organized to give chase. The news
agencies acquainted the whole nation with the situation and day by day
the millions of America scanned with eagerness and with sad forebodings
the progress of the chase. Several Negroes who happened to be found in
the pathway of the mob that was sweeping the country were shot down or
hung according to the whim of the pursuers.
The two in turn relieved each other at watching, whenever the exhausted
condition of one or the other imperatively demanded sleep. It became
Foresta's time to sleep and the two took a position behind a huge fallen
tree, Foresta reclining her head upon Bud's lap. Soon she was asleep,
with Bud looking down in tenderness on her pretty face, now showing
signs of the terrible strain that they were undergoing. Bud thought of
his position as her protector and gnashed his teeth in the bitterness of
his soul as he contemplated his utter helplessness. Hot tears coursed
down his cheeks and, dropping on Foresta's face, awakened her.
Foresta, who had been having troubled dreams, quickly lifted her head
from Bud's lap and looked about in terror. Turning toward him she saw
his eyes reddened from weeping. She threw herself on his shoulder and
the two now gave way to their feelings for the first time.
"We have one consolation, Bud. They can't destroy our love for one
another, can they?" said Foresta.
Bud was too full of sorrow at the plight of the wife of his bosom to
reply. A deep groan of anguish escaped his lips. He leaned back against
the log, Foresta still clinging to his neck. After a while both of them
from sheer exhaustion fell asleep.
CHAPTER XX.
_The Blaze._
Little Melville Brant stamped his foot on the floor, looked defiantly at
his mother, and said, in the whining tone of a nine-year old child,
"Mother, I want to go."
"Melville, I have told you this dozen times that you cannot go,"
responded the mother with a positiveness that caused the boy to feel
that his chances were slim.
"You are always telling me to keep ahead of the other boys, and I can't
even get up to some of them," whined Melville plaintively.
"What do you mean?" asked the mother.
"Ben Stringer is always a crowing over me. Every time I tell anything
big he jumps in and tells what he's seen, and that knocks me out. He has
seen a whole lots of lynchings. His papa takes him. I bet if my papa was
living he would take me," said Melville.
"My boy, listen to your mother," said Mrs. Brant. "Nothing but bad
people take part in or go to see those things. I want mother's boy to
scorn such things, to be way above them."
"Well, I ain't. I want to see it. Ben Stringer ain't got no business
being ahead of me," Melville said with vigor.
The shrieking of the train whistle caused the fever of interest to rise
in the little boy.
"There's the train now, mother. Do let me go. I ain't never seen a darky
burned."
"Burned!" exclaimed Mrs. Brant in horror.
Melville looked up at his mother as if pitying her ignorance.
"They are going to burn them. Sed Lonly heard his papa and Mr. Corkle
talking about it, and it's all fixed up."
"My Heavenly Father!" murmured Mrs. Brant, horror struck.
The cheering of the multitude borne upon the air was now heard.
"Mother, I must go. You can beat me as hard as you want to after I do
it. I can't let Ben Stringer be crowing over me. He'll be there."
Looking intently at his mother, Melville backed toward the door. Mrs.
Brant rushed forward and seized him.
"I shall put you in the attic. You shall not see that inhuman affair."
To her surprise Melville did not resist, but meekly submitted to being
taken up stairs and locked in the attic.
Knowing how utterly opposed his mother was to lynchings he had
calculated upon her refusal and had provided for such a contingency. He
fastened the attic door on the inside and took from a corner a stout
stick and a rope which he had secreted there. Fastening the rope to the
stick and placing the stick across the small attic window he succeeded
in lowering himself to the ground. He ran with all the speed at his
command and arrived at the railway station just in time to see the mob
begin its march with Bud and Foresta toward the scene of the killing of
Sidney Fletcher.
Arriving at the spot where Fletcher's body had been found, the mob
halted and the leaders instituted the trial of the accused.
"Did you kill Mr. Sidney Fletcher?" asked the mob's spokesman of Bud.
"Can I explain the matter to you, gentlemen," asked Bud.
"We want you to tell us just one thing; did you kill Mr. Sidney
Fletcher?"
"He tried to kill me," replied Bud.
"And you therefore killed him, did you?"
"Yes, sir. That's how it happened."
"You killed him, then?" asked the spokesman.
"I shot him, and if he died I suppose I must have caused it. But it was
in self-defense."
"You hear that, do you. He has confessed," said the spokesman to his son
who was the reporter of the world-wide news agency that was to give to
the reading public an account of the affair.
"Well, we are ready to act," shouted the spokesman to the crowd.
