By Sanction of Law/Chapter 25
Along the street, as darkness closed in, a light flashed here and there from post to post. In the square, about the courthouse the electric lights sputtered and spifft, flickering intermittently till the carbons had adjusted themselves, as the current was turned on, until finally the entire square was a brilliant blaze. Now a lone horseman passed galloping down the main thoroughfare, sitting stiffly in the saddle, his hat down low over his forehead. Shortly he was seen to return accompanied by another horseman. Two police officers in uniform passed along the front of the hotel swinging their night sticks, also silently. The sun had now gone and the stars were out, the milky way showing almost so brightly with its sprays of stars, as to seem to cast a shadow along the street.
Now groups of silent figures were seen walking past the hotel. Most of them went in the same direction. Again there passed several more horsemen, all silent. Singly and in pairs some of the guests at the hotel who were sitting on the piazza arose and either entered the hotel or sauntered down the street in the direction the other walking groups had taken.
Dr. Tansey turned to Professor Armstrong. "Professor, there's something mysterious in the air. I feel it."
"So do I—something uncanny. I don't like it. It's almost ghostly. Ever hear southern ghost stories?"
"No."
"Well, they tell many a one about here.—Make your hair stand on end, some of them.—Stories of old Civil War days, or pre-slavery days. The blacks used to tell them to me and I tell you they made me feel creepy. That's just the way this night is making me feel."
Suddenly from down the street in the direction in which the crowd had gone there rang out on the night air a shot. All the air was quiet for a second except for the echo of the shot reverberating across the night sky. Those remaining on the piazza keyed their senses to the situation, listening expectantly. Two more shots in succession and then a fusilade greeted them. At that Professor Armstrong leaped to his feet:
"My God!" he whispered. "A lynching."
Dr. Tansey also leaped up, still listening. The minds of both men were filled with events of the morning. "This must not be. That man is innocent, Armstrong. Innocent," he exclaimed, catching the purport of Professor Armstrong's words and realizing the truth of them. "We must stop them before it is too late. Come, Armstrong."
"Hold on a minute," warned Armstrong. "We'd better not get mixed into this thing."
"Get mixed into it. Man, you know the truth. All this comes from that paper's story."
"Yes, but you don't know the temper of a southern mob."
"Where're your best men now? They ought to be heading this thing off. Get a few of them from somewhere. Do something! Do something! Come on!"
"Wait a minute. If you must go, better be armed. You can't tell what'll happen," cautioned Professor Armstrong. "Have you a revolver?" Reaching into his rear pocket Professor Armstrong drew from its holster a blue steeled six-shooter. "Here, take this. I'll get one from my room. Wait for me."
"Hurry then, we may be too late as it is."
Professor Armstrong was gone but a matter of seconds but it seemed like ages to Dr. Tansey. They were the only persons remaining on the piazza now. While waiting for Professor Armstrong's return, Dr. Tansey's mind travelled over miles of distances and there flashed before his memory many scenes through which he had lived, reviewing them with a vividness never before known to him. They all traced in succession to the present time, ending with the picture of this man being strung up to a tree, his life sacrificed to the mob spirit, an innocent victim of their fury. Though impatient for Professor Armstrong to join him there was no trace of excitement in his system, every act, every thought, every motion of muscle was impressively deliberate.
"Hurry!" he urged as Professor Armstrong returned.
Down the street they started following the direction in which the crowd had gone. They had but reached River Street when they ran headlong into a mass of seething, rushing, scrambling humanity. Where had all these people come from so silently and in such numbers. There were young men, old men, middle aged men, women, girls and boys in the crowd which was now for the first time showing signs of boisterousness. To Dr. Tansey the picture was like that of some seething cauldron boiling and bubbling, with masses of substance being churned to the surface then disappearing, reappearing and again disappearing. Dr. Tansey strained his eyes to see if he could detect the man with the prisoner. He could not.
"To the courthouse! To the courthouse!" was the advice being passed from mouth to mouth as the crowd surged on. Far back in the midst of the crowd could be seen two horsemen seemingly bearing a burden between them.
"We'll set them a lesson. Teach them their places. Show them who's master here." These and other words were uttered from time to time as the crowd surged on. Dr. Tansey gripped tightly the arm of Professor Armstrong lest the two become separated in the crowd, and were half swept along with the van of the mass to the courthouse. At the gate, the few who seemed to be directing the mob, paused, two on each side. Dr. Tansey and his companion stepped into the yard, not caring to be in the midst of the mob when action really started.
"Make way! Make way!" the two leaders urged motioning for opening of a path between the mass of humanity through which the prisoner could be brought into the yard. From one of these Dr. Tansey and Armstrong heard the story of the capture of the prisoner. The jailer made some resistance but a few shots fired over the prison brought him to terms and the keys were surrendered. There had been no trouble.
"Isn't a jailer sworn to protect his prisoner?" asked Dr. Tansey.
The man addressed turned a long look of surprised inquiry at Dr. Tansey. After a long scrutiny he asked: "Protect a nigger prisoner? Who ever heard of such a thing."