Two men now stepped forward and reached the spokesman at about the same
time.
"I got a fine place, with everything ready. I knew what you would need
and I arranged for you," said one of the men.
"My place is nearer than his, and everything is as ready as it can be. I
think I am entitled to it," said the other.
"You want the earth, don't you?" indignantly asked the first applicant
of the second.
Ignoring this thrust the second applicant said to the spokesman,
"You know I have done all the dirty work here. If you all wanted anybody
to stuff the ballot box or swear to false returns, I have been your man.
I've put out of the way every biggety nigger that you sent me after. You
know all this."
"You've been paid for it, too. Ain't you been to the legislature? Ain't
you been constable? Haven't you captured prisoners and held 'um in
secret till the governor offered rewards and then you have brung 'em
forward? You have been well paid. But me, I've had none of the good
things. I've done dirty work, too, don't you forget it. And now I want
these niggers hung in my watermelon patch, so as to keep darkies out of
nights, being as they are feart of hants, and you are here to keep me
out of that little favor."
The dispute waxed so hot that it was finally decided that it was best to
accept neither place.
"We want this affair to serve as a warning to darkies to never lift
their hands against a white man, and it won't hurt to perform this noble
deed where they will never forget it. I am commander to-day and I order
the administration of justice to take place near the Negro church."
"Good! Good!" was the universal comment.
The crowd dashed wildly in the direction of the church, all being eager
to get places where they could see best. The smaller boys climbed the
trees so that they might see well the whole transaction. Two of the
trees were decided upon for stakes and the boys who had chosen them had
to come down. Bud was tied to one tree and Foresta to the other in such
a manner that they faced each other. Wood was brought and piled around
them and oil was poured on very profusely.
The mob decided to torture their victims before killing them and began
on Foresta first. A man with a pair of scissors stepped up and cut off
her hair and threw it into the crowd. There was a great scramble for
bits of hair for souvenirs of the occasion. One by one her fingers were
cut off and tossed into the crowd to be scrambled for. A man with a cork
screw came forward, ripped Foresta's clothing to her waist, bored into
her breast with the corkscrew and pulled forth the live quivering flesh.
Poor Bud her helpless husband closed his eyes and turned away his head
to avoid the terrible sight. Men gathered about him and forced his
eyelids open so that he could see all.
When it was thought that Foresta had been tortured sufficiently,
attention was turned to Bud. His fingers were cut off one by one and the
corkscrew was bored into his legs and arms. A man with a club struck him
over the head, crushing his skull and forcing an eyeball to hang down
from the socket by a thread. A rush was made toward Bud and a man who
was a little ahead of his competitors snatched the eyeball as a
souvenir.
After three full hours had been spent in torturing the two, the
spokesman announced that they were now ready for the final act. The
brother of Sidney Fletcher was called for and was given a match. He
stood near his mutilated victims until the photographer present could
take a picture of the scene. This being over the match was applied and
the flames leaped up eagerly and encircled the writhing forms of Bud and
Foresta.
When the flames had done their work and had subsided, a mad rush was
made for the trees which were soon denuded of bark, each member of the
mob being desirous, it seemed, of carrying away something that might
testify to his proximity to so great a happening.
Little Melville Brant found a piece of the charred flesh in the ashes
and bore it home.
[Illustration: "Poor Bud, her helpless husband, closed his eyes and
turned away his head to avoid the terrible sight."
(134-135.)]
"Ben Stringer aint got anything on me now," said he as he trudged along
in triumph.
Entering by the rear he caught hold of the rope which he had left
hanging, ascended to the attic window and crawled in.
The future ruler of the land!
* * * * *
On the afternoon of the lynching Ramon Mansford alighted from the train
at Maulville in search of Bud and Foresta. He noted the holiday
appearance of the crowd as it swarmed around the depot awaiting the
going of the special trains that had brought the people to Maulville to
see the lynching, and, not knowing the occasion that had brought them
together, said within himself:
"This crowd looks happy enough. The South is indeed sunny and sunny are
the hearts of its people."
At length he approached a man, who like himself seemed to be an
onlooker. Using the names under which Mrs. Harper told him that Bud and
Foresta were passing, he made inquiry of them. The man looked at him in
amazement.
"You have just got in, have you?" asked the man of Ramon.
"Yes," he replied.
"Haven't you been reading the papers?" further inquired the man.
"Not lately, I must confess; I have been so absorbed in unraveling a
murder mystery (the victim being one very dear to me) that I have not
read the papers for the last few days."
"We burned the people to-day that you are looking for."
"Burned them?" asked Ramon incredulously.
"Yes, burned them."
"The one crime!" gasped Ramon.
"I understand you," said the man. "You want to know how we square the
burning of a woman with the statement that we lynch for one crime in the
South, heh?"
The shocked Ramon nodded affirmatively.
"That's all rot about one crime. We lynch niggers down here for
anything. We lynch them for being sassy and sometimes lynch them on
general principles. The truth of the matter is the real 'one crime' that
paves the way for a lynching whenever we have the notion, is the crime
of being black."
"Burn them! The one crime!" murmured Ramon, scarcely knowing what he
said. With bowed head and hands clasped behind him he walked away to
meditate.
"After all, do not I see to-day a gleam of light thrown on the taking
away of my Alene? With murder and lawnessness rampant in the Southland,
this section's woes are to be many. Who can say what bloody orgies Alene
has escaped? Who can tell the contents of the storm cloud that hangs low
over this section where the tragedy of the ages is being enacted?
Alene, O Alene, my spirit longs for thee!"
Ramon took the train that night--not for Almaville, for he had not the
heart to bear the terrible tidings to those helpless, waiting, simple
folks, the parents of Bud and Foresta. He went North feeling that some
day somehow he might be called upon to revisit the South as its real
friend, but seeming foe. And he shuddered at the thought.
CHAPTER XXI.
_Planning To Act._
On the morning following the Maulville tragedy, before Ensal was out of
bed Earl was tugging viciously at his door bell. Recognizing the note of
distress in the clang of the bell, Ensal arose, quickly attired himself
and hurried to the door.
"Oh, it is my good friend, Earl. Glad--"
Ensal stopped short in the midst of his cordial greeting, so struck was
he by that look on Earl's face that said plainly that some overmastering
purpose had full charge of the man.
"Walk back," said Ensal, in a more subdued manner, leading the way to
his room and steadying himself to meet some grave crisis which Earl's
demeanor plainly told him was at hand.
"And what may I do for my friend?" asked Ensal soothingly, when the two
had taken seats facing each other.
Earl placed an elbow on his knee, using his hand as a rest for his
throbbing temples. Turning his eyes full in the direction of Ensal, as
if searching for the very bottom of the latter's soul, he said,
"Have you read the morning paper?"
"No," replied Ensal.
"Read," said Earl, taking a paper from his pocket and handing it to
Ensal.
"My God! This cannot be true!" exclaimed Ensal in tones of horror, as he
read the detailed account of the Maulville burning. He arose and strode
to and fro across the room.
"Never in all my wide range of reading have I ever come across a more
reprehensible occurrence," muttered he.
"Listen," said Earl, in the tone of one having more to add.
Ensal paused in his walking and unconsciously lifted his hand as though
to ward off a blow.
"The man and his wife who were burned at the stake were Bud and
Foresta."
"What! Our Bud! Laughing, innocent, whole-souled Foresta!" almost
shouted Ensal, the horror, through the personal element brought into the
matter, now doubling its force.
"Poor Mrs. Crump! Poor Negro womanhood! Crucified at the stake, while we
men play the part of women, for, what can we do?" said Ensal, looking at
Earl, tears of pity for his people welling up in his eyes and stealing
their way down his noble face.
"This is at once the saddest and the sweetest moment of all my life,"
said Earl, rising. Continuing, he said:
"The fact that a race that lashes itself into a fury and cries aloud for
the sympathy of the outside world if a Negro casts a look of respectful
admiration in the direction of a white woman, finds no limit to what it
will do to the women of our race, fills my cup of humiliation to the
brim. But I find a measure of compensation in the fact that you, dear
Ensal, the arch-conservative, have at last been stirred to action."
Earl now paused to give emphasis to what he was to say next.
"Ensal, the Christ has bidden you, you say, to preach his Gospel to
every creature. If the white people of the South permitted you to preach
the Gospel to them, you would have some basis for the hope that you
would be contributing your due share to the work of altering these
untoward conditions. Since they deny you your way of reaching them, come
and go our way," said Earl.
"Have you at last found a plan of escape from our awful condition that
commends itself to your sober judgment, Earl?" asked Ensal, looking his
friend earnestly in the face.
"I have" said Earl.
"Earl, come back to-night. My spirit is tired, tired. Give me the day
for the finding of my truer self. I doubt whether the elements which
this terrible shock has brought to the surface can be trusted to pass
sanely upon matters of such vast importance."
Earl accepted the suggestion and departed.