Before any reply could be made the two men walking the prisoner between them came down the human aisle. The boy's eyes were wide and staring with fright. One white man on each side grasped an arm firmly. The boy looked pleadingly from one face to another as he passed. There was no pity there. They spat at him instead. Some kicked at him front and rear. Some tried to strike him. As the leaders made a circle about him under a tall elm with wide overhanging branches, Dr. Tansey heard the boy say, in prayer, "Oh, God. You know I'm innocent. Save me."
Dr. Tansey was jostled away before he could hear more. He had satisfied himself, however, that this was the same youth he had seen in the courthouse in the morning. To confirm his conclusion he turned to Professor Armstrong, "That's the same young man?" he asked. Professor Armstrong replied in the affirmative by nodding his head. Before more could be said a sea of twisted, leering, white faces closed in about the group. Exultant, blood-hungry yells, menacing and terrible rang in the prisoner's ears. Fiery eyes now glared at him, shrill, raucous voices cursed him and hands seeming like long bony talons seemed to reach for his throat.
"Get a rope.—Get a torch.—Get a light'ood knot," were directions shouted. Dr. Tansey could stand no more. He mounted the steps of the courthouse near which he stood, looked over the madly yelling crowd which was fast getting from under control of the leaders.
"Men," he's houted. For a moment his voice attracted them and there was a hush. He seized the advantage. "That man is innocent," he shouted.
"The devil he is. We know. The papers told the story. We know." They shouted him down. He tried again. "That man is innocent," he shouted at the top of his lungs. They paid no heed to him.
"Lynch him. Lynch him," shouted a hundred voices. "Burn him. Burn him like the dog he is," shouted others. The crowd had now become one struggling, seething mass. Men with ropes had arrived. Insanity reigned. Into the very midst of the raging group sprang Dr. Tansey, revolver drawn. Professor Armstrong, now having concluded to help the youth followed the Doctor. They fought their way to the side of the youth. A dozen hands were reaching for the rope which was now about the young man's neck, eager to swing him into eternity. Four hands grabbed it.
"Don't touch that rope," commanded Dr. Tansey, his eyes blazing, his revolver drawn. The action was so sudden and surprising the four men drew back for a second. Other hands, however, grabbed the rope. Recovering from their surprise the four men rained blows on Dr. Tansey, under which he was falling when he suddenly clutched the trigger of his revolver. As he shot, the body of the boy was pulled high into the air. A hundred shots rang out and the body was riddled with bullets, by those without the inner circle.
While they were shooting the body full of bullets, four men were beating Dr. Tansey to the ground. Professor Armstrong grabbed the falling man and pushed the crowd back. The mob was blood-mad by now and cared not whom it seized. Professor Armstrong was now fighting to save his friend, forgetting the riddled body swinging back and forth from the limb of the tree, neck broken and life gone. He was just in time to drag the sinking body of Dr. Tansey to safety when he heard a screeching and screaming on the outskirts of the crowd.
Professor Armstrong paused in the act of laying the body of Dr. Tansey on the ground to see what the new commotion was about. As he raised himself, an unearthly weird and mournful screech greeted his ears.
"Save me! Save me!" screamed a woman's voice. It was Mailie Felding, elder sister of Ione, who, nearing childbirth, could not rest at home, feeling that some awesome thing was happening. Following the crowd from the jail at some distance, she paused transfixed with fright and terror at the courtyard to witness the lynching—and had been discovered by some of the mob.
"Here's another nigger," they shouted. "Lynch her. Lynch the minx, before she gives birth to another brute," they shouted noting her condition.
Professor Armstrong saw the wild look on the girl's face but recognized who she was. "By God, they'll never do that monstrous thing," he murmured.
"Save me. Somebody save me. I ain't done nothin'. Help! Save me!" she screamed.
"I'm coming, Mailie," Professor Armstrong answered as he plunged fighting now like a demon, into the mob. He was shooting as he came. Man after man fell. He paused not to see whether they were dead or only wounded. His revolver, however, was soon emptied. He struggled on using the weapon as a club. He reached the girl but before he could lay a hand on her she swooned away and he was knocked unconscious.
Up her body was jerked with a snap that broke the spinal cord with a loud noise. Those who had been fighting Professor Armstrong, now madly called for a rope for him. He was still unconscious from the blow when a rope was pulled about his neck and about to be thrown over a limb also. In that moment, however, one of the leaders cuffed the men who were pulling the rope. "That's a white man. Durn you. Don't you see." He swung his fists right and left, at the same time repeating, "That's a white man. That's a white man." His blows and his words finally penetrated into the brains of the attackers and they allowed the rope to be pulled down from the limb of the tree. The man who rescued Professor Armstrong carried him along up the courthouse steps and into the corridor of the building. There he left the unconscious form and again joined the mob which had by now lost all semblance of sense. They were trampling all over the spot, pushing, jostling and fighting. As they swayed, a hundred feet passed over the body of Dr. Tansey, where he lay unconscious on the ground, crushing the remaining life out of his body.