During that day the two busiest brains in all the world, perhaps, were
the brains of these two Negroes: Earl, arranging for the successful
carrying out of his plans, and Ensal fortifying himself for events which
he knew would largely affect the destiny of his people. He knew not the
details nor even the direction of Earl's plans, but he knew that Earl
was every inch a soldier and that the blood of some of the mightiest
captains of the English speaking people was coursing through his veins.
CHAPTER XXII.
_The Two Pathways._
The day wore on, and about dusk Earl returned to Ensal's home, and the
two at once entered upon the consideration of the grave matter that was
to be the subject of their conference.
"Before giving my plan, Ensal, I will present the course of reasoning
that leads me up to the conclusion that it is the one path to pursue,"
began Earl.
"So do," said Ensal.
"The men and women," began Earl, "who moulded the sentiment that led to
our emancipation and enfranchisement, who set in motion the influences
that have tended toward our general uplift, are fast passing away. I am
told that the younger generation now coming into power in the North is
not as enthusiastic over the matter of helping us as were their fathers.
As I see the matter, several influences are at work producing these
changes.
"First: A very natural desire on the part of Northern people to be on
more pleasant terms with their blood relations of the South.
"Second: The moving of whites from the South to the North, where, in
social circles from which Negroes are debarred, they mould sentiment
against the Negro. There are more than one million five hundred thousand
Southern white people in the North.
"Third: Among the Negroes going North there is a shiftless, criminal
element, whose tendency downward is aided by the prejudice against
Negroes in labor circles of the North. This class of Negroes in some
parts of the North almost monopolizes the attention of the criminal
courts and the result is an erroneous opinion with regard to the race as
a whole.
"Fourth: There is a decided drift of Northern capital to the South. The
greater the holdings of the North in the South, the greater the
indisposition of at least that element to have conditions down here
disturbed, I think. I believe that by acting now we shall receive far
more sympathy from the North than we would be likely to get a few years
later."
"Suppose, for the sake of progress in the discussion we concede the
validity of your conclusions. Granting that the present is the time to
act, what would you do?" asked Ensal.
"Let me state first of all what I would not do. I would not attempt an
exodus. The white people of the South would resort to force to prevent
our leaving in a mass. I would not attempt a _general_ uprising. They
have absolute charge of the means of transportation and
intercommunication as well as the control of the necessary equipments
for waging war."
Earl now paused and looked steadily at Ensal, who awaited with almost
breathless anxiety Earl's next words.
"When I was a lad I declaimed the address of Leonidas to his brave
Spartan band, and the idea of a vicarious offering has ever since lain
heavily on my heart.
"In Almaville here I have a picked band of five hundred men who are not
afraid to die. To-night we shall creep upon yonder hill and take charge
of the state capitol. When the city awakes to-morrow morning it will
find itself at our mercy. We also have a force of men which will take
charge of the United States government building. This will serve to make
it a national question.
"When called upon to surrender, we shall issue a proclamation setting
forth our grievances as a race and demanding that they be righted. Of
course, what we shall call for cannot be done at once, and our surrender
will be called for.
"We shall not surrender. Each one of us has solemnly sworn not to come
out of the affair alive, even if we have to commit suicide. Our act will
open the eyes of the American people to the gravity of this question and
they will act. Once in motion I am not afraid of what they will do. I am
not fearful of America awake, but of America asleep.
"Such is my plan. In brief, it is the determination of desperate men to
provoke intervention.
"Look at Cuba. A handful of men stayed in the field and kept up a show
of resistance until our great nation intervened. It is within the power
of the Negro race to bring about intervention at any time that it is
willing to pay the price. I have found the men and recruited them from
the ranks of the plain people who were already ripe for action for the
following reasons:
"Labor circles here are just now very bitter toward the city government
because of its course toward Negro roustabouts. The white men in charge
of the boats that ply the river, fed their Negro hands poorly and made
the whole crew eat with spoons out of one pan. They were afforded no
sleeping accommodations, being forced to sleep on the bare floor. If a
piece of freight was accidentally dropped overboard the Negro who did it
was forced to jump into the water after it or be clubbed to death. Some
roustabouts who were forced to jump overboard to recover freight lost
their lives. These things have influenced the Negroes to abhor
roustabout work. But the police force, in the interest of the boatmen,
pounced down upon the Negroes and forced them to do the work, and this
course is practically urged by one of our leading daily newspapers. In
this condition of affairs, the laboring Negro sees a sign of a return to
the conditions of slavery, and he is alarmed.
"If in a city of light such as is Almaville this spirit obtains, it
won't be long, they feel, before the Negro laborers of the South will be
firmly in the grasp of a new form of slavery. They are also alarmed at
the clamor of leading newspapers for a vagrancy law which will be
invoked in times when the Negroes refrain from labor in the hope of
advancing their pay. The presence in our ranks of the labor element
representing the Negro masses will give striking evidence of the effect
things are having upon all classes of Negroes, welding them together.
"Now, Ensal, you have my whole story. This is to be the most sublime
affair in the whole history of our race. Honor yourself, my friend, by
joining our ranks."
Earl now ceased.
"Earl," began Ensal, slowly, earnestly, "do you know the Anglo-Saxon
race and particularly that brand found in the South? Provoke the
passions of that race, arouse the dormant but ever-present fear of
secret plottings for a general uprising, and you will inaugurate the
wholesale slaughter of innocent men, women and children. Satan hearing
of what is going on, will resign his post as King of Hell, will broaden
his title and move up to sit as Emperor of the South.
"No, no, no, Earl. Dark, dark is the night, but let us not mistake the
glow of the 'jack-o'-lantern' leading to a bog for the gleam of the
morning star ushering in the day."
Ensal ceased speaking and the two men looked at each other in silence.
"Do you regard yourself as having finished?" asked Earl after a few
seconds of silence.
"Sir," he continued, "if in this hour when I am strangled with the ashes
of Bud and Foresta you feed me with a negation----" He did not finish
the sentence.
"I understand you, Earl. I must offset your proposition with a better
one. Foreseeing that you would demand this of me, I have prepared
myself," said Ensal.
Going to his desk he procured a rather bulky document. Ensal turned the
manuscript over and over. In it he had cast all of his soul. Upon it he
was relying for the amelioration of conditions to such an extent that
his race might be saved from being goaded on to an unequal and
disastrous conflict. He hoped that its efficacy would be so self-evident
that Earl might stay the hand that threatened the South and the nation
with another awful convulsion. No wonder that his voice was charged with
deep emotion as he read as follows:
* * * * *
_"To the People of the United States of America:_
"The Anglo-Saxon race is a race of the colder regions and there
evolved those qualities, physical, mental and temperamental,
which constitute its greatness. A large section of the race
has left the habitat and environments in which and because of
which it grew to greatness, and in the southern part of the
United States finds itself confronted with the problem of
maintaining in warmer climes those elements of a greatness
hitherto found only in the colder regions.
"The race in these warmer regions took firm hold of the
doctrine of a foil, a something thrust between itself and the
sapping influences of weather, sun and soil. The Negro was
pressed into service as that foil. He was to stand in the open
and bear the brunt of nature's hammering, while the
Anglo-Saxon, under the shade of tree or on cool veranda, sought
to keep pace with his brother of the more invigorating clime,
counting immunity from the assaults of nature and superior
opportunities for reflection as factors vital to him in the
unequal race that he was to run.
"Not only was this foil deemed necessary to the maintenance of
the intellectual life of the South, but to its commercial well
being as well; for the white man was regarded as
constitutionally unable to furnish the quality of physical
service necessary to extract from the earth sufficient fruitage
to have the South hold her own commercially.
"The wealth of the South, because of a deep seated conviction
as to the absolute need of a foil for the white race in warmer
climes, because of the hardiness of the Negro's frame, his
docility, his habit of cheerfulness when at work, his largely
uncomplaining nature, his conception that labor conditions are
fixed, his individualism leading to ineptness in
combining--these qualities the wealth of the South regards as
ideal for the services of capital, and Negro labor is much
preferred to that of chronically discontented, aspiring and
combining whites.
"The capitalist influence would have the Negro treated
humanely, would give him industrial, moral and religious
training, and would have him enjoy the protection of the law
that he might continue in the South, working in contentment and
with efficiency in the lower forms of labor.
"But this element desires that the Negro play the part of the
foil and accept this as mainly his mission in America. It has
scant sympathy with the college professor and the political
agitator that would set the race to dreaming very largely of
higher things. The element, therefore, that is most desirous of
retaining the Negro population and seeks to make the race
satisfied with its present habitat is for the very reason
leading to that course, thoroughly opposed to making a
speciality of developing _all_ there is in the Negro, so that
the development that this element stands for is assuredly one
sided.
"Opposed to the element that is half friendly to the Negro
because of his superior qualities as a foil and commercial
asset, are the white industrial rivals of the Negro, whose
animosity is whetted by their conscious inferiority in matters
physical to this son of the tropics, who is more nearly at home
under southern sky than are the children of the colder regions.