"Burn the niggers out. Burn the niggers out. Kill them all," shouted the mob as they ran cheering and screaming from the courtyard. Across the city toward the Negro section they headed. By some unknown circumstances all the lights in the district were extinguished. Toward the section came the mad mob, now hundreds strong. As the outskirts of the district was reached and some of the smaller dwellings, mere shacks and shanties, were being torched the police seemed to have now awakened to the situation. The sheriff, when overpowered and his keys taken, immediately called for the Mayor. This man was away. He then telegraphed to Columbia, the state capital, for aid. The Governor had ordered the nearest troops to the scene. The police were battling half heartedly with the mob and frightened Negroes were running here and there for shelter from their burning homes. As they ran those in front of the mob, by the light of the burning building were shooting at them. Luckily no one was hit.
Suddenly from one of the shacks there burst a small mountain of flame, shooting high into the air and close to the front fringe of the mob. "Gasolene!" shouted someone, in warning. The word passed along. "Gasolene." This had the effect of awing the crowd and before they could recover the police seized the opportunity and drove them back still further. This explosion seemed to sober the crowd and it was not long before the police had persuaded them to retire.
This gasolene storage was the first barrier reared by the Negroes to protect their property. A little further in, where the better class dwellings were located a number of them, heavily ermed had gathered, determined to sell their souls and their property at as great a cost to the attackers as possible. A race war impended. Luckily the inspiration of the gasolene warning had sufficed to sober the crowd and they were slowly dispersed.
Back in the courthouse Professor Armstrong awoke to consciousness to find a death-like stillness pervading. He was puzzled. He felt at his side a cold wall. He tried to think where he was, finally recalling the mob and its struggle. From his proximity to the wall he thought he must be in some vault, because of his lameness, left for dead. He felt above him but could touch nothing. He reached to his other side and touched only empty space. Finally he raised himself to his hands and knees then decided to follow the wall to its end. He brought up against a blank wall as he went forward. He decided to try the other direction. As he turned his hand came into contact with a rope. He dropped it with a shiver. After crawling some distance he detected a streak of light. Coming to this he felt about and discovered a door. Raising himself to a standing position he touched a knob, turned it and opened the door. The glare of the street light dazzled him for a moment. He blinked then stepped out.
A cold shiver ran up and down his spine as he looked down and saw the rope, stretching from his body to the floor, a noose end about his neck. He suddenly remembered all then. "My God, what a narrow escape!" he exclaimed. "Great God! And to think that this is America—that this is the South." He cast his eyes to the left but turned them quickly away sickened at the view. The two bodies, that of the boy and his sister, still swung from the elm limb. He closed his eyes, his knees sagging. He recovered himself, shortly. Then thought:
"Where's Dr. Tansey." With the question he recalled with vividness the fighting and the fact that he had borne the stunned body of the Doctor to the side of the courthouse. He turned his face in that direction then fainted dead away. Dr. Tansey's body lay stretched out, the clothing a mass of rags and tatters. All life crushed out, flesh and clothing enmeshed in gore, with the trampling of many feet—an horrible sight.
The view overwhelmed—sickened him. The horrible truth of the gruesome tragedy enveloped him and he was unable to stand. He slowly sank to a sitting position on the steps, his head cupped in his hands. He was too dazed and misery-stricken to think for a time. All he could see was the wretchedly mangled body of what was once his friend. A great pain gnawed with slow agony at his heart. He wanted to weep but tears would not come; just this deadly hurtful pain in his breast and the horrible pictures of the past few hours burning themselves into his consciousness.
For many minutes he sat mute, no sign of activity about him save the slight rustling of the leaves in the trees. He dared not look up, for even at the suggestion of the lift of his head, there flashed before his mind the swaying lifeless bodies of two innocent blacks. Without seeing them he knew they were there—and one was a woman; a woman who had grown up with him and though of another color, in their childhood days had been friend and playmate.
"Oh, God," he groaned, his head still in his hands. "I'll go mad—mad—mad. Take the sight from me. Take them away." His answer was creaking ropes or swaying limbs. With the plea his hand swayed in the general direction of the bodies though his eyes were still closed. At the motion of his hand something rubbed against his knee and across the back of the hand which still held his chin. He opened his eyes only to close them with a shudder. The rope by which he also had nearly been snatched before his Maker was still about his neck. He shuddered and trembled like the leaves above him. His brain was in a fever. An unearthly stillness pervaded the courtyard and the entire square.
He lost complete idea of time and knew not how long he sat in that position till the bell in the tall steeple of the white church at the head of the square boomed out the midnight hour. The slow ponderous strokes added to the weirdness of the situation. Professor Armstrong staggered to his feet, opened his eyes then quickly covered them again as if to shut out the sight but the impression was so indelibly burned on his mind that even with eyes shut the cadaverously stretched bodies and their ghastly swaying were as vivid to him as if the bright sun of daylight was shining upon them.
After a few minutes' struggle he mastered his nerves and again opened his eyes. He started down the steps, the rope pulling behind him. Frantically, fear in his heart, he gripped and snatched it from about his neck and hurled it from him where it fell on the dew-wet grass. He staggered down the steps and started for his hotel. The exertion was too much for him, darkness came to his widely staring eyes and oblivion into his mind. The last conscious moment he recalled afterward was an impression he had of falling over a steep precipice—falling—falling—falling!