"The industrial rivals of the Negro, led on by those who would
exploit race prejudices for their profit and those who feel
that grave danger lurks in a mixed civilization, keep the baser
passions of the people so inflamed that such horrible outrages
take a place that the future often seems overshadowed with a
cloud dark, portentous and riftless.
"The two elements thus far mentioned, the half-friends of the
capitalist class and the rancorous industrial rivals of the
Negro, are opposed to each other on the question of the Negro's
leaving the South, the former opposing and the latter favoring
his elimination, but they are one in insisting that the Negro
must be restricted in his aspirations. The question has another
complication and a third element is to be reckoned with.
"There is a vein of idealism running through our country that
would hold the American people to the thought that the United
States has a world wide mission. It is the dream of this class
that shackles, whether physical, political or spiritual, shall
fall from every man the world around.
"This class says to the capitalist class of the South: 'Our
ideals will suffer if we permit you to have political serfs,
however well fed they may be.' To the class that would oppress
the Negro it says, 'The patient suffering and material service
of him whom you buffet entitles him in his own right to a home
in this country, and here of all places justice shall be his
portion.' This class has opened Northern institutions to them,
and training has produced a large and aggressive army of able
young Negroes enraptured with the expressed ideals of the
republic.
"When it is sought by idealists to make the position of the
American Negro square with the constitution, the capitalist
class of the South, which fancies that it sees the sudden loss
of the foil, and the rivals of the Negro in the labor world
combine to oppose the programme looking to the political uplift
of the Negro. As the Negro in the groove ('in his place') has
the self-interest of the capitalist class on his side, while,
aspiring to be as others are, he finds his erstwhile friends
and chronic enemies forming a cordon to prevent his rise, it
has been suggested that political advancement be made a
secondary consideration.
"In view of the powerful forces which we find arrayed against a
programme looking to the political advancement of the Negro we
can understand the desire of the American people that it be
made clear that the political needs of the Negro are vital to
the improvement of present conditions. We shall therefore
proceed to show how intimately the political question is
inwrought in the whole situation.
"After the last word has been said in favor of the capitalist
notion of race elevation, it is still found to contain the
wonderfully fecund germ of repression. To sustain a notion from
generation to generation that the Negro should be denied
participation in the political life of his nation necessitates
an atmosphere charged with the spirit of repression, a
voracious guest, whose appetite calls for food other than the
dainties set before him.
"The making of official life in the South independent of Negro
sentiment was evidently intended to cause white men to feel
free to act according to their own instincts, undeterred by
calculations as to the possible effects of their course on the
attitude of the Negro toward them.
"With repression the order of the day, and the process of the
survival of the fittest operating along this plane, that man
who best exemplifies the repressive faculty will survive in the
political warfare and thus will be brought to the front the
element out of touch with the broadening influences of the
age, whose vision is yet bounded by the narrow horizon of race.
"The administration of the government, then, inevitably falls
into the hands of the less refined and a contemned race of an
alien blood is handed over to them to be governed absolutely.
As might be expected under a system that picks its rougher
spirits for rulership, the governing force is often worse in
its attitude toward Negroes than are the great body of whites.
Instead therefore of the government being the guide, piloting
the people to broader conceptions, the governing power often
sets in motion brutalizing tendencies that eventually sweep
down and affect the people.
"Local sentiment has been invoked to hold in check the wrathful
outpourings of United States senators, legislatures have held
in check rampant governors, and cities have cried out against
the acts of legislatures imposing repressive measures not
warranted by local conditions, things that signify that
repression sends to the front men whose tendency is to lower
rather than advance civilization.
"It is generally conceded that the drift of the Negro
population of the South toward the cities is due to the lack of
police protection in the rural districts. In the city
policeman, then, we have an opportunity to study the output of
the system of repression at its highest level. Policemen are
often the most unbearable of tyrants, arresting Negroes upon
the most flimsy charges, and refusing to tolerate a word of
explanation. It is actually a capital offense for a Negro to
run from a policeman, however trivial the charge upon which he
has been arrested.
"In Almaville, which represents the South at its highest point
of civilization, policemen have wantonly shot to death Negro
after Negro for seeking to elude arrest.
"The following article which we reproduce from one of America's
most reputable journals, will speak for itself.
"'How lightly the wanton killing of a Negro has come to be
regarded in some Southern communities is brought out by an
incident of the week at Memphis, which hardly needs comment. An
inoffensive Negro was hawking chickens about the street,
when ----, who was not in uniform at the time, jumped to the
conclusion that the chickens had been stolen, and arrested the
man. While he went to put on his uniform he left his prisoner
in custody of a nearby grocer, rightly named ----, to whom he
handed his pistol, with the offhand injunction, 'If he tries to
get away from you, kill him.' ----'s assertion that the Negro
made a break for liberty is disputed by the testimony of
bystanders, but at all events he fired on the Negro, wounding
him so severely that he died the next morning. 'Well, you got
him, didn't you?' said ---- on his return. 'If I didn't, I
almost,' answered ---- with a smile. The policeman's only
statement in palliation of the unprovoked killing was that the
deputy to whom he delegated his authority had 'taken his
instructions literally.' The most shocking feature of the
affair is that ---- has not been arrested, and the policeman is
apparently to continue on his beat. The 'Commercial-Appeal' may
well exclaim in bitterness, 'Life in this community is cheap;
the life of a Negro is so valueless that it is freely taken
without fear of future punishment in this world.'
"The question may be asked as to whether there are provisions
for redress against police outrages. There are courts and
commissions that may be appealed to, but two considerations
render these institutions of slight value to Negroes. In the
first place the sentiment obtains that the evidence of a Negro
is not to count as much as that of a white man. With this much
the start the policeman has still another advantage. The policy
of repression has fostered the idea that it is all right for a
white man to commit perjury in cases where there is a contest
between a white man and a Negro. Witness the manner in which
election commissioners have often been chosen because of their
known willingness to swear falsely as to the contents of ballot
boxes.
"So, with little sentiment against perjury when a Negro is
involved and the extra weight attached to the word of a white
man as against that of a Negro, the wrongs of the Negro more
often than otherwise go absolutely unavenged.
"Public utilities are likewise administered by white men who
often maltreat Negroes. In Almaville a street car conductor was
sentenced to two years in the penitentiary for the killing of
an inoffensive Negro who was asking him for correct change and
at whom, according to his own sworn statement, he shot 'to see
him run.'
"In this same city a Negro woman was kicked off of a street car
by the conductor for pulling through mistake the cord that
registered fares instead of the one that signalled for the
motorman to stop.
"For this same offense a Negro in Memphis was shot in the back
four times and killed by the conductor, who was allowed to make
his escape.
"Many good white people of the South will ask 'If this state of
terror exists among our Negro population, how does it happen
that it has not impressed itself more forcibly upon the public
mind?' Largely because the affected people are voiceless and
because they grow weary of invoking the aid of courts and
commissions that somehow find their way clear to sustain the
side holding membership in the race to which they belong. The
Negroes, therefore, meet in groups and exchange accounts of
outrages and bitterly sneer when they read in the white
newspapers of the South accounts of the ideal relations of the
two races.
"The claim of some of the white people of the South that the
Negro needs no power in his own hands to insure a proper regard
for his interests ought not to be tolerated for a moment in
view of all that has happened since the whites have had
exclusive charge of the southern governments.
"It has long been a contention of the Anglo-Saxon race that the
people should retain power to protect themselves against
possible indifference, incompetence or outright meanness on the
part of public officials, and if Anglo-Saxons refuse to commit
their welfare unreservedly into the hands of fellow
Anglo-Saxons, it seems clear that it is placing too great a
strain upon human nature to expect ideal results when an alien
race is involved. Not only does repression bear such fruit as
we have indicated, but it also bears heavily upon the repressed
in other directions.
"All history shows that a race stands in need of great men, in
need of the contributions of their superior powers, and the
inspiration that their names will carry from generation to
generation.
"Grappling with the affairs of state affords unique
opportunities for growth, while the honor of having served the
state operates as a magnifying glass enlarging the
inspirational force of individuals so honored. Thus a race
having the privilege of committing great trusts to its members
draws as a dividend men of enlarged powers and names which will
inspire. These influences reapplied to the needs of the state
serve mightily to pull the people forward.
"Again, to fix a limit to the development of a race is to run
counter to the forces of evolution which are indisposed to
recognize barriers of any kind. The human mind revolts at a
'_ne plus ultra_.' The Great Unknown has hid himself in the
heart of things, and yet the fainting soul of man lingers
forever at the barred door of His palace in a sort of
rebellious worship, determined to learn of Deity even the
forbidden things.
"The human mind is yet human when encased in a Negro body and
if this mind chafes at limitations seemingly imposed by eternal
forces, it will not submit to limitations arranged by finite
creatures.
"We have no doubt arrived at the point in this discussion where
it is in order to suggest a remedy for these ills. The
offerings of the humane class of Southern white people who
would like to settle the whole question upon the basis of the
development of the Negro race along restricted lines, must,
because of the danger that lurks in the principle of
repression, be rejected as totally inadequate. Above all
things, the government must go out of the business of
repression, must cease tagging the Negro as an outcast among
his fellows. The men who administer affairs must be made
amenable to the sentiment of the whole body politic and not
simply that portion represented by the white citizenship.
"One says: 'The nation felt all this and granted to the Negroes
political power.' Explain to us those largely writ words
'Reconstruction Governments.'
"Right gladly do we respond to the task assigned.
"One whom the nation knows as perhaps the foremost living
Southerner, who has acquired the art of speaking upon this
whole matter in a way that seems to beget at least a respectful
hearing everywhere, says: 'Few reasonable men now charge the
Negroes at large with more than ignorance and an invincible
faculty for being worked on.'
"To this we make reply, the overturning of slavery in the South
was revolutionary and not evolutionary. There was no spiritual
cataclysm to correspond with the political one. He who on one
day ruled _over_ the Negro was found spiritually unprepared to
rule _with_ him on the succeeding day.
"When, therefore, the Negroes were approached by two
sets of men, the one set, composed of the former ruling class
of the South, equipped morally and intellectually for good
government, but wrong at heart upon the great question of human
rights, the other composed largely of carpet baggers, scalawags
and bad administrators, but true to the principle of equality
before the law, it ought not to be surprising that a race fresh
from the galling yoke of slavery should choose the set that
would look after their liberties.
"This, we feel, fully explains the ills of reconstruction, and
those that lament that they were thrust aside from leadership,
should further lament that they were evidently not far enough
away from the ruling of a race by a race to have charge of the
momentous experiment of the joint rulership of races. The real
blame for the unfortunate state of affairs falls, perhaps, upon
those crushers of free speech in the South who, prior to the
Civil War, allowed not the preaching of the doctrine of human
rights which would have furnished men of the right temper and
proper vision to take charge of the new order of things.
"But we gained much from those times that must not be lost
sight of. We gained our racial awakening, the upward impulse.
This was a supreme need of our country. For, what pen can set
forth what would have been the outcome of a festering carcass
of a dead race within our borders.
"The ballot put into the hands of the gloom enshrouded Negro
sent a thrill of hope into his very bone and marrow, and the
sense of responsibility and the beckoning of the high destiny
of citizenship in a great republic begot such a fever of
progress in the race that the problem is now that of dealing
with the aspirations of the race rather than the more awful
problem of trying to avoid the contaminating odor of a race
dead to higher appeals, sinking and pulling the nation with it.
"And finally upon the question of reconstruction we find that
perpetual disbarment is not visited upon the people of the
mightiest city of the new world, because it has from time to
time made mistakes and put bad men to the fore.
"Moreover, be it remembered that the Negro of to-day is not
restricted to the choice of yesterday. Good men and true
abound in both races in the South, who are now fully equipped
to operate a truly democratic government.
"People of America: We were wrested by you from the savage
wilds and thrown into your mould. Our bodies have been fitted
to your climes, our spirits have been put in tune with yours.
We love your institutions, and if your flag could speak, it
would tell you that it has no fear of the dust when entrusted
to our sable hands.
"The great burdens of your future need the cheer that we can
bring, and your labors in the tropics now dimly foreshadowed,
may put a premium on what we can yield. By the token of our
patriotism and in sight of our willingness to yield all the
blood or brawn or brain necessary for the advancement of our
common country, we simply beg that you cast not away your
ideals, that you do not unsettle the foundations of your
democracy when you come to deal with us.
"Grant unto us equality of citizenship. Fix your standard for a
man! If you choose, plant the foot of the ladder in a fiery
test and engirdle each round with a forest of thorns. Do this
and more, if your civilization and the highest needs of the
unborn world require it. But when, through the fire and up the
path of thorns, we climb where others climb, hurl us not back
because of a color given us from above. Let one test be unto
all men. Let the strong arm of the nation for its own good and
for the ultimate good of humanity insist upon the observance of
this principle wherever Old Glory floats. Let this be the
guiding star of your policy toward us. This grave question
settled, the vast army of Negro leaders absorbed in the
momentous work of adjusting this external problem, will be
free to turn undivided attention to the curing of those ills
that are gnawing at the vitals of the race.
"Those most interested in the internal development of the race
can render the cause so dear to their hearts no greater service
than by facilitating the adjustment of the outer relation.
"The campaign, then, is one that concerns not only the
political forces of the nation, but the moral forces as well,
since the pressing of this great wrong upon the hearts of an
inoffensive, patient and aspiring people tends to their moral
undoing, not only
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